No

I had a big idea for a show once that no one was interested in. Months of work led to nothing. No one returned my calls, no one replied to my emails.

Nothing came of it.

I played the game and waited years until an entertainment agency decided to represent me. But they weren’t serious like I was. For me, it was a big break - my big chance to prove how good I truly was. For them, I was just another artist on the roster.

Nothing came of it.

I stumbled into big meetings when I was sleeping on couches in Los Angeles. I tried to dazzle Hollywood agents who had “seen it all” but they yawned and showed me the door.

I wrote a TV series but no one took notice. I signed with a manager who didn’t work on my behalf. I sent thousands of postcards and never got a response.

Nothing came of it…but I didn’t let that stop me.

A “No” is a good thing. It makes you prove how badly you want something. Every “No” I’ve ever received has led to some of my best opportunities.

The hard part is not taking a “No” personally. Every time a door closes you have to shrug it off and move on to the next idea. Nothing - and I mean NOTHING - can singlehandedly make or break a career. No gig, meeting, conference call, TV appearance, or special project can define you. Just keep moving forward. Keep working towards that magic word: “YES”.

One of the hardest “No’s” I ever received was when I got engaged to Stephie. People told me we weren’t right for each other. People I thought were friends deserted me and didn’t support MY decision. But I went through with it. I married my college sweetheart and it was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I just got off the phone with a big contact - a huge opportunity that may or may not come through. I’ve been slowly working towards this goal for years but I don’t know if it’ll happen this time or not.

After that conversation ended I called my wife and told her about it. She was cautiously excited - typical Stephie - and I told her that I wasn't sure it would amount to anything.

“You think another ‘No’ is going to stop us?” she asked me.

God, I’m glad I didn’t let those “No’s” keep me from saying “Yes” to her.

Amos

Every morning when I wake up my cat Amos is waiting for me on the other side of the bedroom door. He follows me around the apartment, from the bathroom to the hallway to the kitchen. He jumps up on the counter while I make coffee then lays next to my computer while I check my email.

He’s my favorite.

Amos is an enigma. He’s always just out of reach. His brother will sit on your lap while you watch a movie, but Amos? He’s at the other end of the couch, impossible to pet but part of the action all the same.

He likes water. Most mornings he’ll jump in the bathtub and roll around on the wet surface. If he’s feeling particularly feisty he’ll be really noisy, too. He’ll meow from around the corner and I’ll respond. Then he’ll come trotting into the other room for approval.

Amos is probably a little too big for a cat. He just loves to eat. If we aren’t careful he’ll finish his portion and start to eat his brother’s helping, too.

He’s figured out how to open the drawer underneath my side of the bed. I’ll come home from a long trip and the drawer will be partially cracked. If you reach your arm under the bed you might feel a tail or a paw, but that’s it. 

Like I said, he’s always out of reach.

Today I flew to NYC for a show while Stephie took Amos to the vet. He was overdue for a teeth cleaning. I came out of my show to learn that he had not been able to recover fully from the anesthesia. He wasn’t really moving and wouldn’t eat. Stephanie was distraught and not sure what to do.

Minutes before I had gotten a roomful of strangers to laugh and experience some wonder. I had chipped away at their New York cynicism until the dam broke and they witnessed something amazing. But the second I was offstage, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I just wanted to be home.

It sounds silly but my family is my wife and my two cats. These little boys have been with us since the beginning and I love them with all of my heart.

They were a gift to Stephanie while we were engaged. Her grandma had passed away and I was working a ton. Unable to be around as much as I wanted, I decided she deserved a furry companion to keep her happy while I was gone.

But when Stephie saw these brothers climbing their cage and longing for love she looked at me and I could tell she had made up her mind. It didn’t take a mind reader to know we were the proud new owners of not one but two cute kitties.

When we first got them my allergies were so awful that we were convinced we would have to return them to the shelter. But several weeks passed and my allergies disappeared. The cats could stay.

When I had shoulder surgery I would lay on the couch unable to move or work. Amos stayed nearby, watching over me to make sure everything was okay.

These two have travelled across the country from Wichita to Chicago to Florida and back to Chicago. They’ve been through a lot because of our unorthodox lifestyle. Even so, they’ve remained sweet and kind and always put a smile on my face.

It’s funny, because that’s exactly what I do for a living, too. I get to travel the country making people happy. And I absolutely love what I do.

I love making people smile. I love sharing joy and wonder. I love creating a mystery that can cause an entire room of adults to gasp in amazement.

But I love my family more.

I love my simple life in Chicago with my wife and my two best friends. I love trying to send e-mails while Amos walks across my keyboard. I love locking him out of the bedroom at night knowing he’ll be waiting to greet me in the morning.

Knowing he’s back in Chicago and not himself brings tears to my eyes. It makes me sad to know that my little buddy isn’t his usual energetic self. 

After my show, I walked the streets of Lower Manhattan surrounded by New Yorkers in all directions. But I was alone. I felt helpless. I could offer words of compassion from afar but there wasn’t anything else I could do.

He’s always just out of reach.

Words

The words were there. Crisp and rhythmic, chosen carefully for this moment. I’d spent years crafting them, scribbling ideas on coffeeshop napkins and talking through my script in the shower. Hundreds of onstage attempts had forced a rewrite.

Move this word here and replace it with that word.

Words matter. Big words, small words. Pauses and breaths. The unplanned is planned, the accidents are purposeful. Every word matters. And those words take time.

It takes time to find the right words. You’ve said them before - maybe not in the right order - but they are part of your vernacular. The right words are standing by, ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice.

What seems simple to an outside observer is anything but. A simple joke or slogan takes work. Obvious ideas are hard to create.  As Martin Scorsese says, “There’s no such thing as simple. Simple is hard.”

Simple is hard. And hard things take time.

And this time, the words were there. They were echoing out of the speakers and the audience was listening. Laughter and applause were a byproduct of those properly configured words.

My words.

Except I wasn’t saying them this time. I was standing in the back, watching from afar. I was in the darkness and someone else was up there. Someone else was using my words.

Ideas are personal. It takes courage to work on an idea. The crippling self-doubt that comes with working on a creative project will break you. You’ll fear that nothing you have to say will ever live up to what other artists are doing. You’ll lose sleep and lose friends. You’ll think about giving up and forget why you started doing this in the first place.

Sometimes you’ll have to abandon everything else so you can find a couple more words to move you closer to your goal. But just give it time - the words will come. And then it’s up to you to put them in the right order.

When you finally find the words and get a chance to use them it’s cathartic. You know their intention. You know how long it took to get them to cooperate. The subtext will be understood by all - because those are your words.

When someone else uses your words it will not do them justice. Sure, they may succeed briefly. They may work for a short while. But chances are, your words will let them down in the end. The words don’t fit them like they fit you.

You’ll sit in the dark and for a brief second struggle to find the words to truly express how you feel. But don’t worry, the words will come. They always do.

All 454 of them.

Something

I made something today - a new piece for my show. I had a burst of inspiration and scrawled down the ideas in my notebook before I would forget them.

Then I brainstormed. I paced my office and stared out the windows. Coffee distracted me for a while then I came back full force with everything I needed. So I sat down to write.

I like to write on my MacBook. A clean canvas of white, with no other open tabs or background music. I need to see the words falling into place in front of my eyes so I can picture the end result. 

The end is the beginning. The final image the audience will see is the place I start from. I picture the finale, then take tiny creative steps backwards and finish at the start. That’s when I know I’ve reached the end. (Or is it the beginning?)

I pulled books off shelves, consulted my notebook, and started to picture the process. But I needed some stuff. I needed to see how it would look. A trip to the art store was in order.

In the city, a trip to the store is a minimum thirty minutes. I have to wait for the garage to pull down the car, hit every red light on the way over, sit in traffic, and find parking. It can be a real pain in the ass.

But I had to have the stuff. So I made the trip. Blasting Spotify in my earbuds and unaware of anyone else, I raced the aisles frantically searching for the perfect answer to my creative problem.

There it was. Sitting at the back of the shelf. The only one left in the store. The only one in Chicago? Maybe. It’s possible.

And it was all mine.

Home I went. Back through the traffic and red lights, the garage and the elevator. Back for another cup of coffee and an arts and crafts session.

Finally, I was finished. My idea was sitting in front of me, in tangible form. 

Hours of writing and reading and searching and thinking and creating had passed and I’d wasted twenty dollars on a piece of shit idea that I’ll never use.

It’s terrible.

But it was an idea. It was something. And you never know if it will be any good until you actually go out and try it. Otherwise it’s just a line in your notebook that you were too lazy to pursue.

Most of the time your ideas will be awful half-baked pipe dreams that aren’t worth doing. But when you hit on something great, you’ll know it and you won’t look back. Just keep creating, keep making stuff, keep pursuing your ideas. The more you create the more ideas you’ll have.

I can’t tell you how to create good stuff. But I can tell you what to create.

Something.