Just under 3 years ago I did the unthinkable.
Something that I had wanted to do for the best part of 10 years. Something I had agonized about, planned, threw away, resurrected and threw away again. The thought of actually doing it terrified me beyond measure and yet it was still an insistent call that I somehow could not shake off. I came up with every possible excuse not to do it - it wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t good enough, I would be humiliated and people would find out that I wasn’t talented in any way but in fact that I was something of an embarrassment.
But I did do it.
I wrote and performed my own one man play. In London. In front of paying audiences.
I am writing about this experience as I discovered something the like of which I will never forget.
I used to be an actor. For 20 years I battled through the endless quagmire of working every low paid job imaginable all the while developing my craft, doing plays, short films, everything I could to get a break, a glimmer, anything that could propel me into the world I so desperately wanted to be part of. The more I wanted it the harder it became. The more I wanted to be seen as a ‘brilliant’ actor the more disillusioned and disappointed I became in my ability as an actor. To be quite frank it was agony. Being an actor (or should I say trying to be an actor) was to me an endlessly baffling and illogical process whereby no matter what I did, went for, worked for had no seeming impact.
I wanted to believe that the industry had integrity, that what you put in you get out. I saw lots of other extremely talented actors get nowhere…and I mean nowhere. I just couldn’t understand it. I did Theatre-In-Education, I performed in Fringe Theatre productions, I understudied in a No.1 tour, I did short films, student films, acting classes, showcases, I wrote thousands of letters to agents, casting directors, producers, directors, the list goes on and on. I had little and sometimes no control. I had so much I wanted to say, to express but with no means of doing it.
For many years I’d had this idea for a character and a long badly written one man play. I had written God knows how many drafts but found the process of writing near impossible (think ‘single-handedly moving a piano up some stairs’ near impossible). However I wrote and wrote and wrote. All garbage. I tried it out at Scratch nights, performed it in front of friends trying out different ways of doing it. Again all pretty awful and embarrassing. I would look at it one day and the next decide it was rubbish. I seem to remember one occasion where I ceremoniously ripped up every draft and covered my room in the confetti of my then crap play. I had genuinely decided that I was never never going to look at this truly abysmal play again. And it was a relief.
On March 24th 2016 my Father died. A month later my Grandmother (his Mother) also passed away. On top of this I lost my childhood home and the home I had all my life until the death of my Father. This in itself is another story for another time.
Now I’m guessing at this point you’re thinking that through the fog of this tragedy I saw the light and finished my play with great success and aplomb. No. I drank a lot and was numb with loss. It was at my local pub some months later with a close friend that my play came up in conversation. I made it very clear that I was never going to touch it again. When asked by my friend whether I was going to do my play my response was a resounding ‘NO’. Now I can’t remember the exact words of my friend at the time but the result of that conversation was a firm handshake and with that a clear promise that I would put my play on by October of that year. I couldn’t get out of it. What was made clear to me was that the play being ‘good’ was irrelevant. What was relevant was what I wanted to say, what I wanted to express and give the world. Even if it was crap then at least I had done it. My friend explained this a lot more eloquently than I do now. He was and continues to be a very wise person to this day and I love him for it.
I walked away from that pub not quite believing what I had just promised my good friend. But there was this ‘sense’, call it an ‘inner knowing’ that I was about to embark on something of an adventure. I always like to think of Joseph Campbell at moments like these and his paradigm of the heroes journey. His famous quote of “follow your bliss” always seemed so nice and easy like a gentle stroll through a sunlight forest. This was not that. Oh no. Following my bliss was like trekking through some mountainous terrain where no-one had ventured before where bears and tigers lurked in sharp splintered caves ready to tear my head off my shoulders.
I knew that it had to be done whether I liked or not.
And so it began…
The next few months were full on. I found a director, I re wrote the ending to include a secondary character, booked a theatre for 3 nights in November, designed a flyer and got rehearsing.
Throughout the rehearsal process every particle of my body felt awkward and tense as if this was a situation it had never before experienced. Which was in fact true. Never had I willingly put myself in the lions den like this so to speak.
I remember one night I couldn’t sleep. I was going through all the possibilities of the potential “outcome” of this endeavor none of which were good. I sat bolt upright in bed and all I saw was disaster, humiliation and profound embarrassment. At that moment I was utterly convinced I had made a catastrophic mistake. But it was too late. The theatre was booked, the flyers had been printed and there was no way back.
As the weeks and then days came and went my nervousness increased. I felt numb from the fear. Suddenly I had lighting people, a set designer and various other people all involved in somehow making this production. My play was coming to life. I felt this strange urge to apologize to everyone as I am sure they had better things to do. I found it agony that people were giving their time to my project.
The first night of three finally arrived. Audiences mainly comprised of people I knew were paying money to come to a play that I had written but am also performing on my own. There is no get out.
I wanted to believe that it would be ‘alright on the night’ and once the play started I would fly.
Unfortunately that did not happen.
As the play started something immediately did not feel right. With my first few lines I felt odd, out of place, highly aware and “acting”. I had this feeling of what can only be described as pulling myself through sticky mud. I felt disconnected from everything I was saying, I was aware of friends in the audience, I felt tense and to be honest quite a terrible actor. In fact the whole performance was like wading through mud. Coming off stage I cannot really remember what I felt or even thought.
Then came the walk of shame into the bar afterwards where all my friends and colleagues would be waiting to hand me vague congratulations and forced smiles. I actually got a round of applause as I walked into the bar which was more embarrassing than anything. People were kind and complimentary and I took it as it came.
The intense disappointment and bitter regret had not sunk in. Yet.
I drank and smoked then went home. At home I drank and smoked more as the disappointment and regret landed with full ferocity. All that I had feared had come to pass. It was bad. I was bad. I had completely exposed myself and in my mind I had failed. It was true. I was talentless and a failure.
The next morning I was somewhat groggy from the last two cans of lager I should not have bought from the corner shop on my way home. A very close friend of mine texted me and asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee as he wanted to hear how it went. The poor guy. He had to sit through over an hour of me whingeing, whining and self-flagellating myself into a pit of despair. But he sat and listened. He didn’t try to make me feel better or worse but he just listened and that is what I needed. I left him and trudged back home to continue licking my wounds.
When I got home I realized something - I had two more shows to do. As much as I wanted to drown my sorrows and berate myself for my obvious lack of skill and talent in an alcohol induced haze I couldn’t. I had a show to do that night. Then one after that. I had more people coming. My agent, my family, more friends who all loved and supported me and they had paid money for me to do my thing. So I had two choices. Collapse or …
Well there wasn’t an ‘or’. I just gave up. Literally gave up. I said it out loud - “I give up”. I said it again only this time I meant it - “Fuck this I give up”. Then I started speaking out loud (luckily my flatmates were out!). It went something like this
“Fuck being an actor. I can't act anyway. I'm sick of it. I give up. I don't want it anymore and I don't need it. Fuck acting. I just want to be free. I'm free. That's it. I'm totally free. I don't care what people think. Actually I'm totally fine with anything that anyone thinks. If they hate it that is fine. If they love it that is fine too. Brilliant. I'm totally free. I am completely and utterly free. I'm free. I'm free etc etc etc etc...."
Or words to that effect.
I continued this for most of the afternoon. God knows what my downstairs neighbours must've thought! But that didn't matter. Something in me had totally shifted. I felt it and the feeling was palpable. I remember the hairs on my arm standing up. At that moment I was no longer an actor trying to please or impress people. I was someone flying free with nothing to prove to anyone least of all myself. I was only there to serve as honestly and cleanly as I could.
I felt a level of energy I had never experienced before. I knew that the moment the lights went down I was free and my only duty was to offer everything I had regardless of whether it was received or not.
I remember when the play began that night. As the audience entered the auditorium I was already pre-set on stage. I could hear various snippets of conversation and tried to drown out the mostly familiar voices that had all come to see me. The voices hushed into silence and all eyes were on me in a kind of resplendent darkness. I remember when I spoke my first line…I could feel it…I was there…totally in it and alive. Completely and utterly free.
And for the next hour I flew.
It was one of the greatest moments of my life. That feeling of being so connected and alive without any thought of wanting to be ‘good’ or impress anyone was wonderful. Truly wonderful.
I won’t say too much more about it here as there is a second part to this story but that might be for another time. Maybe that story is still in full swing?
The only thing I will say is this: people loved the play. Now when I say this I am not as you might think saying this in an expression of blatant self-admiration. They loved the play. The story and character seemed to have a palpable affect and the themes that ran throughout the play really touched people. This was above and beyond what I could have expected. It is always lovely to hear that people enjoyed my performance. However, to have feedback that the character and play had a personal and far reaching affect is so much more exciting to me. The play and its themes seemed to be something that had a life of its own and I was merely some sort of ‘carrier’ of the story and character.
This word 'confidence' is bandied around a lot and for many years I would berate myself for my seeming lack of it. I always related confidence to people who were loud and brazen. But confidence is more subtle than that. It can be an inner quiet or 'knowing'. But for me it meant this: being free. Free from those thoughts that nag at us and tell us what we 'should' be and what we 'should' be doing. There is nothing to prove. There really isn't. All there is is what you offer the world with sincerity and openness of heart.
We all, in some capacity want to be free don't we?
Anyway, that is enough from me. I have definitely talked enough. I love stories and there is always something to take from a story and we all have our unique and wonderful ways of connecting to stories.
I hope you have enjoyed this one.
A still from the second performance of ‘WAKE’, written and performed by Alex Froom at Theatre N16, Balham, London. November 2016.
Coach, Workshop Facilitator, writer in progress, ex-actor who acts.
E-mail: alex@alexfroomcoaching.com