A number of years ago, I had to go through an interview in order to be admitted to an acting class put on by my city’s premier casting director. I was initially surprised. “Doesn’t the guy just want to make money like everyone else? Why would he care who was in his classes?” But once the interview began, I understood. The conversation went something like this.
“Why do you want to act?”
“Because acting is and has been my passion for a number of years.”
“Everyone says that. You need something more.”
“Okay.” (Deep breath, because here was the deepest truth and it could mean the difference between jobs and getting blacklisted.) “I love actors. I want to be an excellent actor myself, so the door to encourage those I love will be swung wide open.”
“Welcome in.”
He grasped something that I knew, but not deeply enough. You’re “why” must be stronger than the “what.” If it is a worthy “what,” it is guaranteed to take you into the heart of adversity and discouragement and battle. The “why” is what carries you through, the weapon in your hand. It knows the war is coming, and it is ready. It was made for this.
I was reminded yesterday by my 9–year-old daughter to hang onto the why. She unknowingly reminded me of my entire purpose in life. Which directly translates to my purpose in voiceover. I wrote the “why” on a piece of paper and laid it in my sound booth. Because, shocker, sometimes sending auditions into the void gets a little discouraging. I love the acting processes I get to go through, taking on several different stories and speaking to many different types of people through a rapid-fire series of varied auditions. That part thrills my heart. But no feedback time after time of “putting yourself out there?” That’s brutal. So, I’m remembering the “why.” Because the “why” overcomes the brutality.
Every time.
