in the back of the theater waiting for my turn. Heart pounding underneath my increasingly sweaty t-shirt, I began to coach myself. Running through a list of things I'd accomplished up until this point in my life in a desperate attempt to quell my nerves and convince myself this was nothing I couldn't handle, I began to find my confidence.
This lasted until the first girl got up on stage. She was beautiful and blonde, a few years younger than me, but she appeared older because of her formal period wardrobe and the way she carried herself. She handed her sheet music to the pianist as though she'd done this a million times before. The pianist began to play. When this young woman began to belt out her tune, all my insecurities came rushing back. She was amazing. I sat questioning my decision to volunteer for this torture and wondered why I thought I deserved to be here. Somehow, by the time her 16 bars came to an end, I had convinced myself that she was just a fluke. I told myself the rest of the auditionees would be normal, like me.
This theory crashed to the ground when the next person was called to the stage. This young man, dressed appropriately in a suit, was also classically trained. He had the kind of voice you hear on Broadway, and as his song hit its climax, I realized they might all be like this. That realization proved to be true when the next three or four actors, even those who were considerably younger than me, blew the doors off the place. I was looking around for the exit and thinking about sneaking out when my name was called.
Oh boy, I thought, here comes the moment of truth.
I walked up to the front of the theater, feeling all eyes on me. Hopping onto the stage as casually as I could, I thought if I wasn't the most classically trained, I was at least going to appear the most confident. Fake it 'til you make it, son. When I hit the stage, something shifted inside me. I remembered why I was there. I might not be classically trained, but I loved to perform. I remembered my plan to stick out by embracing the fact that I was different. I walked to the center and planted my feet. The pianist asked for my sheet music and I stared back. Mustering all the confidence and courage I could, I told him I'd be singing a cappella. The sheer audacity of it, knowing I was outclassed but forging ahead anyway, was like a rush of adrenaline. After taking a deep breath and exhaling, I began snapping my fingers and tapping my foot. I fell back on what I knew: Billy Joel.
While I didn't have much real stage experience, I did spend many a day and night in junior high and high school, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, playing piano and singing. Somewhere inside me was a performer dying to get out and all he needed was for me to take this first step and give him the opportunity. I was alive. Whereas just minutes before the attention had nearly crumbled me, as I sang now, I felt everyone's eyes on me and I liked it. I was where I was supposed to be. And even though the odds that they'd think I was right for this play were slim to none, I didn't care. I had taken the leap and I'd be right for something, some day.
In a beautiful twist of fate, my courage was rewarded and I was offered a role. And not a small role, either. I was the Chairman. The Mystery of Edwin Drood is a play within a play, so prior to the curtain going up they needed someone to improvise with audience members as they entered the theater, in a British accent, no less. Breaking the fourth wall of the theater and speaking directly to the audience throughout the play, the Chairman was to introduce the play, narrate it, and jump into the action as Mayor Sapsea for several songs and scenes. He was one of the leads and I had the time of my life.
At the end of the run, the director pulled me aside and told me she had worried about finding the right person to play the Chairman because it required different skills than any of the other roles. When I had hopped on stage in jeans and a t-shirt and started snapping my fingers, she knew immediately that I was her guy. My differences, the very thing I feared would embarrass me, were the reason I got the gig. But I never would have learned that if I hadn't taken the first step to get started.
Too many people I speak with get in their own way because they're judging themselves as if they're at the finish line even though the starting gun has barely sounded. Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was any good business, physique, or skyscraper. Things take time to grow, and usually that timetable is a lot slower than you hope for it to be. Self-judgment and crippling self-criticism are not the path to your goal. There are many paths to success, depending on who you are and what you want to do. Those paths are as varied and different as the number of people in the world, but they share one thing in common: each one begins with a first step.
Top Three Takeaways
1 Before starting something new, remind yourself that “failure is built into the game.”
2 You don't need to know how to do something. Often the things that people think make them qualified for a job or a calling are not really the deciding factor anyway. The most important factor is why you are chasing this goal in the first place.
3 If you say “no” to yourself, you never give them the chance to say “yes.” They usually don't know what they need anyway, until they see it.
CHAPTER 2 Work Ethic
“If the best guy, the most talented guy, who could make it just on their talent, has the work ethic of someone with no talent, that's scary. And that's Prince. And that's Michael Jackson.”
—Jimmy Jam, Music Producer
Producer of the Year 1987
Most nominations for Producer of the Year
If you watch even just a few interviews with celebrities and sports legends, you're bound to uncover one of the great contradictions of the motivational world: that everyone who has risen to the top of their field claims to be “the hardest worker in the room.” From Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson to Will Smith to Ultimate Fighting Champion Conor McGregor, every one of them will tell you, “I'll die before I'm outworked.” Well, for the sake of our culture and entertainment, let's hope all three of them are never training in the same room. All kidding aside, the point is that, for anyone who wants to make a major impact along the lines of Oprah, Mother Theresa, or that incredible kindergarten teacher at your child's school, a strong work ethic is required.
Nature versus Nurture
While there are many areas in my life where I do not feel naturally gifted, I was blessed with a relatively strong work ethic right out of the womb. Some of my earliest memories involve a fascination with chipping away at a task or skill in order to reach a goal that was not within my immediate grasp. This is not to say that I didn't enjoy lying around watching movies or daydreaming as a child, but I'm guessing that if you asked anyone who has known me throughout the various stages of my life, they'd bring up my work ethic pretty early in the conversation. Not only did my work ethic feel like it was in the fabric of my DNA, it was also honed by parents who were first-generation Americans and grandparents who told me stories of making the transition from Italy to the United States and then weathering the Great Depression. There were so many stories about sacrificing now in order to benefit later that somehow it all seeped into my subconscious.
Friend and former 10,000 NOs podcast guest Bedros Keuilian coined the term “the immigrant edge” to describe how his humble roots give him an advantage now. His father risked a lot to get the Keuilian family out from under Soviet rule to the freedom of the United States. But just being in America did not mean their troubles were gone. When he was young, Keuilian would be hoisted up into dumpsters behind grocery stores by his father to scrounge for food that had been thrown away after its official expiration date. He credits his success as an entrepreneur to his identification with the honey badger, an animal known for its ability to work
