It Just Took Thirty-Five Years To Become Remarkable
On deep grooves, parlor rooms, and what happens when you stop chasing Broadway and start becoming yourself
If you’ve ever wondered whether the long slow path was actually the right one, this one’s for you.
Last night I sang in a parlor room for ten people.
My musical director of twenty years was beside me. We’re often auctioned off as a pair to raise money for a local Tony Award winning theater where I frequently perform. It’s not Broadway or Off-Broadway. We’re three thousand miles from that glittering dream. Instead we’re theater professionals who carved out our lives here, teaching our craft to hundreds in various ways over our careers.
He’s a 35 year veteran of a nationally acclaimed high school chorus and resident musical director of one of the best regional theaters in the country. I teach voice, dance, and acting and perform in professional musical theater.
I do all of these things rather well. I should also mention I cannot give directions or handle fourth grade math. Third grade was where my mathematical journey ended and I made my peace with that.
The Parlor Room
In that intimate space we performed as if we were on the grandest of stages. The audience, initially pretty uncertain of what they’d walked into, watched as we performed as if it was an audience of 1000. We wove together laughter and poignancy, lyrics that demanded attention, music that reflected life back to the people listening.
I watched understanding dawn in their eyes. The realization that they were witnessing something that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else. Two performers who had spent decades becoming so uniquely themselves that they could transform a living room corner into something sacred.
No Broadway theater could offer what we offered that night. Absolute authenticity, earned through years of dedicated practice and fully lived experience.
After the performance a guest approached me. “This was one of the best evenings of my life. You’re remarkable.”
I didn’t deflect or minimize with false modesty like I normally do, because I understood it was that good.
She was right. It was remarkable. It just took thirty-five years to become so.
Deep Grooves
I’ve spent a lifetime carrying Broadway dreams in my heart, though I never fully pursued that path for a number of reasons. Health challenges, the pull of family, the desire to stay close to my roots.
Lately I’ve been thinking about what I call deep grooves. Those profound commitments we make in life that might take years, perhaps decades, to fully realize. A dog. A child. A calling. A craft. The pursuit of mastery. Deep grooves demand trust and faith and intention with no guarantee of reward within our lifetime.
This dedication to depth runs completely counter to our current cultural moment. We live in a world of clickbait and bite-sized everything, where depth is sacrificed for immediacy and lasting impact is traded for fleeting attention. No grooves there. Just shallow scratches on the surface of experience.
The parlor room was a deep groove. Twenty years of partnership. Thirty-five years of craft. Ten people in a living room who felt something extraordinary happen right in front of them.
That’s not a consolation prize for missing Broadway.
That’s the whole point.
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