At the age of 15, my 3 career goals were as follows:
Audition and join the cast of SNL.
Win an Oscar.
Be a guest on “Inside the Actor’s Studio,” hosted by the incomparable James Lipton.
Obvious to me, but I will declare it anyway: none of the above ever happened to me. Not even remotely. A very cool teacher at my high school once asked his class what we wanted to do “when we grew up.” And these were the goals that I proudly declared to him and my classmates, with not a smirk or wink of irony. So when I rediscovered this week that the illustrious Mr. Lipton left this earthly plane in March of 2020, I was absolutely gutted. A wave of loss hit me hard. I found myself missing his presence and moreover, all that which he embodied for me as a teen with big dreams to be a somebody someday.
In the mid-2000’s, my braces had yet to be removed when I started taking some theatre and commercial acting classes in little theatres around Los Angeles. At some point, I auditioned for a panel of serious looking adults with clipboards. The hope was to be signed with a talent agency. Or at least be directed toward the next step to transform into a gainfully employed child actor. Still had the braces by the way. Sadly yet not surprising in the least, nothing came from the panel. No offer. No call. With a twinge of heartache I write this since that pretty much sums up my “career in show business.” As swiftly as the prospect of acting as a profession entered my life, it exited stage left in an instant. My chance to audition, to be “discovered,” was never to be replicated again.
Retired from the craft of acting, I got even more serious about school. I soon started taking advanced science and math classes and my focus shifted toward impressing colleges with renown pre-med programs. I got into a college on the east coast, eventually majored in English (read: reading), and merrily I skipped along to graduate school in NYC. My career today has absolutely nothing to do with acting, theatre, or the business that is show. And yet, these memories from my teenage years continue to haunt me as they have, once again, this week.
I was scrolling mindlessly when YouTube recommended an episode of “Inside the Actor’s Studio” with guest, Conan O’Brien. Memories washed over me as I watched the long-form, interview talk show with its unparalleled host, James Lipton. I started to remember how I used to binge-watch the show throughout my high school years and into college. How I used to take notes as if I was in the audience among the Pace University students. More memories still. Those little theatres. The panel and the clipboards. My wide-eyed dream to one day hone my passion professionally. In my reverie, I began to look up the host online. Hoping for what? I am no longer certain. And then I saw it, read and re-read it a few times. Tears brimmed. Then flowed, without a care.
Tissue in hand, I tried to connect the dots. I began to wonder how the hell my teenage self came up with these notions of grandeur. To the point where I dreamt of being considered talented or funny enough to be celebrated via some of the highest forms of accolade show business has to offer. What flavor Kool-Aid was I drinking to believe I could have achieved a fulfilling career as an award-winning comedic actor. Still holding that tissue, I felt stunned and stumped by this level of confidence. Maybe it was just a symptom of growing up in the LA area, living far too close to the industry for comfort. Maybe it was my intense love of classic Hollywood films coupled with my endless curiosity for sketch comedy. Maybe it all boiled down to my relentless need to perform and make people laugh. If you ever met me in person, you would quickly discover that this need, perhaps compulsion, never really went away.
Film, performance, and comedy were always creative succor for me. I minored in film studies in college. I embraced my love of singing in my late 20’s, even if just for my own entertainment. And I studied comedy through it all as if I chronically had a final paper on the history of improv due at the end of the semester. My passions from my teenhood manifested themselves in subtle yet well-formed ways. I’ve loved all of these quirks about myself. And I liked who I became as a result of all the lessons I learned in those little theatres. In front of that panel. And yes, even from watching Mr. Lipton all those years. They never left me.
So, if I felt a bit eager to create and share these days, I think it was because I remembered all the lessons I learnt. I realized this week I was ready to flex those creative muscles I so zealously developed as a young person. Setting grandeur aside, I reminded myself of my commitment to creating more authentically with all my future projects. I was gutted and seeing stars, but resolved however sniffly.
As a teen, I used to bend my friends’ ears and would inevitably share my creative aspirations however farfetched. Much like now, actually. Not much changed since the mid-2000’s. Stood in my kitchen, crumpled tissue in hand, I promised myself then not to cry too much along the way.
Building a flock one post at a time,
M
P.S. If you were curious at all:
Maribel, are you ready for 10 questions? What’s your favorite word? What’s your least favorite word?....
When I lived in NYC I went to a taping of Inside the Actors Studio. It was Dennis Leary. I didn’t realize that the taping is much longer than the show that airs. It was like three hours and I had to pee, but I was afraid to get up because I was in the front row and didn’t want to ruin the shot. 🎥