Walking Dogs and Fielding Offers

I have two Labrador retrievers, Morgan and Limo. Morgan is nine years old and black. She is a sweet old dog. Her main purpose in life is to stare at you with her droopy black eyes, forcing you into a defenseless submission at which point you find yourself giving in to her every whim. She was an old dog when we got her, having spent her prime as a breeder. By the time she arrived on our doorstep, she had already bred about a dozen times, so even though she was fairly young, she had been through the ringer. In fact, she had some extra weight on her which we gladly helped her work off, giving her a stable home and lots of love along the way. As she began to lose weight, people would notice that her stomach was somewhat distended, hanging low as it did. I would then mention, a bit defensively on her behalf, that if you gave birth to 50 children, your uterus would be hanging to the ground too, so back off! It seemed to do the trick.

Limo is Morgan's two year old son. (Yes, it's a mother and child reunion.) Limo is the exact opposite of Morgan. Where Morgan is black and docile, Limo is brown and full of more energy than an attention deficit child on cocaine. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, slows this dog down! I suppose that's what labs are supposed to be - boundless balls of energy. And for the most part, he's an amazing addition to our family. Except when you don't want an animal with that much energy. But we love them both and have a relatively peaceful coexistence.

The greatest challenge of any day is the morning walk, and this morning is no exception. Calling dogs to the front door, getting their assemblage of chains and leashes on, the routine of "Sit. Stay", while I open the door and go out first, making them follow dutifully behind (Cesar Milan would be very proud!) - it all works quite well, until Limo spots another dog, or a squirrel, or an empty bag floating down the street. Then all bets are off and it's "tear after it like a bat outta' hell!" But since I'm still bigger, I often win the battle and keep him in line (dislocating my shoulder in the process). But the walk proceeds nicely on this crisp summer morning until we reach the 3/4 mark of our stroll, when my cell phone rings. As my wife can attest, I don't often pick up my phone, letting it fall to voicemail instead, and this time would be no different. Only this time, I see that it is my agent calling, and my heart stops short a bit.

It's actually stopped short a few times in the last few weeks. Ever since my callback, I've been receiving periodic updates from Michael, all encouraging but nothing definite:
"So Patrick, it's Michael. I got a call from Eric over at Tara Rubin's office. He wanted you to know that he thinks you gave a wonderful audition and you're definitely in the mix for Mamma Mia. No decisions have been made yet, but they really liked you so... you're definitely in the mix."

A few weeks later:
"Patrick, it's Michael. Just want to keep you in the loop. I heard from Eric over at Tara Rubin's office. No decisions have been made yet, but he just wants you to know that we should hear something very soon, and they are definitely interested in you and... you're definitely in the mix."

And still a few weeks later:
"Hello, it's Micheal. Just want you to know I spoke with Eric at Tara's office. They just want you to know that the role of Bill will definitely be opening up in the Broadway company of Mamma Mia and, even though they haven't made any official decisions, they really liked you and... you're definitely in the mix."

To me, all of this is code to mean... I'm definitely in the mix. Nothing more. It's a good sign, to be sure, but I've also been around the block enough times to know that this is also code for... absolutely nothing. Until I see my name on the dotted line, I take nothing for granted. So though I've been glad to get these periodic and encouraging updates along the way, I'm still wary of being overly optimistic. I'm optimistic, just not overly optimistic.

So when I see that it's my agent calling, I decide to let the voicemail take it. This way, if it's an audition, which it often is cause I have the greatest agents in the world who work tirelessly to field offers and get me work (it's true!), they can leave all the pertinent information on my voicemail about the time, place and nature of the audition. Maybe it's a film audition, maybe its another Broadway show, maybe it's a TV pilot - in this biz, you never know.

The message icon pops up, so I hit my voicemail button on the phone - and suddenly, my life for the next year is about to change, drastically.

"Patrick, this is Michael, can you give me a call please, so we can discuss your offer to join the Broadway company of Mamma Mia!? Congrats, my friend, talk to you soon."

There are a lot of "ifs" in this business. "If" I get the audition. "If" they like me. "If" I get the job. "If", "if", "if"... I try not to concern myself too much with the "ifs" anymore, I just try and focus on the "now's" and the "what I can do's". Suddenly, I find myself on the other side of "if". I'm on the side of "now" and "what can I do". "Now", I just got an offer to play a leading role in a long running, hit Broadway musical. "What can I do?" I can refuse the offer, I can entertain the offer, or I can accept the offer. There are very few moments in an actors life where he can just sit and ruminate over these possibilities. Much time is spent pursuing this moment (auditioning) and much time is spent looking back on this moment ("I remember back when I got the offer to do...") But very little time is spent living "in" this moment, so I want to cherish that. I'm not sure how to cherish it, but I don't want to lose the opportunity of being able to cherish it.

The dogs must find it strange that I choose, in the middle of the walk, to simply sit down on a neighbors brick wall and stare. That's how I choose to live in this moment - stare. No jumping for joy, no screaming or hollering, just passively sitting and taking in what I just heard - "...can you give me a call please, so we can discuss your offer to join the Broadway company of Mamma Mia!?" I've been in five Broadway shows, but this will be the first show that I don't have to understudy another actor. This will be just me, playing a role. A great role. After all these years, after all this time, I just don't know how to react. Joy? Elation? Gratitude? A combination of all that? Now I can be cynical and say "Yes, it's just a job", but life is too short to think that way, and in my heart of hearts, I just can't. It's too great an opportunity and too rare an event to belittle it that way. Besides, in many ways it's more than "just a job". It's the culmination of everything I have been working for for years. It is, as all jobs are, a justification of what I do.

No, I didn't win a Tony Award for Christ's sake, but I was just offered a lead role in a long running, hit Broadway musical. Wow! That is frickin' COOL!

The rest of the walk home feels a bit numb, floating, as I go, to a destiny I know nothing about.

But my dogs seem happy.