Over the years, I have had a number of former students tell me that they are no longer pursuing acting professionally. Some have become therapists. Others have gone into psychology, social work, education, writing, business, or entirely different professions. 

The conversations are often complicated because underneath the decision to move on from acting, there can be a profound sense of loss. After years of training and sacrifice, there is often an unspoken question: Was all of that time wasted?

I don't believe it was. Not if the training was serious.

Actors spend an enormous amount of time waiting for permission. Permission to work, permission to be seen, permission to call themselves professional. Permission from an agent, casting director, director, producer, or somebody else sitting on the other side of the table. Over time, this can create a terrible relationship with auditioning. Instead of walking into the room as an artist with something to offer, the actor walks in hoping to be chosen.

There is an assumption actors can make once they begin working professionally: if I am working, I must be growing. But a career and an artistic life are not the same thing, and one of the things I found most interesting in my recent conversation with Candace Maxwell on my podcast, Creating Behavior, was hearing a successful working actor talk about how hungry she still is artistically.

What do you say matters most to you, and does the way you live support that claim?

That's a question I've been thinking about lately, not only as an acting teacher but in my own life. 

We all have a story about ourselves. We say we're artists. We say our work matters. We say we want meaningful careers, meaningful lives, and meaningful relationships with the things we love. But what happens if we stop listening to what we say and simply look at how we live?