Just wanted to say THANK YOU for the recent article you wrote on Competition and how our perception of it can enhance or detract from our experiences and, well, booking rate.

It couldn’t come at a better time. I’ve just graduated from graduate school at the New School for Drama, and while I am so proud of the work my classmates and I have done, I find myself comparing myself to Yale, Tisch, UCSD grads at auditions — typing myself out mentally before I even go in. And it’s totally within my control. I forget that!

Stop psyching yourselves out, actors! Or do… it helps me. ;o)

Your article about Competition hit me after an interesting weekend of events, and for the first time, I feel compelled to respond with my own experience.

My parents retired from the bowling business. My mom was a professional bowler and worked for my dad in his bowling center. I had a bowling ball in my hand when I was four and didn’t stop competing for the next 20 years or more. (When I list bowling as a special skill on my acting resumé, it means something.)

Bowling (like acting) requires individual preparation and to get to the level where you compete with pros like I did (audition for professional gigs in the “Super Bowl of Acting“), requires a LOT of work, and probably a little talent. One thing I remember learning from my dad (coach) set my competitive mindset.

We were getting instruction during our scratch league and the PBA was on the TV next to us. My dad picked up a ball pointed to the TV and said, “If you want to get to that level, every time you pick up the ball you have to pick it up to win. Whether you’re bowling against a six year old or Earl Anthony, you have to pick it up to win.” That was a powerful statement for a young mind to absorb.

As I grew up, I learned what it meant to be ready to “pick it up to win” (to be a professional). It meant practice, practice, practice (rehearse, rehearse, rehearse). It meant breaking my game down to its proper, basic elements and working them so I wouldn’t have to think about them, my body would just respond to what it learned to do (good, ongoing training). I learned how to play different lane conditions, all the variables that go into bowling balls — weight blocks, the outer shell, different drilling techniques, etc. — and how they affect the delivery and effectiveness of my shot (breaking down the script, learning how to play different choices, do my choices come across the way I think they do). Doing all of this on an almost daily basis gave me the ability to make adjustments in the middle of my swing or at the point of delivery (being in the moment, playing, improvising, reacting), and I was very competitive… and arrogant.

I learned to love the game and my competitors. Some days I did better, some days they did better, but everyday was fun. The result still mattered (I am a professional), but it wasn’t life or death (there is a next time).

I heard a producer speaking at the SAG Conservatory 13 years ago say, “If you aren’t treating your acting like a full-time job, why would you expect me to hire and pay you like you booked a full-time job?”

I always remember a story about a pro golfer I heard at a pro golf tournament. The pro golfer was on the driving range and a spectator walked up.

SPECTATOR: I wish I had a swing like yours.
GOLF PRO: No, you don’t.
SPECTATOR: Yes, I do!
GOLF PRO: No, you don’t. Because if you did, you would be out here at five in the morning every day swinging a club until your hands are bleeding like I am.