Last night I performed my new solo show, Shovel, at TheaterWorks in Hartford.
My second solo show after performing “You’re a Monster, Matthew Dicks” two years ago.
It was a dream come true again for me, which is truly a glorious thing.
Three thoughts I’ve had over the last 48 hours of prep and performance:
Thought #1:
On Sunday morning, as my friends drove away from the golf course for a relaxing Sunday with their families, I drove home to work on my show, cutting, refining, revising, punching up jokes, and running through the show for time and transitions. As I was doing so, I had a thought:
Why do you do this to yourself?
It wasn’t that I was nervous. I’ve never been nervous before or during a performance,
It was simply that for the last month or two, this show has been sitting in my brain, occupying thought and bandwidth. Instead of writing a book or watching a television show or playing golf, I’ve spent time preparing a performance, and as I was grinding away on Sunday, I thought:
Some people are having a lovely Sunday right now. Some people are not consumed with the punchiness of a joke, the smoothing of a transition, or the honing of a scene.
Why do you do this to yourself?
But I also knew why.
While a lazy Sunday sounds lovely, and I enjoy my fair share of them, lazy Sundays are also forgettable. They are a dime a dozen. They are enjoyed and reveled in but quickly lost to time.
The act of creation is hard. It’s making something from nothing:
Pushing against inaction, uncertainty, and mundanity to make a thing that did not formerly exist. It’s hard. It’s time-consuming. It’s demanding.
But when the lights went dark last night and I took my place onstage, ready to perform, it was well worth it.
Why do you do this to yourself?
Because you’ll always be thrilled to be doing it and happy to have done it, even if the journey can sometimes be excruciating.
Thought #2:
Chase your dream, people.
I dreamed of performing a solo show, and as soon as I knew what the show would be, I took action. I wanted to perform on a stage in a professional theater, and Hartford had two options that immediately came to mind:
Hartford Stage and TheaterWorks. Both are places where Elysha and I have seen many performances.
The Bushnell and Belding would’ve been lovely, too, but given that they seat 3,700 and 1,000 people, respectively, I thought that filling either would be impossible.
But I never in a million years thought that Hartford Stage or TheaterWorks would say yes, but I decided to start with my first two options and work my way down.
Hartford Stage passed, but TheaterWorks remarkably, unbelievably said yes, and two years ago, “You’re a Monster, Matthew Dicks” was born.
Two years later, when the idea for a new solo show coalesced in my mind, I called on TheaterWorks again, and once again, remarkably, they said, “Yes.”
Whatever your dream happens to be, don’t be afraid to dream big, push open doors, and find your place. Whether you’re growing a flower garden, learning to play the piano, writing a novel, playing pickleball, or starting a business, move fast, be daring, and don’t delay.
There is a version of me who didn’t send that email to ThearWorks four years ago. A version of me who didn’t think he was ready, worried about being rejected, and maybe even suffered from impostor syndrome.
Those versions of ourselves are not helpful. They do not serve us well. They are traitorous to our dreams.
Extinguish their versions of yourself and move forward with courage and purpose, even if the chances seem nonexistent.
Thought #3
One of my favorite parts of performing my show last night was Charlie and Clara’s presence in the audience.
My hope is that moments like last night remain in my children’s hearts and minds forever. When I do big, daring, grand things, I hope my children remember the night they watched their father perform to a sold-out audience and that it makes their dreams feel possible.
Telling your children to chase their dreams is a good thing.
Showing them how to do it is so much better.
