Years ago I was testing for a series. My first audition was terrific, if I may say so myself. Bold, unexpected, daring, unique. As the process went on, and a series of callbacks ensued, I get getting notes from various producers, writers, casting agents, about how to change the read to make it “what they’re looking for.” (The “they” in this case, was the network brass.)

When it came to the final screen test, moments before I entered the room, one of the producers quite literally changed me. He told me to take of the jacket I was wearing and wear his. It was better, he insisted. While I appreciated his wanting to help me, it turned the whole affair into an unmitigated disaster.

By the time I entered the room I had no idea what I was doing, let along wearing, and my original interpretation that had gotten everybody so excited, had totally vanished. I was doing it their way. Needless to say, that role got away very, very quickly.

I can’t say that I would have been cast had I stuck to my guns. That would be a foolish claim. But at very, very least, I could have walked out singing,

For what is a man? What has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels, and not the words of one who kneels,
The record shows, I took the blows, and did it myyyyy waaaaaay.

And yes, that matters.

As the years rolled by, I started to see the error of my strategy. (Not to mention that the years rolled by and I’d barely been north of Burbank). Operating in a state of total availability is nice in theory, but it comes at a heavy price, and ultimately does more harm than good.

The human mind and body require rest in order to perform. We have a basic physical need for down time, and a basic mental need for a change of scenery. Failure to attend to these things means burn-out, which means you’ll be playing at half-speed, or worse, just crash altogether.

There’s a sinister feeling amongst actors that we’re always at the industry’s beck and call. It can feel undignified at best, humiliating at worst. Moreover, by relinquishing too much, we lose the very elements that make us appealing in the first place, those attractive qualities of strength, courage and the desire to make our world and lives something extraordinary.

So take breaks as needed. Go away from time to time. The industry will still be around when you get back.

The latest copy of Buddhadharma arrived in my mailbox this week with the lead headline, “Finding Happiness in a World of Wants.” This would have been encouraging, had I read it correctly. But I thought it said, “Finding Wants in a World of Happiness,” which feels more like my general approach to things.

There are times when I have to stop and ask myself just what my f**king problem is. Honestly, I have no clue. My biggest practical concerns are roughly on par with which flavor ice cream to buy, and not a day goes by that somebody doesn’t disprove my well-traveled theory that I’m worthless.

Read full post here.

In a meditative vein, take a moment to pause on Thanksgiving and consider what you’re grateful for, and how you can be generous to others.

I encourage everyone to check out the wonderful work Ethan Nichtern is doing over there.

And thank you to my friend and fellow blogger Jon Rubinstein for making the introduction.

Until then, here’s a thought for the day, from Oliver Wendell Holmes:

Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out.

Listen to a sample here.