Category: Things that make life better (Page 2 of 10)

You’re On the List — Good work goes ahead of you

October 24, 2023 / dancallaway

Patty Thom was Chair of Voice and Opera at the Conservatory when I got hired, and she led the search committee for my job.

When I was rehearsing the NY show, I asked her to come listen to Scott and me run the program so that

☝️ I knew I could sing the stuff while nervous, and

✌️ She could tell me if any of my riskier song choices were steeped in vocal delusion.

I also knew she’d be an honest and loving presence.

When your boss has great musical acumen, seasoned teaching skill, nuanced opinions, and top-notch Boston restaurant recommendations, their point of view means a lot.

She’s been a cheerleader of mine, and so have the other leaders and colleagues in the music division. It’s been a true example of “go where you’re celebrated,” and I couldn’t recommend that advice enough.

(People can say in low yoga voice, “your happiness comes from within,” all they want, but your environment makes a difference.

Imagine putting a geranium in a shaded, dry corner of your yard and saying, “Now, sun loving, water-needing flower, grow!”)

So, Patty came and listened.

She told us stories about the time Phyllis Curtin (the original Susannah in Carlisle Floyd’s opera) called her last minute to play the score while Curtin coached at New York City Opera. ?

And when I sang something unfamiliar, she said, “Now what is that from?”

People who don’t pretend like they know things have my heart.

After the rehearsal that evening, Patty reached out with some thoughtful texts about the program which meant a lot.

She also revealed to me that when I applied for the job here, my name had already been on her radar during my LA days.

She had me on a list of recommended teachers in California.

Wha?

And I thought it was my cover letter with the Dunkin’ Donuts opener that sealed the deal.

The years when I taught in LA — before grad school, while I was learning anatomy and physiology on my own, while I was still unclear about the actual function of the soft palate —

That’s when my name was on a list in the Chair’s office at Boston Conservatory.

And looking back, while I know I helped singers get good results with their technique, I think the thing that made the most difference in LA was this —

I gave a shit.

I cared about each person that walked into the Lori Moran Studio in Mid-Wilshire or the bordello-chique piano room at Madilyn Clark Studios (if you were there for the burgundy velvet fringed window treatment, you know), and later the singing cottage on Vineland Ave.

If I didn’t have the answer, I’d call someone who might.

And then folks just wanted to say nice things.

They emailed testimonials when they booked national tours.

They told their friends, “Hey this guy who might stick his index finger into your jaw muscle and talk about magic bubbles helped me out.”

It’s crazy as I look back and see how much I didn’t know then and how I was still able to help folks sing better.

And someone told someone who told Patty Thom, “Hey, this guy’s a recommendable teacher out in LA.”

It’s rare when you get a backtrack moment like that. Most of the time, we remain clueless about the outer ripples of our actions.

This reveal from Patty made me want to tell you that kindness, respect, love, and good work — that always goes out ahead of you as a messenger.

Especially in the theatre. Folks love to talk.

And if you show up and are delightful, we’ll want to be the ones who told somebody about how great you are.

I just recommended a colleague of mine for a regional production here, and it worked out great. And I felt so smart :). I love solving problems.

So, please remember — if you’ve done good work before and were lovely in the process, folks remember. They might’ve even talked about you.

And right now, what good work can you be doing that builds something you want to share? The one person show ideas you keep batting away? Booking a studio room and having a song soiree (WITH refreshments, of course)? Getting your audition book right and tight?

And while it’s not your business nor in your control, you never know whose list you might end up on.

(You’re definitely on my thank-you list. I love getting to write to you every week.)

And in the meantime, you know what I’m going to say. There is indeed only one you. And folks need to hear the story only you can share.

Love much,

Dan

It’s Not the Louder One

October 10, 2023 / dancallaway

I could write you seven emails about the last weekend.

Scott Nicholas and I did our songs at Green Room 42 last Saturday, and it couldn’t have been more satisfying.

Every day leading up to the show, my brain said,

“YOU did this. YOU emailed the venue and set up a date. YOU picked these songs and invited all these folks.”

My brain chattered helpful survival tips every day:

“You can just cut that song.”

“Maybe you’ll get that crud Noah brought home from school and have to cancel.”

“If you don’t invite that person, you won’t have to feel disappointed if they tell you no.”

But the few moments I let myself get quiet and listen, I’d hear a voice (of the still, small variety) whisper in the middle of my torso,

“It’s going to be beautiful.”

I knew it was true.

My brain was a lot louder, and therefore much more noticeable.

Much like our brightly resonant 4-year-old when Melissa tries to relay one fact about something that happened to her on any given day after I get home.

I hear the scientists have figured out that our brain trains ?? automatically switch to the track to Negative Bias Town as their default route. Something about avoiding predators.

It’s a good thing to know because you can meet your brain with understanding when it’s so eagerly contributing to the committee meeting.

I’ve found, though, that if you can get a little bit still and check in with where you know things (for me it’s around my guts), that info is what you need to stick with.

It’ll lead you into zones where you’ll have to use your courage, and that means you’re going to feel scared.

But, that’s when I say to myself, “Self, what will Future Dan be glad you did?”

And present Dan is so grateful I went ahead and shared that show.

The collaboration was heavenly. (I’m truly lucky to work with Scott Nicholas — singing with him is like riding on a magic music cloud. He’s boss.)

And the sweetest experience was sharing it with folks in the room and loved ones online.

Folks from many years and places in my life all gathered — I’m convinced the gold of a life in theatre is the friends you get to make.

Melissa and I were reflecting on all the good people we’re blessed to know; it’s nuts, and I’m so grateful.

All this to say there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing. And your only-you-ness feels so everyday that you don’t realize how special and different it’s going to be for somebody else.

I guarantee if you let yourself do the thing that’s scary that the quiet voice peacefully and firmly tells you is the satisfying path, you’ll be surprised by who gets moved, healed, and encouraged.

Now go sing, and make a show and invite your people.

And look at these sweet pics of our boys living their best Central Park life.

Love Much,

Dan

Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Singing Advice ?

October 3, 2023 / dancallaway

Neil Degrasse Tyson said,

“The human genome is admirably complex, and it’s fair to ask whether there’s a finite number of humans it could make.

“The answer is yes, but it’s 10^30 – an incomprehensibly big number. The fact that you and I are alive is against stupendous odds.”

Every week, I say to you, “There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.”

I believe this. For you.

I often exempt myself from this axiom.

In fact, if you have the privilege to teach, the things you say most are the things you most need to learn.

Last week, I posted a short video of a terrific William Finn song, “Anytime,” that I plan to sing in the show on Saturday. I’ve always loved this song.

When I chose it, I thought of all the fancy folks who’ve sung it.

I thought of all the recordings I stopped after the first few lines because I have strong aesthetic opinions.

I thought about the time I read a role in an NYU reading, and William Finn was there and maintained an unimpressed poker face throughout. I was certain he thought I was terrible.

Welcome to my particular neuroti-scape.

Pieces of this memory menagerie all surfaced just in the selection of a song.

Even in choosing to share the song on the socials, I felt wiggle waggle.

Last Tuesday, all manner of apocalyptic visions assaulted my noggin while I tried to teach.

“Three people will be at your show.”

“The risky song you chose isn’t going to pay off.”

“The people you thought were going to be there aren’t showing up for you.”

I was having a hard time.

I shared with a couple students why their usually competent silly-noise-making teacher was forgetting to play F-sharps that day.

Anytime I make something up for myself to do: a concert, a recital, a musical, I hit a moment of —

YOU made this up. YOU did this.

And it feels like I’m in nursery school and the teacher’s holding up the picture of an ostrich I colored purple saying, “Who ever heard of a purple ostrich?”

(One day I’ll write a children’s book about a purple ostrich. Or you can!)

Thing is, I do know there’s only one me. I have evidence that when I share songs, it means things to people. I even believe I’m loved and worthy of love.

AND my brain’s negative bias (just like yours) works to keep me hidden and unexposed (read: protected).

As I wrote this to you, my brain was like, “You sure want to share THAT much?”

I mean, speaking as an over-sharer from way back, it’s an important sieve, but in this case, yes, I do want to share that much.

So that?

So that you know that all of us are managing our own cerebral chatter collectives; and a lot of times we don’t give ourselves the grace to breathe through our nose 7 times and witness our thoughts as a compassionate friend.

So, yes, Dr. deGrasse Tyson is correct; you are a mathematical miracle.

And you’re still going to have to act while you feel afraid.

Me too.

When the boys say, “Daddy, I’m scared,” I say, “I know buddy. I’m here.”

Then I say, “Remember we have to feel scared first before we can use our courage?”

Yep, fear is the prerequisite for bravery.

And to trust that the inimitable diamond of your soul that you showed up on this planet with — to trust that opening the door to that is inestimably transcendent — that feels fragile.

We have to DO something, right? PROVE something. SHOW something.

And yes, there are levels of skill we want to integrate; it’s satisfying to do excellent work.

And while we do that, I want you to think about beautiful voices you’ve heard, but you just couldn’t make yourself care.

And I want you to remember voices that were not what a snobby voice teacher might call pleasing, and you cared a lot.

It’s about the open heart and the courage to share it.

Because, yes, there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only 10-to-the-30th-power you can sing. (And you’ll often be surprised by who they are, if you ever find out.)

Love much,

Dan

PS Listen to Scott Nicholas tear up “The Dream” by Rufus Wainwright in rehearsal this week — haven’t posted or edited this yet.

PPS Speaking of building skills, did you know they’ve been building a medieval castle in France for the last 20+ years using all the materials and trades as practiced in the middle ages???? I didn’t.

My newsfeed sent me an NPR story about it. Fascinating, and I want to visit one day.

Skipping from the Train — Where did past-tense you never think you’d get?

September 26, 2023 / dancallaway

The other day I was getting off the train in Back Bay, and I felt a little guilty.

I looked around at my fellow commuters with furrowed brows, sighing deep breaths to build their courage to face the day. Spreadsheets were involved, I’m sure.

(I stare at people in the city all the time. That’s the terrific skill you can build growing up in the country where folks eyeball each other all the time.

City folk don’t have the resources — as Barbara Kingsolver described in her novel Demon Copperhead, “you have to save your juice.” —

So that leaves me, Mr. Eye Contact on Main Street free to people study. I’m also super nosy, so I can’t help it.)

But I felt that little guilt twinge disembarking the double deckah; as I walked down the platform and up the station stairs, I was like, “How’d I get so lucky that my job is listening to folks sing in a building full of recently tuned Steinways?”

If you’d told 12-year-old Dan in Mrs. Smith’s music trailer classroom that was going to be his job one day, he’d have squealed and cut a cartwheel right there.

Last Friday, I was chatting with a collaborative pianist during a classroom change.

“Good semester start?”

“Yeah, great,” she said in her terrific Polish dialect.

“I know, I said — I was thinking today how I get to work in a building full of pianos!”

She agreed. “If you’d told me as a little girl in Poland I’d be here one day, I never would have believed you.”

And I grand jetéed out of the recital hall in celebration of a week getting to do this crazy job where I sigh, yell, screlt, shout, and mimic dramatic mezzo sopranos like it’s normal all while assuming various ego identities.

It’s silly.

I also listened to an interview with Arthur Brooks and Oprah at Harvard Business School on the YouTubes. (I do recommend Brooks’s article series in The Atlantic.)

Oprah talked about how helpful it is to review all the “you never knew you were gonna’s.”

I agree.

12-year-old me never thought I’d teach at a conservatory surrounded by folks who blow my mind.

16-year-old me didn’t know sitting in the balcony of the Majestic Theatre in 1994 that in 8 years I’d be playing a role in that same show out on the road.

And confused, anxious, wounded me through a big chunk of my life didn’t know that guardian angels, true friends, and loving mentors would help me heal and integrate enough to share (very imperfectly) some of the ways that helped me — mostly through singing.

(Confusion, anxiety, and wounds are still a part of me; they’re just not all of me. They also tell me to slow down, breathe, pray for help, and allow some compassion to me and from me.)

I’d love you to review a few times in your life when that version of you had no idea that later you would get to do something terrific.

And the same is true for right-now you.

We have no idea what splendid things we’re going to grow into.

There’ll be all the usual obstacles and snares, scrapes and snot, but I believe you’ve got the tools.

Know how I know? You’re reading this now. You made it.

What’s that terrific quote? You have a 100% success rate of making it through hard days.

Well done.

And here’s to what’s ahead — something beautiful you don’t even know about yet and wouldn’t believe if future you materialized and told you about it.

May you, one day soon, have to manage guilty feelings on a commuter train as you suppress the urge to skip.

And remember — there’s only one you. Folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS This sweet child on the Instagrams trying to pet a bear cub exhibits my early dialect perfectly. I talked exactly this way (and it might be what my internal voice still sounds like :))

PPS Here’s the interview with Arthur Brooks and Oprah at Harvard Business School.

One Thing The Theatre Is Not

September 19, 2023 / dancallaway

Last week, I heard something that exploded an assumption.

(It was an interview with Seth Godin on Jen Waldman and Peter Shepherd’s podcast “The Long and the Short of It.”)

It was about the theatre industry.

Seth Godin said, “(The theatre) pretends to be an industry, often to its detriment. It is much less an industry than just about any other. And yet, the people in it keep trying to make it one, which is the first mistake.”

Hearing someone outside the theatre observe this made my brain lightly detonate, and my soul relax.

Of course it’s not an industry.

We’re all clutching the assumption that it is and somehow expecting repeatable functions and predictable outcomes.

He explained more: “The theater is so idiosyncratic, so commercially unviable, so beset by creative destruction that it’s not an industry…Star Wars is an industry. You can keep making new Star Wars shows and make a profit for a long time. Right? But a three week run of an off-Broadway play about a Buddhist retreat? That’s not an industry. That’s the theatre, for God’s sake.”

I thought about phenomena like Phantom, Wicked, and Hamilton.

But Godin’s right. Phantom didn’t guarantee the success of Love Never Dies. Wicked’s success didn’t launch a series of successful Gregory Maguire novel adaptations. And I just read a headline that Lin Manuel Miranda won’t be writing any more historical musicals.

(There is a whole discussion to be had about the Disney-verse, though.)

What gets confusing is this: the theatre has so many iterations. And many resemble predictable industry models. Therefore, these formulae get shellacked onto shows that producers decide ? have commercial promise.

But then there are all the other manifestations of our art form: non-profit houses with variable funding levels, scrappy storefront black boxes, union waiver companies, outdoor pageant situations, the story goes on and on and on and on and ooooooonnnn.

Here’s the headline, though: when you stop trying to figure out the theatre as an industry, you can relax.

Folks have been looking to commercial theatre expecting it to take a lead in cultural conscience when most of the people responsible for getting shows on a stage are stimulant-driven cortisol addicts with exhausted adrenals for whom Vegas odds are too conservative.

And then there’s the stage actor’s union who opens wider the doors for membership and calls it a move for equity when any actor can tell you what a desperate need for cash feels like.

These are the folks we’re waiting on. These are supposed to be the change makers.

Commercial theatre is going to make choices that can make money. It’s commercial.

Unions? I’m grateful for the union, and it’s given me a lot of reasons for side-eye in the last few years.

But what I want you to hear are two other major points Mr. Godin made.

One is this:

“If you want to make it in the theatre, you should learn to write. Because if you can write, you can cast yourself. And all good things start to happen once you figure out how to not only act it, but decide what gets said… that doesn’t mean you’re going to be Neil Simon or Lin Manuel, but you can figure it out. Even if you never get your thing produced, it changes your perspective.”

As someone who’s never gotten my thing produced, I have to agree. Writing makes you see theatre making anew, and it turns you, the storyteller, into a story collaborator.

So, what if you knew that the theatre isn’t really an industry?

What if you knew no one was coming to show you the franchise handbook where the shows get made and the folks always get cast?

I’d say that means you can get to work.

You can get going on sharing what you have to share, singing what you have to sing, writing what you have to write.

Because the last point Godin made about the theatre was what I resonated most deeply with:

“It’s very hard for you to change what happens on stage because that’s what they picked you to do, read the lines as written. But backstage, there’s an enormous number of things you can do. And they call it a company, but they should call it a cohort, a cadre, a tribe, a group of people.

“Who’s leading them? Who’s deciding what it’s like around here, backstage?…Even if what we do on stage is the same every night, what happens backstage is about mutual growth. You have more freedom to do that in the theatre than just about any job you can imagine.”

The relationships I’ve made backstage — that’s the gold of a life in the theatre.

The room I’m sitting in right now is thanks to knowing Lydia Rajunas on the Phantom tour 21 years ago.

Who knew when we were vibrato-ing upstage toward a rolling elephant that she’s save my nervous, home-seeking ass when I was 43 and looking for a decent spot for my family to live near Boston?

There’s no people like show people. We know this.

Join me in understanding the theatre isn’t an industry. It’s the theatre.

And let’s make more of it. There have to be many ways to gather folks in a spot and share stories and beautiful music, and why can’t you be someone who introduces one of them?

No one’s coming with the franchise manual. It’s you.

Because there is only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS Here’s the podcast episode from The Long and the Short of It if you’d like to listen.

PPS And here’s a lil snippet from rehearsal with Scott last week — the end of “Love Can’t Happen” from Grand Hotel.

Dairy Debacle ? — Cuss-inducing accidents that finally make you check off that thing

September 12, 2023 / dancallaway

You ever had a super floppy day?

That was me two Sundays ago. We were getting home from church.

I’m convinced the number one way to get your kids to be oppositional and emotionally seismic while you discover your own nuanced crevasses of asshole potential is to attempt leaving your house on time for church.

We made it. Late. And I had a severe “don’t ask” side-eye roll going on as we brought the boys to their class.

On the way home, we did a grocery pickup (thanks for making sure we got food in the house, Melissa-Lee).

I commented as we waited that picking up groceries felt like a big chore.

Parking in a designated spot while a friendly high school kid rolls out your groceries all procured and bagged and even loads them into the back of your VW — a big, overwhelming, huff-sigh chore.

And they were probably out of the frozen waffles, too. Double huff.

I’m fine. I’m fine.

We got home — “Load out boys. Time to make some lunch.”

I put my grocery hauling game face on. Grabbed a couple bags and the gallon of milk I’d put up front with me so it wouldn’t fall out of the back and smash on the garage floor like it did that one time.

Even tired dads can use that noggin sometimes.

I held the door for Jude as he bounced up the stairs with 4 of the 5 stuffed animals he’d insisted his life would be incomplete without that morning.

Then I began my ascent.

Only, the condensation-covered gallon of milk I’d balanced on top of my forearm decided it wanted its freedom, and performed a perfect dive onto the carpeted stairs.

And burst.

I stood and watched 2% low fat milk flood out of the compromised container like, “Is this real life?”

Then I exclaimed something — probably rhymed with “yuck.” I don’t remember; I’d dissociated by that point.

I heard a concerned “What’s wroooong, Daddy?” from Jude in the living room, and I snapped back into reality.

I scooped up the leaky jug, shuttled the remaining contents to the kitchen, and finally found a use for the milk pitcher sitting atop our kitchen cabinets.

A third of a gallon of perishable dairy product — exactly what you want saturating your carpet, right?

This rogue grocery item must have known about one of the many unchecked items on my summer list:

__ Clean the carpet on the entry stairs.

Someone who made design choices about our house and didn’t have children chose white carpet, and by mid-January, no matter how unshod our feet remain, it starts looking pretty shameful.

So here was my chance to break out the Bissell carpet washer we invested in when we moved in and unearth the Oxy-Clean from whatever safe place I’d stored it.

And by 3pm, the joint was smelling Oxy-fresh.

And I was fascinated by the amount of dirt that can be extracted from freshly vacuumed carpet. Whoah.

So, the dairy debacle worked in our favor.

Now we walk down our front stairs with that, “Ah, look at our fresh carpet” feeling, and it seriously wouldn’t have happened were it not for my ill-conceived grocery conveyance methods.

The lesson: Sometimes you drop the milk.

You cuss and feel angry. And then it causes you to do something you’ve been putting off for a long time, and you end up with fresh, clean carpet.

What’s a carpet cleaner equivalent in your life?

What I discovered was this: it only took 7 minutes to set up the cleaner, and then I was off, sweating and working out my frustrations on the carpet dirt. Very exciting.

We get hung up about that first step — it’s going to take sooooo loooong to get set up.

But just do one thing.

Action creates more action. And before you know it, you’re committed to something your heart’s been wanting to do, and you have to come through, and you’ll be so grateful you did.

Because you know — there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PPS Here’s a brief Joni moment from Friday, grabbed some time before teaching seminar to try some things with “A Case of You.” In A-flat like the 2000 Both Sides Now Concept Album, and using simple chord rhythms a lot like Brandi Carlile’s covers of the song — love her, duh.

PPPS Do you know about Mountain Rug Cleaning in the UK? They have over a MILLION YouTube subs!! You won’t believe how captivating it is to watch someone wash and restore seemingly unsalvageable rugs.

You Don’t Need To Believe In Yourself

August 29, 2023 / dancallaway

One time a director I respected said after an opening night, “Dan, you know what you’re doing. You just have to trust yourself.”

It meant a lot to me. And I immediately asked in my head, “Can someone please tell me how exactly one goes about trusting oneself?”

(I would go on to several years of doing just the opposite.)

When it came to career stuff, I searched and waited for this substantial self-belief I heard folks talking about.

Believe in yourself!

Look in the mirror and say in a low breathy yoga teacher voice, “I am a powerful, successful, cosmic star of stage and screen with an EGOT and nice enough abs.”

(I did have an agent one time instruct me to pull up my shirt to assess my belly, so this was a thing.)

But this feeling of invincible confidence never alighted, and I walked around thinking something must be wrong and that I might not belong in the places I wanted to sing after all.

I mean, those folks had nicer and much more smoldery headshots.

Generating all this anxiety juice was a belief I’d picked up. Maybe it was Mr. Rogers saying I was special combined with singing “One Moment in Time” in 7th grade chorus. Whatever its origin, this credo permeated everything.

Here it is:

I have to believe in myself.

This one tripped me up for years. Still does.

Where did my self belief go? I’m sure I left it right here.

So elusive.

Whoah, I must have said that out loud because here’s a news story in my Google feed about “7 Ways to Achieve Unstoppable Belief in Yourself.”

And this online course.

Oh, and YouTube heard, too.

Thanks, nosy algorithm. You always know what to serve up so that I can deceive myself that I’m making steps toward my soul’s longing through constant input, research, and notification checking.

Seriously, though, there’s that belief, right?

I need to believe in myself.

I don’t think you do.

We waste a lot of energy and brain glucose trying to conjure a Marvel hero mind-state when we could just start repeating a lyric and seeing how it lights up in our imagination.

That would be one building block of a song you’d have added to your artistic structure, and it also adds stone and mortar to something that does indeed come in handy:

CONFIDENCE

Wait. Belief? Confidence? Samesies, right?

Nope.

Confidence comes from the Latin meaning with (con) trust (fidere).

When you trust something, there’s usually a basis for that trust.

And the basis for that trust is your skill.

And in order to build your skill, you have to show up regularly and do the things that build that skill.

And in order to show up, the only thing you need to believe is that if you keep doing the things that lead to vocal freedom, expressive honesty, and creative fulfillment, you’ll sing great, open your heart, and do work that satisfies you.

None of this requires you to believe in yourself.

In fact, as soon as you stop requiring yourself to have this assurance, you can start doing the simple (not easy) work of daily noise making, story telling, and then sharing it with folks.

And anywhere you start is fine.

One action, even if it needs some prerequisites, will reveal what you need to go back and bolster, and you can take it from there.

It’s messy. It’s frustrating. And it’s worth it.

Because while I don’t think you need to believe IN yourself, the thing that’s crucial is to believe yourself.

This means noticing when your body vibrates with excitement and possibility. And when it contracts.

And actually listening to that. It’ll lead you in all kinds of unexpected directions.

I’ve noticed lately that I’ve been ignoring my body brain in favor of my noggin brain, and it’s caused a lot of futile trying and anxiety.

When I’ve tuned in and acknowledged what my body’s vibing — that I want to share more singing in more places — I don’t know how it’s all happening, but things are already flowing.

I’ll keep you posted on that.

In the meantime, please take a sec to check in with your own body. Is the path you picked feeling good in your cells? It’s not a joke. You came to the planet with a good guidance system. I invite us to use it.

Because it’s true — there is only one you and only one me. And folks need to hear the story only we can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PSHere’s a video about how I’m finding the key for “I Ain’t Gonna Let You Break My Heart Again.” I also talk about the value of gibberish and also one of the vocal pitfalls we theatre singers fall into when we sing contemp/commercial styles. (Complete with a pretty adorable Noah and Jude appearance.)

PPS I signed the contract and everything — I will be singing at The Green Room 42 with Scott Nicholas on ? on Saturday, Oct 7 at 1pm.

Tickets aren’t live yet, but they start at $20. There’ll be a live stream, too, if you can’t get your body to NYC. Just click here to add to your calendar 🙂

PPPS This short from Tim Ferris’s interview with Brené Brown is not playing. It’s a call to all of us that the armor is no longer serving us.

One Thing I’ve Never Been Able to Do — while silently envying and judging those who can

August 15, 2023 / dancallaway

When I was in the UK right after college, Tom and Joanna Gillium took me in like one of their own.

I was their 22-year-old adoptee getting thrown in the Ford Transit van with their 5 kiddos, and it was terrific.

I dropped stuffed animal bombs over the stair railing with their five year old, Tim. I played ping-pong with Hugh. Felt completely lost trying to keep up with Rosie and Ali quoting Ali G at the lunch table, and felt even more lost when their eldest, Ed, tried to teach me about football. ⚽️

They fed me lunch almost every Sunday, took me along to Kensington Gardens to walk their dog Buxton, hooked me up with a room in a beautiful house (while my rent went to charity), and got me a terrific pub job where my love of cooking took off.

They were a major influence in my life and cultivated my value for hospitality and folks getting together to eat.

One summer, they invited me to spend some days with them at their family’s house in the North York Moors.

What a stunning place. We hiked, we ate, we drink whiskey in front of the fire, and we had a terrific day by the sea in Runswick (which I mistakenly called Bruswick for many years). Most of that village got to hear my primal howl when I breached into the water — still frigid in August.

I noticed by about day three of my Yorkshire holiday I started to get twitchy.

I felt guilty about all of this rest and leisure I was enjoying. And I looked at my sweet Gillums, and I wondered how exactly were they able to rest they way they did. It looked that way to me, anyway.

But I noticed it then — I couldn’t chill the boop out.

I still haven’t earned my merit badge for hammock swinging.

Last Friday we went to hang out with the family of one of Noah’s preschool friends (what if we could love and hug each other like 5-year-old besties ps? — so sweet).

Dad Brendan’s from Massachusetts, Irish heritage, and Mom Gabi is from Brazil. There were other Brazilian friends there, and ridiculously good food.

When we arrived I was frazzled, stressed, tired, and real prickly, thinking about all the work I wasn’t getting done.

After we left, I said, “We clearly needed some Brazilian friends.”

How can you be stressed with delicious steak, a beer, and bossa nova playing?

This lesson is showing up for me. It walks in gently and invites me to rest. I usually refuse the invite.

But it’s so crucial. I’m seeing this. Maybe.

And there are glimpses recently that when I do RSVP yes, work-related blessings from surprise sources fly in the door. Funny.

This week we’ve been invited to visit our friends at a beautiful lake in New Hampshire.

I’m DETERMINED I’m going to RELAX :).

Seriously, though, pray for me, saints. I miss moments of beauty, wonder, thank-you, and wow on a regular basis because I think that person is really waiting for my email reply.

I’m not that important, and what terrific information.

Anne Lamott wrote, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes… Including you.”

I’m gonna take her advice. I’m inviting you to as well.

(And don’t do what I do here — relax with a PURPOSE — I’m gonna relax so I can….. See? I need help. Lordt.)

I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, in the next few days, where can you dedicate some moments to genuine turn-off-your-phone rest time? I’d love to hear what you cook up. I need recipes.

And do remember there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

PS I wasn’t the only one influenced by the Gillums’ value for hospitality; their daughter Ali made a whole business out of it. Check her out.

I Love Jesus, and I Cuss

August 8, 2023 / dancallaway

Some days through a string of lessons, I’ll get super passionate about meeting your childhood survival tension with understanding or setting yourself free to make crazy noises, and I’ll drop an f-bomb or 12.

It’s my favorite one — It’s got that terrific fricative at the beginning, all manner of ways to shape the vowel, and ends with the fireworks of a voiceless velar plosive.

People say it’s uncreative and base.

Maybe.

It’s like Froot Loops.

My mama wisely didn’t buy them. (She was also on the front of the whole wheat bread train; I envied Greg Varney’s white-bread-no-crust bologna sammies in 4th grade.)

But once I had more agency over what was part of my complete breakfast, I couldn’t get enough high fructose corn syrup, chemical color, and questionably sourced grain circles down my gullet.

I’ve eased off of the cereals that leave an itchy film on your hard palate, but I still partake in regular profanity.

I also pray. I mean listen. When I’m stumped, I’ll get quiet, close my eyes, and I’ll see if any info bubbles up in my guts, some guidance on what would be most helpful for you.

Sometimes I’ll tell you how I follow Jesus, but that’s normally to clarify why I believe the greatest power in the universe is born of vulnerability. Or the only explanation I got of how the blind blunders in my life have somehow turned to gold.

There’s a long list of whys because it connects to everything for me.

I used to go to this psychic in Studio City, and every time I walked in, she’d laugh and say Jesus was with me again.

I’m so grateful I never could shake him.

Ways to Feel Satisfied and Peaceful

August 1, 2023 / dancallaway

You’ve heard me talk about how New York City diner menus. They overwhelm me. I mean, who can choose between blintzes and a BLT?

(I’m remembering a woman I waited on at Artie’s Delicatessen who ordered French toast and followed it up with a slice of carrot cake. She didn’t have any problems choosing.)

I finally developed a technique of deciding the category of food I’d order BEFORE walking into the diner, and that helped.

But I’ve found that my menu overwhelm syndrome creeps up in other areas of my life.

And I’ll tell you why.

We get NYC menu-level info hurled at us every day. That is, you do if you get as attached to that little computer rectangle in your pocket with the candy-colored squares on its adorable little screen as I do.

Lately it’s been the YouTubes.

I told you last week about how I’m all about that INPUT. (Did you do your Clifton Strengths? They’re helpful, right?)

Input’s a wonderful trait for an educator. And it’s a PARALYZING flaw when you’re just trying to put one foot in front of the other toward that thing you decided was a priority.

But you get surfing on one algorithm wave, and all of a sudden you’re like,

oooooh, wait, maybe I need to break this all down in an Asana work flow. Hmmmmm. Will the free version be okay? How much money have I spent on software this year? No. Just use your paper checklist that’s been working. Did I pull those tasks from my Google Calendar? What about the bullet journal? How do these people post on Instagram so much? SHOULD we buy land and building and off-grid community with rentable yurts and compost toilets?

Then Melissa’s like, “Sweetie, you need some time? What’s up?”

And I’m all like, “Where do I even BEGIN? It’s MADNESS in here, I tell you! It all started with blintzes.

Melissa threw me a life preserver, though. ? (She may have gently aimed it at my head.)

She brought my brain back to our lived-in kitchen and toy-strewn living room and reminded me, “The summer’s gonna be over soon. Let’s enjoy this time we have together.”

Thank you, sweetie. It was so clear and simple.

I’m having a hard time appreciating the present lately. My brain flies off in the future, and the future looks like a diner menu with much higher prices.

So, these are some things I’m doing to help my brain.

Feeling wonky? How can you get back to HERE?

You’re gonna roll your eyes, but the answer almost all the time is paying attention to your breath. And it’s paying attention to your breath longer than you want to. I want to take exactly one and a half deepish inhales and feel balanced again.

Nope. It takes a little longer to travel from Agitation Station to Clarity Town.

The other thing is to notice things around you on purpose. And name them to yourself. The wall color, the birds you may hear, the loud train or smell of subway track grease. This helps. (Also key in an audition room.)

This, too, takes longer than I want it.

Siri, “Make me present, calm, and serene!”

One other thing: Phone a friend. Literally pick up that rectangle computer and call somebody. This, for some reason, is hard to do these days. Especially because we all assume something’s wrong when we get an actual phone call. So, maybe send a prelim text.

This is also especially hard for folks like me who want to solve everything inside the ole brain. One day I’ll accept this doesn’t work.

One other simplifying question that’s helped me is from James Clear’s book Atomic Habits.

It’s a question of identity.

If you want your identity to be someone who’s healthy and vibrant, you can ask yourself, “What would a healthy and vibrant person do?”

I’d drink a glass of water. I’d get out for a walk. I’d take some time to stretch.

If you ask yourself what you’d like your identity to be, you can then ask, “What would this kind of person do?” We almost always know. It’s just that the steps are often so simple, our brain’s like, “It can’t be that straightforward. Yawn. What’s on YouTube?”

That brings me to the next helpful thing: Getting where you want to go means doing simple/boring things over and over.

It’s not shiny and entertaining. It’s satisfying.

Once you stop expecting constant amusement to be a thing, you can start humming and stretching and learning that song you picked out for the cabaret you decided to put together (even though you feel scared. I always do.)

Then when you show up for the thing, those days and days of practice are in your body. That’s where confidence comes from, the skill you built.

The other one that’s helpful and very hard for me is seasons.

Right now is the time for — fill in your blank.

Right now is not the time in my life when I can do a lot of 730pm dinner meetups. I’ve got to put my boys to sleep mid-chapter of the next Chronicles of Narnia book.

Let’s review:

? Breathe for as long as it takes.

?? Notice things around you for as long as it takes.

? Connect in a real time present way with somebody you trust.

? Ask yourself, “What would a kind-of-person-I-want-to-be do?”

?? Then do it. Over and over, and look for the satisfaction not the entertainment.

? And notice what season you’re in.

Hope this was helpful for you. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, you know what I’m fixing to say: There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story only you can sing.

Love much,

Dan

Category: Things that make life better (Page 2 of 10)

You’re On the List — Good work goes ahead of you

It’s Not the Louder One

Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Singing Advice ?

Skipping from the Train — Where did past-tense you never think you’d get?

One Thing The Theatre Is Not

Dairy Debacle ? — Cuss-inducing accidents that finally make you check off that thing

You Don’t Need To Believe In Yourself

One Thing I’ve Never Been Able to Do — while silently envying and judging those who can

I Love Jesus, and I Cuss

Ways to Feel Satisfied and Peaceful

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