Failing Up

by Leslie Odom, Jr.

  You should be encouraged to fall on your face, to fail in service of an ideal or a strong impulse.

  * * *

  THE PATH to MOMENTS of GREATNESS in YOUR LIFE WILL BE PAVED, in PART, with YOUR SPECTACULAR FAILURES.

  * * *

  When you find yourself on the ground after a big leap, you dust yourself off and commit to failing smarter next time. The path to moments of greatness in your life will be paved, in part, with your spectacular failures. Keep going. Get shame and fear out of your periphery as soon as you possibly can and keep going.

  It is never too late to learn to risk.

  * * *

  Accessing your emotions can put you in touch with a fuel that can push you into high performance. For better or worse, anger has always been tremendous octane for me. It’s a tricky one, though—high doses can have adverse or even the opposite desired effect and siphon off energy a little at a time instead. Learning the right equation to optimize forward momentum and also learning how and when I need to take some deep meditative breaths and get on the hunt for an alternative fuel for a particular moment has been part of my life’s journey. But it was anger that pushed me to the point of my first major breakthrough.

  I was in my midtwenties when I got the chance to work with a hero of mine, Mr. Billy Porter. Billy is a maker of things beautiful in the highest order. In his storied and impressive professional career as an entertainer, he’s been a director, a singer, a curator, an actor, a dancer, a writer. Though if you were to ask me, or any of Billy’s students, his work as a teacher and mentor would rival his achievements in any one of these areas. Billy is known as a Tony and Grammy award–winning star around the world, and I’ve learned a great many lessons at his feet. Chief among them was the time he pissed me off so bad I was forced to fly.

  We were in Philadelphia with a new theater piece Billy had written and was directing. The central character was one he’d initially conceived for himself but after some consideration he called to offer it to me in his stead. I am still humbled by the thought. Billy created an opportunity and an avenue for me at a time when not many were doing it for him. A decade later, Lin-Manuel would do a similar thing for an entire cast of underused and barely used talents in Hamilton. I think it’s just about the holiest thing you can do in this business—leading another artist to the well of good gifts within them. I hope there’s a special place in heaven for people who make this a part of their life’s work.

  Being Alive, Billy’s show, was an evening of songs, curated and rearranged from the works of Stephen Sondheim, using a small cast made up entirely of African-American performers. We had premiered in Westport, Connecticut, just a couple of months earlier. Philadelphia was the next stop in trying to iron out flaws in the ninety-minute evening.

  Being Alive had potential, but ultimately we never got it quite right. Along the way, though, a disagreement about the treatment of a particular moment in the show presented my first real runway for failure. I did not meet the opportunity with gusto.

  There was a moment deep into act two where Billy had written what I deemed a classic Billy Porter moment. The writing and arrangement of the tune pointed to big singing at the ending. There were vocal ad-libs over an ensemble of singers. The moment called for passion, fervor, fire. On an emotional scale, ranging from one to ten (ten being lifting the roof off the theater), Billy was looking for a ten.

  The probem was—I was never comfortable at ten. It was dangerous and unpredictable out on that limb. I preferred making calculated, intellectual choices throughout an evening and arriving at a predetermined emotional ending in the cleanest and safest way possible. Using my intellect along the way would ensure that no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was doing up there; it allowed me to maintain my sense of control.

  Billy, keying in on my resistance, starts to ask me to relinquish my tight grip of control over the moment. My thought is… Nah. This is a sure thing. What you’re asking me to do is not. What you’re asking me to do is risky.

  I’ve worked to increase the size and power of my voice for years. It’s gotten better, but it is what it is. Had Billy stayed in the role, I had no doubt that he would’ve played the moment perfectly. Billy would’ve torn the roof off and the house down. That’s what Billy did. That’s not what I did.

  In a notes session after an early performance, Billy says, “Leslie, I see you making the choice to downplay that moment in act two. I’d love to see you try something else tomorrow night.”

  Nah, I think.

  The next night: “Hey, Leslie, I would still really love to see you take the stage and your space in that moment. It’s staged and written to support you. Just give it a try tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, I’ll see if I can make it happen,” I say. Though I have no intention of making it happen.

  From my fearful perspective, what I was doing worked and there was never any way I was going to deliver the moment Billy was asking me for, in the way that he wanted. I didn’t have what that would take. And if I could avoid facing the inevitable failure, I was more than happy to.

  Billy comes to my dressing room after the next performance to talk through a few things. Eventually, we get to that moment again.

  “I love everything you’re doing, but I see and feel you resisting my direction here. What is that about?” he asks in earnest.

  “I’m not you, Billy,” I blurt out. “I’ll never be you. I know what you’re asking me to do, and I cannot deliver on that moment the way you would.”

  Billy looked like his heart broke for a moment. His eyes softened and he grabbed me by my shoulders. “I would never ask you to do it like me. I don’t want you to be me,” he said in the kindest tone he could muster. “I want you to find your sixth gear. I know it’s in there and I feel you resisting. I don’t know why and I am not sure how to help you. You have got to trust me. You have to let me see it, whatever it is, and if it doesn’t work, we will try something else.”

  I heard him in the deepest and truest part of myself. I knew he was right. It was only fear that was stopping me from taking the leap at this point. He was building me up the way great coaches do but my insecurity was too close to the surface to admit it in that moment. I couldn’t let it go right then.

  Later that night, I downloaded with a castmate about the session Billy and I’d had. I was angry at Billy for making this a sticking point. I was angry that he couldn’t let it go. I was angry that he’d made it about trust (because that is exactly what it was about). Billy had called me on the carpet and there was no way around it this time.

  In my anger, I surrendered. I told my castmate, “I’m going to do it tomorrow. I’m going to go so far in the direction that he wants that it’s never a conversation again.” I didn’t know why my teacher wanted me to look like a fool in front of a theater full of strangers, but I committed to it anyway. I committed to failing.

  What Billy was asking of me could quite possibly tank my performance and the ending of the show along with it, but if that was what he was willing to risk, so be it. I was full of fuel and ready to fail spectacularly, if only to show my mentor how wrong he was.

  * * *

  I WAS FULL of FUEL and READY to FAIL SPECTACULARLY, IF ONLY to SHOW MY MENTOR HOW WRONG HE WAS.

  * * *

  The next evening, as the moment approached, I was furious. I was sick of the conversation. I was ready to show Billy once and for all that I knew my own limitations and that it was he who lacked trust in me. I sailed past ten on the emotional scale and went for the eleven. I screamed. I flailed. I jumped. I ran. I cried. I let go. I flew. I soared. It shook me.

  I had never felt so free in my work in my whole life. I knew nothing of this type of abandonment. It was a little frightening. And it was exhilarating.

  My teacher was right, right, right, right, and I am so grateful he didn’t give up on me. To this day, I tell him often and without reservation. The ceiling I’d built for myself was broken that night, and the only reaso
n I ever look back is to say thank God. In my willingness to fail, I flew instead.

  * * *

  Years later, LA presented an opportunity to fail spectacularly as well. But this time anger wasn’t the fuel. Curiosity was.

  I’d grown so tired of the rut and niche I’d carved out for myself. I was tired of the uninspired work I was producing. I wasn’t challenging myself and I was so bored.

  Then I got a call to come in and read for the lead role in a new Wayans brothers movie. The Wayans have a history of making satire and parody as good as anyone in the business.

  My first thought was—I’m funny sometimes, but I don’t know if I’m Wayans brothers funny.

  I took the audition anyway.

  I spent the next day working on the material, trying to come up with “bits.” A funny walk, maybe? A funny talk? It was all pretty lame. I put the material down for a bit to clear my head. Unexpected inspiration and clarity hit me like lightning. I picked up the material again to be sure that what I was inspired to do would work.

  The comedy made sense to me for the first time. I fought genuine laughter as I continued to try to learn my dialogue. I wrote notes to myself all over the script; cues that would keep me on track and remind me to honor my instincts and follow-through—even when old habits and fear crept in and tempted me to a safer place.

  DON’T BE FUNNY. YOU ARE NOT FUNNY. DO NOT MAKE THEM LAUGH. THIS IS A DRAMA. PLAY IT LIKE BRANDO WOULD PLAY IT.

  Simple enough. This was my bright idea. As I saw it, the characters were in a world that they took literally and completely seriously. My guy had no idea he was in a Wayans brothers satire. My guy was living his life with a documentary camera crew following him. Simple enough and scary enough.

  I drew a line in the sand for myself. This would be my first professional risk. Failure wasn’t going to be a by-product of the goal. Failure was the goal. If I went in and they didn’t laugh once, if they called my agent after I left the room and said, “He was seriously the worst actor we’ve seen today. Not only is he not getting this job, do not send that actor in here again”—it was only a win if it went as far as that. That’s how not funny I had to be. I was prepared to defend my work and be dropped by my representation if it came to that.

  Young actors are taught to feel utterly disposable. You’re always fearful that you’ll be abandoned if you displease.

  But this was it. If I was to make myself proud and pull myself out of the inertia and boredom that had begun to sap my energy, this was the stand I had to make. If any of the worst-case scenario outcomes came to pass, I’d have my freedom in their place. What’s a risk if there aren’t any consequences?

  The audition room didn’t laugh when I started. They didn’t laugh as the scene progressed. They asked me to read one of the scenes again. I was more serious the second time through. The sillier the moment, the more I sank into the drama. The more I sank into the drama, the more they leaned in. I caught a smile from Marlon out of the corner of my eye, a small laugh from Shawn. The tension in the room dissipated. They worked with me for fifteen minutes or so. They were kind and generous, it was way more fun than I had anticipated, and then it was over.

  In the parking lot, I got a call that I would be testing for my first film on the Paramount lot in a week. They thought I’d potentially been Wayans brothers funny. The Universe is speaking to us all the time.

  * * *

  It was the biggest professional risk I’d taken up until that moment, and none of the worst-case scenarios came to pass. In fact, it was just the opposite, and more important than any of that was the fact that I’d taken enough ownership over my own path to give myself the permission to fail spectacularly.

  In the end, I lost the role to the other actor who tested named Damon Wayans, Jr., a nephew in the family lineage. All good. Damon is damn funny and has never rested on laurels. He works hard and has made a ton happen for himself over the years. I am a fan.

  But when it was all said and done, mine was the only evaluation that mattered. I administered the test. I’d be the only one who would know if I passed or if I failed with flying colors.

  I hope you’ll give yourself permission to do the same as soon as possible.

  Deeper creative freedom waits for you on the other side of your fear.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE TURNAROUND

  Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.

  —JAMES BALDWIN

  I’ve never placed a lot of credence in astrology, but when I was first told about the phenomenon known as the Saturn Return, I had trouble shaking the warning I was given. A friend who had been through a challenging time at about twenty-nine years old said that the orbiting of Saturn around the sun and its return to where it was at the time of his birth had brought on major changes and thrown everything about his life into question. It was a time of change and big choices, he said, about what we really want to make of our lives for the next thirty years.

  He got my attention. The truth is that change was already in the wind, and I knew the time had come to either dream a bigger dream or get busy creating a new reality.

  Not all the changes that had taken place had to do with conscious decisions on my part. One of them—meeting Nicolette Kloe Robinson when I was twenty-seven years old—happened by a grander design than my own.

  My mentor Billy Porter was coming to LA to direct a short run of Once on This Island, a magical love story, for a small but reputable theater company in town.

  “What are you doing?” Billy screamed at me over the phone. I knew the tone and tenor of the man well by then.

  “What should I be doing?”

  Billy was always looking to share opportunities, so whenever he had a project on the burner, he’d look for ways to include me. If something was on my calendar, I’d make it disappear.

  “I’m coming to town to direct Island. I need you to assist me.”

  “When do we start?”

  There were two weeks of preproduction. I got Billy coffee, I took notes for him, I made demos of the new musical arrangements he’d created. Being around Billy was always worthwhile, always a good hang. He taught and led by example, and I could count on him to push me creatively 100 percent of the time.

  When auditions began, my role shifted to that of a reader. That meant I became the scene partner for every actor who auditioned. You can learn a lot sitting on the other side of the table all day in an audition room.

  On our second day of seeing people, a young woman reading for the role of Ti Moune, the central character in the musical, caught everyone’s attention. Lithe and lit up from the inside, a then-nineteen-year-old Nicolette Kloe Robinson walked into the room and anyone with a pulse took notice.

  She was in her junior year at UCLA in their theater department, and I thought she was a major discovery. Nicolette’s pure heart rests right on her sleeve. You only have to know her for a few seconds before you find yourself caring about what happens to her. That quality felt like an essential characteristic for our central character if you asked me, but I wasn’t in charge.

  Nic didn’t get the role, but I distinctly recall thinking, The business is so small, I am sure to run into that girl again.

  * * *

  THE BUSINESS is SO SMALL, I AM SURE to RUN into THAT GIRL AGAIN.

  * * *

  A few weeks later, we were almost done with rehearsals and were just about to move from the rehearsal room into the theater when a cast member’s husband’s health took a turn for the worse. She had to drop out and tend to her family immediately. There were something like three days left before the production had to be ready to be in front of paying customers. Billy had to think fast.

  He shifted some things internally and brought the talented UCLA student in to play a different role from the one she had auditioned for. Since I was Billy’s assistant on the project, it fell to me to make sure Nicolette was up to speed and comfortable.

  Easiest job I
’ve ever had. Nicolette was so gifted and learned at lightning speed. Her disposition was breezy—Los Angeles sunny—and the space around her was calm and focused. There was nothing not to love.

  Nic and I would meet during backstage traffic patterns and slow dance before our next cue. I’d wait in the wings for her to finish her big moment in act two just to bear witness to her growth from show to show and marvel at her sparkle in the light. A peck on the cheek had become a kiss on the lips by the closing weekend of Island.

  A week after parting at the theater, we made plans to hang out and … we haven’t stopped since. She is the best friend I’ve ever had and the kindest and most generous person I’ve ever known.

  A pro tip on love, if you’ll allow me: when choosing a partner, choose someone better than you. You’ll feel lucky to be building alongside someone you respect, and it’ll keep you striving to be the best version of yourself always.

  You may not have met that person yet, but they’re out there. Love is a risk like any other. Have faith. Let go of the past narrative of near misses, and err on the side of you never know.

  * * *

  My longest and most meaningful relationship: another gift for which I have Billy Porter to thank. His hand wasn’t directly responsible for bringing us together, but he set the stage. These are people you keep close.

  Over the years I’ve made it a habit to grab and hold on to mentors. Ever since Mrs. Turner, I’ve always found them easy to identify.

  Preferably, you want them in close proximity. Face time with your mentor will be important in your development. You need someone who is willing enough to share with you. The best mentors will open and read from the private pages of their lives so that you may learn from their mistakes. Sure, you can glean valuable info from their success, but their failures (if they’re generous enough to share them) can save you years of heartache and help you make informed decisions when you find yourself at a crossroads—in my experience.