* * *
Focus has sharpened with some time and distance between me and the comet.
There should probably be a twelve-step program.
Hamilton the Broadway musical was a hard habit to kick.
It took me about a year to sober up completely after the trip.
I walked around in a stupor for awhile. Here, but not here.
In time, I felt ready to commit to starting something new.
In time, I felt I could do so without feeling the need to compare and measure new projects against the phenomenon.
In time, I was able to be on my new ish. And it felt right.
* * *
BUT EVENTUALLY, IT was TIME to HITCH MY WAGON to MY OWN STAR.
* * *
The Hamilton logo is fitting. Hitching my wagon to that glorious star paid off beyond anything I could’ve dreamed. But eventually, it was time to hitch my wagon to my own star. As circumstance and situations from the past had shown me the importance of giving myself the permission to fail, this time around it would be about giving myself the permission to succeed.
In the days and months after the show, I put most of my energy toward creative independence.
I knew that music was the thing I could do if and when the phone ever stopped ringing. I used whatever goodwill I’d garnered from my time onstage—whatever “chip” the success of the show had given me—to get a band of brilliant musicians together and get to work.
A week after my final performance, the fellas and I began a three-week residency at a club downtown. There are six of us, including me. Five pieces and a vocalist. In a week, I’d gone from thirteen hundred screaming and devoted fans at the Rodgers as part of the Hamilton ensemble to one hundred and twenty-five very, very polite people in a tiny room in downtown NYC, as a “solo artist.”
Even so, I loved the intimacy of connecting with a much smaller audience. I loved the creative control and the freedom of expression.
With new dreams of the Kennedy Center, and Carnegie Hall, Madison Square Garden, and the Hollywood Bowl, we filled the calendar with dates around the country. We practiced. We recorded two LPs and saw them both reach number one on the Billboard jazz charts. Failures along the way have been a teacher and pushed us forward and we toast the hard-won incremental successes whenever they grace us. We were, and are, most certainly on our way.
Burr’s credo was to wait—for the moment, the opened door, the invitation. In Hamilton, Burr spends years waiting for a chair to be offered at the table in the “room where it happens.”
Patience and timing will play a part in your ultimate success for sure. But I found the happiness and the consistency I wanted for so long at the exact moment I decided to build my own table and my own chairs.
No one has to give you permission to be entrepreneurial in creating opportunities for yourself. You don’t have to wait to cast yourself in the starring role in your narrative and then take action on your own behalf. With vision and leadership, you’ll attract a team of empowered supporters and advisors. Their success will be inspired by yours.
Giving yourself permission to prosper will also challenge you to know your worth—especially when negotiating on your own behalf and asking for what is fair. This doesn’t mean you have to become overly money driven or attach numerical values to your dreams. What it does mean is that as you prepare to enter or elevate yourself in your chosen field, the more financially literate you become, the better you’ll be able to pave the way for your own prosperity.
Permission to prosper also asks you to define what success looks like to you. It looks different to each of us. The more clearly defined, the easier it will be to recognize when it shows up.
* * *
I’ve seen an expansion in my dream life. Who I dream of and who I dream for expanded the day Nicolette and I welcomed our Lucille in the early spring of 2017.
Lucille Ruby was born in Santa Monica, California, in the small hours of April 23.
Nicolette labored quickly, with tremendous courage and a determination hadn’t before seen in my small-framed, sweet wife. Even the nurses were impressed! Nicolette was extraordinary, as was the tiny light we welcomed to the world that Sunday morning.
We named her Lucille after her maternal great-grandmother—a woman who wisely fled Vienna, Austria, to America in advance of the most unspeakable horrors of WWII.
Early in our relationship, while working in Europe, Nicolette and I made a trip to visit “Litzi’s” childhood home. Lucille Baum was a woman with an irrepressible spirit, kind eyes, and a will as strong as steel.
* * *
I DREAM for LUCILLE JUST as MY FATHER DREAMED for ME.
* * *
Ruby is also a family name. It belonged to my mother’s great-aunt. In old family pictures she’s a woman with great style and a killer smile. But Nic and I figured there could be no harm in connecting our little light to iconoclastic Rubys like Bridges and Dee—even if solely in name.
Your name speaks before you do.
In a way, it’s your first compass upon arrival. It says something to you and to the world about the dream your parents cast on your behalf, and the wish they made for you at the start.
I dream for Lucille just as my father dreamed for me.
I was around twelve years old when my father gave me the nickname Sammy in tribute of another Junior, Sammy Davis.
A nickname was Dad’s subtle way of telling me he believed in me.
Dad’s present to me on the night of my Broadway debut in Rent was a teddy bear wearing a customized sash that read, “Good luck, Sammy! Break a leg.”
Through the course of writing this book, I’ve gained new insight into Dad’s strengths as a parent and gotten more clarity about where he might’ve fallen short.
Mom taught me to love by loving me unconditionally. And early on, long before I was aware of it, Dad had cast a vision for me, his namesake, that was limitless. He handed down the affectionate nickname of a legend and a triple threat who, in the course of his life and unparalleled career in entertainment, removed all labels and gave himself permission to write his own story and his own ticket.
The nickname was Dad sending a message to me that he thought, maybe I could do the same. He didn’t harp on it. He let me fill in the blanks.
There is something powerful about what a parent dreams for their child. It doesn’t always end up as the parent intends, but the dream itself—the vision you hold for your kid until they can hold it for themselves—is so important.
I know that Lucille’s experience in the world is not mine. Where she’ll go and what she’ll see will probably have little resemblance to where I’ve been and what I’ve seen. Even so, I am actively dreaming a dream for her, holding a vision and a space for the kind of a woman I hope she grows up to be. Her mother dreams alongside me. We grow the dream with each passing day. We dream in size and in Technicolor of the influence Lucille and the young women of her generation will wield in this world. They will leave their mark. The world will make room for them. And when they don’t, our girls will unite and continue to make room for themselves.
I am in no rush, but the day will surely come when we will hand over the dreams and visions we’ve fostered for our sweet Lucille. Eventually we will hand them over to the young woman herself. This too will be part of her inheritance.
She will edit, reshape, and reimagine the dream as her Taurus heart demands. Our job is only to make them wild enough and large enough that she may spend her hours and her years in joyful pursuit.
Who are you dreaming for today?
* * *
WHO ARE YOU DREAMING for TODAY?
* * *
* * *
When you allow yourself to visualize your own possibilities, it is amazing how clearly and how fully they can be manifested.
A decisive change on the inside of you will eventually undoubtedly change the world around you.
I wish I could’ve shown the guy on the couch six or seven yea
rs ago what his life was going to look like the second he got off that couch and into action. Every single day, I can strive for more clarity and specificity of my vision. And every single day I can take a single step toward seeing that vision manifest.
There has been a steady wind at my back since being off the couch. When I prayed for guidance or asked for it from friends, I have been aided and encouraged. Whenever I’ve taken my one step, the Universe has always helped me take two.
I believe the same will be true for you.
I am rooting for you and your rise!
Give yourself the permission to prosper today.
Relax your shoulders. Begin.
EPILOGUE
SERIOUSLY
I will not allow one prejudiced person or one million or one hundred million to blight my life.… My inner life is mine, and I shall defend and maintain its integrity against all the powers of hell.
—JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
In the years since the night I stood onstage at the Richard Rodgers and wondered how—in the time that’s passed since the walk home, on which I conceived of our conversation—what has continued to elude me has been balance.
I get a handle on it, and two months later I am facing something or someone that I’ve been neglecting, and I have to do my best to get a handle on it once more. I’ve been intentional in those times and successfully pulled through.
But relationships fray with the jostling.
They are delicate things.
Families fracture.
Home is the one place I do not want to face the effects of failure.
So we search for the solutions. We fold in the ones we like best. And we press on.
* * *
Almost home now.
I am desperate to finish my tiny book. I promised to write it. I said I would get it done in the time they allotted. It’s not a big book but the commitment and investment has been total.
I want to put the final punctuation mark and my pencil down as fast as I can but I feel as if there is one more thing I need to say. It has yet to be said in these pages and it is the necessary counterweight to inspirational speak about achievement and possibility. In the service of balance:
A commitment to “failing up” does not trump systemic and institutional racism.
When looking at the tasks we have before us as citizens we must handle our most troubling societal ills with the seriousness they deserve. The more serious the sickness, the less likely you are to find the cure over the counter.
A commitment to risk or to “failure in the spectacular” is not an override key for sexism or homophobia or transphobia.
Only our commitment to citizenship can do that. And compassion. A collective commitment to compassion could do it.
Six years ago, my mentor challenged me not to quit on myself and fail through inaction—but to try. Facing threats to the future of our democracy, we can’t afford to fail through inaction. We have to try.
* * *
In the fall of ‘17, I arrived in Charlottesville, Virginia, to perform at the University of Virginia’s bicentennial celebration. It had been mere weeks since UVA was chosen as the site for a racist white nationalist rally. Images and video from the hate-filled, violent, tiki-torch march were everywhere—and a town and a university’s reputation had been blighted collaterally. Twenty-two thousand alumni and longtime supporters were also scheduled to descend onto the campus in celebration.
There was no ignoring it once we arrived.
In a Q&A session with theater and other fine arts majors, a student raised her hand to jumpstart the afternoon. The first question of the day was, “In light of recent events here, Lil Yachty canceled a planned Charlottesville visit and concert. Future canceled his visit and his show. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you cancel?”
The first question. What are you doing here?
“Well, I can leave if you want me to,” I told her, “but I hope you’ll let me stay for a bit.”
She laughed. We all did.
But I knew what she was getting at.
I went on to tell her that there was no place I would rather be. “I wish I could’ve been here during the rally, too, to be honest.”
Because we have been told for years that this type of hatred, this particular brand of divisiveness, this kind of sickness was a thing of the past in America—though we could feel otherwise. You want to believe it. You would be a fool to believe it.
The images coming out of Charlottesville told a different story.
Exit polls at the ballot box tell a very different story.
Woefully, it is the same old story, actually.
To stare down the rotting-flesh walking-dead Jim Crow zombies of yore—and even the undead lurching worm-fed corpses of Nazi Germany—with clear eyes, is to be woke in post-post-racial America.
“I wanted to see it all for myself,” I told her.
So I wouldn’t forget anything.
“And I wanted to see if I could help.”
All true.
“Is that cool with you?” I asked.
“It is.” She laughed and took her seat.
* * *
I’ve truly never seen a community work so hard at meticulously and deliberately defining themselves, for themselves as I did at the two hundredth anniversary celebration for the University of Virginia.
With a unified voice, they took great care to say to the perpetuators of hatred, “You do not get to define us. That is not who we are.”
And you know what, I believed ’em.
It’s a reckoning once again for America. A Saturn Return.
What are we going to shout in our loud and unified voice?
Transition is an opportunity.
Let’s take the opportunity.
Seriously.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Nothing about writing this book has been easy. When I was asked to write it, I imagined I would retreat to some cabin in the woods and return to civilization after a few months clutching my tome—black Moses.
I never made it to the cabin. This book was written in motion. I wrote on planes, while waiting for planes, and in cars to and from airports. I wrote in dressing rooms, hotel rooms, and hotel lobbies. Thought by thought, word by word—by any means necessary we made it to the finish line.
What urged me onward, past the self-doubt and the exhaustion, and into the energy reserve and private stock of perseverance stashed inside each one of us, was the thought, If the book can help one person it will have been worth it.
I held a vision of you. The single reader was my guiding force. You were inspiring me long before we met. Thank you!
Do me a favor, say this name out loud wherever you are: Mim (rhymes with Kim) Eichler (Ike-ler) Rivas (Reeve-us).
Dear Mim, it is my favorite prayer—saying someone’s name when they come to mind.
I imagine there is a record somewhere up there or out there. It has been recorded—the number of times our name has oozed out or dribbled out or absentmindedly fallen out or shot out of people’s lips when we come to mind.
When our friends and loved ones say our names, when total strangers do, when our enemies curse us, the feeling in their bodies affect the buoyancy, the temperature, the coloring of the prayers. It determines how far the prayers will go and how fast they get there.
My hope is that our new reader friends tip the balances for you, in multiples of hundreds (and then thousands and then hundreds of thousands!!) for years and years to come.
Thank you for your mentorship and guidance. You picked up where Mrs. Turner left off. You reacquainted me with my true voice. There is no greater gift. I will never forget it.
Kat Brzozowski, Failing Up has benefited from your impeccable taste and sharp eye in untold ways. Thank you for all your hard work and for your support when I needed it most. I am so grateful.
Jean Feiwel! Thank you for this opportunity and this platform to express ideas that mean so much to me. Thank you for your trust and for y
our generosity.
To the Feiwel friends, Mary Van Akin, Melissa Zar, Molly Ellis, Alexei Esikoff, Kim Waymer, Patrick Collins, Gene Vosough, Raphael Geroni, thank you for adding your polish and professionalism to Failing Up! We made something we believe in. Thank you for helping us take it to the world!
Mollie Glick, Kevin Lin, and my team at CAA, I am represented by absolute stars. Thank you for encouraging and supporting all the many ways I desire to be creative. You are all so thorough and deft in your work. I am not sure how you do it. Thank you for connecting the dots between me and Feiwel and Friends. It was Match.com-level perfection. You are amazing.
For my teachers, some mentioned in these pages and some not: My sweet Nicolette. No one has taught me more than you, my angel. Thank you for dreaming the dream with me. My parents, my baby sis, my grandmother and grandfather, Mrs. Turner, Stuart K Robinson, the Robinson family, Billy Porter, Wren Brown, Miss Maureen, my brother Joseph Abate, and my young Lucille—add the story of my life to the evidence of the mark you’ve made in your time on this planet. Thank you for all you’ve given. I endeavor every single day to do you proud.
To the single reader, I hope you have found something helpful among these pages. The truth is, I hope you have found many things. I hope you will tell me about it the next time we see one another out in the world.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leslie Odom, Jr. has most recently been seen in the blockbuster Broadway musical Hamilton, for which he won the Tony Award for Best Leading Actor in a Musical for the role of “Aaron Burr.” He is a Grammy Award winner as a principal soloist on Hamilton’s Original Broadway Cast Recording, which won the 2015 award for Best Musical Theater Album. Odom, Jr. originated the role of “Burr” in a sold-out run at The Public Theater in 2015, earning a Drama Desk Award nomination for Outstanding Featured Actor in a Musical and a Lucille Lortel Award nomination for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Musical. As a recording artist, his self-titled debut album was part-funded by a successful Kickstarter campaign which raised $40,971. The album was released in 2014 by Borderlight Entertainment, Inc. Odom, Jr. has appeared on “Smash,” “Law & Order: SVU,” “Gotham,” “Person of Interest,” “Grey’s Anatomy,” “House of Lies,” “Vanished” and “CSI: Miami.” He is starring in the upcoming feature film Murder on the Orient Express. You can sign up for email updates here.
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