“There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes he’ll never play in the Major Leagues.” - Josh Lyman, The West Wing
While this quote directly references the athletic dreams of the average sports fan, it applies to any life pursuit. This day does, in fact, come to all of us. Over the years I have taken great pleasure in the fact that, while the high school athletes who made fun of me in my teenaged years saw it within a decade of graduation, for those of us in the arts that gold ring continues to come into view well into mid-life. Every day we see encouraging stories of actors who didn’t see success until their forties, fifties, or later. The inference is that there is hope for all of us.
I must have been around twelve years old when I discovered “Man of La Mancha.” I had gotten an LP of the full show - dialogue included - from the library, and I recorded it on cassette tape (because that’s what we did then) and listened until I knew every line, nuance and inflection. I fell in love with the romance of the story of Don Quixote - the nobility of striving against the odds and even beyond all hope. I was already developing an out-sized voice, and our nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away, so no one would be bothered as I belted out the songs as I moved sprinklers around the pasture twice a day. And every day I sang them at the top of my considerable lungs - “I am I, Don Quixote,” “Dulcinea,” and of course, “The Impossible Dream.”
As a young actor the role of Cervantes/Quixote was always at the top of my wish list. I felt drawn to the role as well as the story. I felt inspired to follow my dream regardless of those who told me I shouldn’t, that it was unrealistic, or that I didn’t have what it takes. Life happens, but always in the back of my mind was the draw of the Impossible Dream. I’ve described my life choices - living on a low-paying job while making a small percentage of my income onstage - as “quixotic.” I have taken pride in my artistic struggle even while selflessly forgoing artistic projects in order to do my day job.
As a young actor the role of Cervantes/Quixote was always at the top of my wish list. I felt drawn to the role as well as the story. I felt inspired to follow my dream regardless of those who told me I shouldn’t, that it was unrealistic, or that I didn’t have what it takes. Life happens, but always in the back of my mind was the draw of the Impossible Dream. I’ve described my life choices - living on a low-paying job while making a small percentage of my income onstage - as “quixotic.” I have taken pride in my artistic struggle even while selflessly forgoing artistic projects in order to do my day job.
I am now in the fourth week of my third run performing in “Man of La Mancha.” I am not playing Don Quixote, nor at this point will I ever. Instead I have again taken the role of the Padre, a role that I have grown to love. As with many of my favorite roles, the Padre is a touchstone for the audience. He is concerned about his friend Alonso’s slide into madness, but at the same time is charmed by the simple nobility of heart that we see in Don Quixote. And the beautiful song “To Each His Dulcinea” is a reminder to everyone that these ideals live in all of us. (The fact that “The Impossible Dream” begins approximately 90 seconds later and erases all memory of the Padre’s song makes it easy to miss that message.)
There is, however, another message in the song. As Quixote continues his vigil and Aldonza fades into the night, the Padre warns, “But if you build your life on dreams, it’s prudent to recall, a man with moonlight in his hands holds nothing there at all.”
And so, after forty-five years of using the messages of this show as a template for my life, I come to realize a tragic flaw.
By dedicating oneself to an Impossible Dream, you make the mistake of labelling your dreams as impossible.
And so, after forty-five years of using the messages of this show as a template for my life, I come to realize a tragic flaw.
By dedicating oneself to an Impossible Dream, you make the mistake of labelling your dreams as impossible.
I look back now and wonder. Have I been so enamored of chasing a dream that I missed the chance to live it? Have I sabotaged opportunities so that I can continue the Quest? Did I at some point decide that I preferred being a quixotic figure - to the detriment of becoming more? That gaining sympathy for my struggle was an easier path to the attention I craved than was actually struggling for success? It’s a sobering line of thought. It speaks to who I am, and how that has brought me to this place in my life. Taking care not to wander down the easy spiral of regret, I look at where I am. Realizing that I am nearer to retirement than to my daughter’s high school graduation, and in a career path that will make that possible. I can choose what that means. |
There are roles - onstage and off - for which I have missed the window. I will not play Don Quixote or Che or any number of leading men. I could see that as missing out. But there is still a career ahead. There are roles - onstage and off - that still await with promise and possibility.
The dream is not impossible. There is plenty of life left.