I like to talk a lot about doing the impossible. You might say I’m obsessed with it. From magic tricks that appear to be impossible, to overcoming barriers that seem to be - the subject just speaks to me.

In today’s blog article, I wanted to share an excerpt from my book You Can Do the Impossible, Too! where I do something that others thought might not be possible for me to accomplish.

My hope, by sharing this, is that you might see yourself in this story. And if you don’t see yourself exactly, maybe the story will speak to that part of your soul that needs to hear it - because I firmly believe that you can do the things that feel impossible in your life, too.

-J.

Excerpt from Chapter Two of You Can Do the Impossible, Too!

One day I was sitting in class looking over some short scenes on a piece of photocopied paper when my teacher announced that in several days she was holding auditions for the Junior/Senior play.

I had never auditioned for a play. Heck, I had barely even spent any time on a stage. But the Junior/Senior play sounded like fun. So, I decided to audition.

Let’s stop and think about that for a second. Here I was, a sixteen-year-old guy with a neurological disorder that manifested itself with uncontrollable movements and vocal tics, deciding to audition for a play that most of the school would come to see.

This was definitely a bad idea. After all, if I didn’t make a fool of myself during auditions and somehow managed to get a part in the play, I would be expected to say the right lines at the right times during the play itself. And that was a big “if.”

Getting a part in the Junior/Senior play was impossible for a guy like me. It sounded fun, but in reality, it was a terrible idea. It was fun to dream about what it might be like performing a great show in front of an adoring audience, but that wasn’t my reality.

My reality was that I was destined to twitch and tic in strange, embarrassing ways my entire life. The smart thing for me to do was to realize that certain things in my life just weren’t possible, and that I should go on living my life in ways that would keep all the attention off me.

On reflection, I don’t remember thinking about auditioning for the play like that at all. My teacher made the announcement, it sounded like fun, and I wanted to give it a try. After all, what would my life be like if I became one of the “famous” kids at my school?

The fact that I had Tourette’s Syndrome and that, maybe, drawing attention to myself wasn’t such a good idea, didn’t enter my mind at all.

When the first day of auditions came to an end, we were told that the following morning on the theatre’s bulletin board, right outside of the front door of the theatre, a callback sheet would be posted. A callback is what happens when an actor is asked to come back and continue the audition process while being considered with a smaller group of other actors. Basically, if you don’t make the callback list, you’re not getting a part.

As I walked up to the bulletin board the next day, a piece of paper was posted. It was the callback list. I could immediately tell that the number of names on the list was a lot smaller than the number of people who had been at last night’s audition. I scanned the list and saw the names of lots of seniors. And then I saw it. Two-thirds of the way down the list I saw my name. I had made it past the first cut. I had made callbacks. I had a chance at actually getting a role in the Junior/Senior play!

That night at callbacks I read monologues and did scene work with different actors. I thoroughly enjoyed reading different characters’ lines and getting to practice different scenes with the other actors. I was having a blast! The entire process was exhilarating!

At the end of the callback auditions, my teacher, who was also the director of the play, told us that she would post the list of the actors who had made the cast, and what role they were going to be playing, on the theatre bulletin board first thing in the morning.

Me, playing the role of Joe Shimko, in the play “Don’t Tell Mother!” by Monk Ferris. Gallatin High School Jr./Sr. Play, 1995.

Me, playing the role of Joe Shimko, in the play “Don’t Tell Mother!” by Monk Ferris. Gallatin High School Jr./Sr. Play, 1995.

The next day when I arrived at the theatre bulletin board I was flabbergasted. I honestly couldn’t believe what I saw. I would have been thrilled to have gotten any role. I knew that most of the juicy roles would be given to seniors. After all, they had the experience and had put in the time. They were the ones who deserved them. I just wanted a part, any part in the play.

What I saw was my name at the top of the cast list and, across from my name, the name of the lead character in the play. I looked again to make sure that I was seeing it correctly. Had I gotten the lead role? Here I was, a junior in high school, with virtually no formal theatre training or experience, and I had just been cast in the lead role in my school’s most prestigious play!

I worked very hard to prepare for that play. And then that inevitable day and time came. The lights went down. The audience went silent. I took my place and the show began. When it was time, I entered the stage and I was off like a shot. Any self-doubt that I might have had vanished as I delivered my lines, interacted with the other actors, got laughs from the audience, and had the time of my life.

And at the end of the show, I walked onstage for the last time that night to take my bow and the audience erupted. I had done it. I had done what should have been impossible for me to do. I had become an actor, and in the process found my life’s calling... or so I thought.

Above photo by Jaime Fernández from Pexels.

Print out this beautiful one-sheet of this article and give it as an inspirational gift to someone you know. Simply input your name and email address and I’ll email a high-resolution version of it straight to you.

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