I’m not sure what came over me when I chose the quote “the long and winding road” from a Beatles song for my high school yearbook page. But in retrospect, it feels prophetic.
From an early age I felt a deep pull toward the theatre — a yearning, really — though I also sensed a firm “no” from family expectations. I followed what seemed to be a pre-law path in college before finally listening to the voice that had been guiding me all along. Coming out was a jolt in the right direction as well.
Soon I was back in New York — and waiting tables.
They were wonderful years. I was surrounded by other young artists doing the same thing, sharing in the disappointments of auditions, the exhilaration of possibility, the romances, the classes, and the camaraderie of restaurant life. Most of all, we had our teachers — the great gift New York offers any performing artist. Each brought their strengths. But it was Marilyn Maye whose extraordinary ability to distill seven decades of stage experience changed me. She taught that when we step onto a stage, our purpose is clear: we entertain, we give, and we uplift. The struggle happens long before, in rehearsal. Performance is the joyful apex.
I remember standing in line for an audition, reading an interview with Robert De Niro in the SAG News. He had just launched into fame and was asked whether success made life better. He said no — it was all great: the unemployment lines, the job-to-job uncertainty, the disappointments. I felt an immediate bond.
There have been moments of turmoil along the way — but more often, joyful ones. Embracing the ups and downs is, I believe, the path toward a deeper calm within ourselves and, perhaps, within our communities.
Curiosity has been my compass. Curiosity about a new song, a new theme in performance, even a new way to pay the rent. Along that long and winding road, I returned to law school and earned a degree — a profession that supports my life as an artist. And in that, De Niro was also right: when we approach life with gratitude, curiosity, and joy, it’s all part of the adventure.
When I perform, my hope is simple: that audiences feel welcomed into a shared moment of warmth, laughter, and recognition. Music and storytelling — what else has the power to reach our emotions so directly, to comfort, uplift, and remind us that joy and connection remain available at every stage of life?
If people leave feeling lighter, more hopeful, and more open to possibility — then we have spent our time together well.
Along that same long and winding road, I’ve learned this: