My kids started working as professional actors when they were very young, which means I made the decision to pursue it.
I entered my young daughter in a local model search while I was pregnant with my son. Agents were on the judging panel. That was how it started. The kids had the temperament for the work, and I had the drive. My husband gave us the stability that allowed me to keep going when the whole idea probably sounded ridiculous.
I’ve never had a problem admitting that the original ambition was mine. A toddler doesn’t ask to sit under studio lights all day, and a second grader doesn’t choose a 5:00 a.m. call time over a classroom party. The adult makes those decisions. That also makes the adult responsible for what those decisions do to the family, including the emotional health of the people involved.
My confidence in those decisions didn’t always hold up. I could know exactly why we were doing it one day and be on my knees the next, asking God to protect my children, including from me and my own ambition.
Hollywood knows how to work on a parent. People tell you your child is special and praise you for recognizing the talent. Another role comes along, followed by another paycheck or the possibility of a bigger opportunity. You can find yourself considering something you would’ve rejected immediately a year earlier.
I had to get serious about the fact that this was a business. My children were precious to me. To the people hiring them, they were assets being considered for a job. Expecting the industry to care about them the way I did wasn’t realistic or fair. I needed to understand the work well enough to prepare them and protect our family priorities.
We spent about 20 years in California, and we’ve been around the industry for about 30 years altogether. I never thought about it this way before, but at this stage of life, I can see how the work changed the way I handle my business now.
Learn to Control the Controllables
My son once guest-starred on a television show in a difficult courtroom scene. He was playing the victim. The scene was emotional, and we had worked hard on it before he got to set.
Parents generally need to stay out of the way once filming begins. I made sure my kids arrived prepared and then let the director direct. That day was torture because I could see my son becoming confused.
The director called for take after take. The instructions changed every time. “Play it more seriously, but seem relaxed.” “Bring up the emotion, but stay reserved.” My son was young, and he was trying to follow directions that didn’t agree with each other. I could also see that the director wasn’t getting what he wanted, but I wasn’t even certain what he wanted.
We finished the day with no confidence that they had the scene. Adults pick up on the expressions and conversations around a set, so I felt all of it. My harder job was making sure my son didn’t carry pressure that belonged to the adults in the room.
A crew member asked me whether we were okay as we were wrapping. I must have looked like I’d been through something. During that conversation, he told me the crew had learned that day that the show might be canceled. They expected to know more after the episode aired.
Everyone on that soundstage was worried. Those jobs supported families. My son had come in for one episode, so we had no history with the crew and no idea what was happening behind the scenes. They were hoping this critical episode would help save the show. No one said that to us.
The director probably couldn’t explain what he wanted because he wanted a performance good enough to fix a problem that had very little to do with my son. He couldn’t satisfy expectations we didn’t know existed.
I think about that day when a prospect says no and someone spends the next two days replaying the conversation. Maybe the prospect can’t afford it. A spouse may hate the idea. A previous business experience may have left that person suspicious. Something completely unrelated could be happening at home without you knowing. You don’t have all the variables, and no perfect follow-up can fix what you don’t know.
Review your preparation and follow-up honestly. Fix what needs fixing. The other person’s decision is still that person’s decision. Those two days spent replaying one conversation could’ve gone into the work still sitting on your calendar.
Learn to Discipline the Disappointment
My kids could prepare well, do good work, and still lose the role. An actor who booked even 5 percent of the parts that seemed right would’ve been wildly successful by our measure. There was a lot more rejection than celebration.
An audition came in during my daughter’s family vacation not long ago. It was a great role, and the tape had to be submitted within about 24 hours. The timing was terrible. She decided to make it happen anyway.
She needed a place that could pass for a taping studio. The equipment had to be set up, the scene prepared, and the audition filmed. Then the tape had to be edited, reviewed with the agent, and submitted. She did all of this during a trip that was supposed to be about visiting family.
This has happened more times than I could count. I used to joke that booking a nonrefundable vacation was the best way to make sure a good audition came in.
We would sometimes learn later that an offer had already gone out to someone else. The producers may have wanted a recognizable name or been considering a family member of the lead actor. My kids were the backup in case the first choice didn’t work out.
The tape from my daughter’s vacation was probably never watched. Thinking about how often that happened will kick you in the gut. We did the work because we had no way of knowing. That was part of the business, and I never found a way to enjoy it. You can be disappointed. The discipline is deciding how long you’ll live there and who will have to absorb it from you.
In business, people will ignore a message or change their minds. Someone who said she was ready may disappear. A person you spent a month helping may sign with another leader. None of that feels good.
Watch what happens to your activity next. If one person’s no changes how many people you talk to next week, disappointment is running your business. If the whole team hears about it every time something goes wrong, they’re paying for it too.
I’ve also watched people take every ounce of their frustration to a successful upline as though that leader has never dealt with rejection. A successful leader has probably faced far more of it and may already be carrying the emotions of several team members.
I call it vomiting your disappointment on someone else. It’s ugly, and it doesn’t become leadership simply because the person on the receiving end outranks you.
I need a place to process disappointment like anyone else. Handing it to the people I’m supposed to lead creates another problem. I can be mad. Then I have to get back to work with whatever I learned. I’ve had to make that decision more than once, which is probably why I’m still here.
Prepare Before the Call Comes
Some Hollywood jobs came with almost no time to prepare. Others came to my kids without an audition because the people hiring already knew what they could expect. My kids had become a known quantity. People knew they would arrive prepared and behave professionally.
Our life still included private school, sports, extracurricular activities, faith, friends, and family obligations. Hollywood didn’t automatically move to the front of the line. If one of the kids had made a team commitment and wanted to honor it, we told the agent that child wasn’t available. I didn’t want the temptation of a possible role changing a decision we had already made.
When we said yes to a job, we understood what that yes required from us. My kids used to complain because I made them finish school projects five days before they were due. They would tell me the other kids didn’t have to do that. They were right.
Our schedule could change with one call from the agent. An audition the afternoon before a project was due could mean scene preparation, a drive through Los Angeles traffic, and a return home at 8:00 p.m. with four or five hours of schoolwork waiting. That would’ve ended with everyone exhausted and probably ready to kill one another.
I looked at least a week ahead and often much farther. If I could see a heavy school week coming, we started early. I assumed the agent might call because the kids’ work had given people a reason to call them.
They didn’t always understand why I pushed so far ahead. I didn’t expect them to. I was the parent, and pacing the family was my job.
I work my business with the same assumption. If someone messaged me today and said, “I’m ready. What do I do?” I should know what to say. That person shouldn’t have to wait while I learn the system I invited her into.
That requires knowing how to get a new person started and how to teach work that can be duplicated. It also requires enough product experience to make a recommendation I can stand behind. My calendar should show that I’m building something I expect to produce an income. A new partner will find out very quickly whether I’ve done that work.
Hollywood expected commitment, and so does business. Working only when I feel encouraged won’t build the income I want.
My kids got calls at 10:00 p.m. We dealt with last-minute auditions and days that changed without warning. I couldn’t make the calls arrive at a convenient time. I could make sure one phone call didn’t throw the whole family into chaos.
That’s how I still work. I prepare as though the call will come at a bad time.
Hollywood never guaranteed a role because we prepared well, and business doesn’t guarantee a yes because I handled my part well. I still want to know I did my job and can have the next conversation without dragging the last result into it.
Most of this business is built on ordinary days when no result is giving you a reason to feel encouraged. Your calendar still needs to be worked, and the people you said you’d follow up with still need to hear from you.
I can’t control when someone else will be ready. I can make sure I am.
