That Time I Almost Quit

This stomach bug got the best of me. I think I may have reintroduced normal meals too soon. I cooked myself a full breakfast Friday morning, and was on my way to meet some company members at a Filipino restaurant when my stomach decided to play up on me. That's when I decided that having more food - super oily and fatty food, no less - was probably not a good idea. So I turned around, and back to my digs I went.

I'll spare you the details of what happened after.

After a quick trip to the nearby Tesco to grab more bland food to eat, I found myself stuck in my digs again - and all I could think about was this blog. I didn't want to make another post so soon after launching it - but one story kept tugging at me. It so happened to be one of the many ideas I had for this blog, and the one that spurred me to create this blog in the first place. So here I am now, typing it out:

The year I almost quit acting.

It started off on a good note.

Photo by Pavlina Karlo

I had just finished my first panto at the Sunderland Empire, and I auditioned for a new musical shortly afterwards. I treated myself to a pastry and coffee in Covent Garden and had a stroll along the River Thames. That musical wouldn't go my way - but it was one of the most collaborative rooms I had been in. I had fun, and was grateful for the experience.

I did my first voiceover gig, recording voices for a major character and NPCs in a strategy-based video game.

I performed in numerous musical theatre cabarets and open mic nights all across London.

I workshopped a new play for a week, which ended up being one of the most artistically fulfilling weeks I would have that year.

I was living the life that I wanted. "I'm an actor in London," I would say to myself. I couldn't believe my luck.

But then... a whole lot of nothing happened. The auditions started to slow down a bit - and I had one too many close calls and high hopes only to be let down by the eventual "We won't be taking Mikko any further at this time" email. The few things that I did book weren't fulfilling me in the ways that I wanted them to. I was grateful for the paycheck - but I was starting to feel very bitter about things.

I was also working a temp job that didn't exactly make me happy, nor did it make me a lot of money. The shifts started to dry up, and at that point I had been doing the same job - albeit with different companies - for the better part of 10 years. Coming home after trying to sell perfumes to rich people at a high end department store was not a fun experience. I'd be stressed, tired, and irritated. I couldn't even wind down properly - I'd doomscroll on my phone to try and numb myself from the irritation of work and the negative outlook I was beginning to develop about my career. 

I've had slow years before - but this felt different... Perhaps it was everything else happening in the world and in my personal life that was compounding itself into a ball of frustration, doom, and gloom. I would start complaining about everything going on in the industry; why the same five people were getting cast in everything, AI taking our jobs, why theatres kept programming boring plays written by old white men.

I then landed an audition for a principal role in a musical on the West End. It was a musical that I loved (and still love) so dearly, AND I got a recall. Up to now, every West End audition that I had ended at the initial audition. This was my first West End recall, and it was for one of my favorite musicals. Could this be it? I thought I nailed it. I felt incredible about it. I journaled about it so much - really digging into the characters I was auditioning for, whilst reminding myself that I needed to distance myself as much as I can once I left the room so that if I got the "no," it wouldn't hurt as much.

Clearly that didn't work, because I got the "no," and I actually cried over it before heading into work that day.
It was devastating. My mood and outlook on my career and the industry didn't exactly improve after that.

A few weeks later I would audition for a show that would play at a major regional theatre, and I booked it. I was at work when I got the call. As I was going up the escalator to the staff canteen smelling of oud and sandalwood and uppity rich people stopping me to ask where the toilets are, the first thing I thought was: "Thank God. I can get out of this hell hole for a few weeks and actually make some money acting."

It wasn't about the love of the job anymore. It was about survival.

Objectively, I thought the show was good. But selfishly, it wasn't challenging me or enriching me. I was essentially just set dressing, and that bothered me. A lot. I'd come home and complain to my wife that I just wasn't having fun in the show - and that I might want to take a break from acting after this. She supported me all the way. I don't know where I'd be if it wasn't for her.

The straw that broke the camel's back was an audition I got whilst rehearsing for this show. It was for another West End musical, but for an ensemble track. Now... I must admit here, dear reader, that this was a blow to my ego. I didn't want to be stuck in ensemble parts. But I knew that I couldn't be picky because I was at a point in my career where I needed to get that one credit in order to play the big rooms. Whether it was the National Theatre, the West End, or a major UK/Ireland tour - I needed that ONE credit to get me higher up the ladder. So, I took it, and I prepared my song.

Unfortunately, everything that's happened up to this point; the crappy day job, the unfulfilling role I was playing, not getting in my dream show, the bitterness I was feeling towards the industry, etc. - took up a lot of space in my psyche, and I couldn't leave it out of that room. I simply didn't care that much about it. It was the worst audition that I had ever given. I left incredibly defeated.

I had a bit of time to kill after the audition finished before I had to go in for rehearsals. So I got off the tube at Canada Water and bought a coffee while I strolled around the docks contemplating and spiraling; I didn't care about the audition when I got it. I didn't put forth any effort in it. But why did I stop caring about the auditions I got? I didn't even feel nervous in the waiting room. Why wasn't I nervous?

I made the decision right there and then. I was going to step away.

________________________________________________

My childhood home.

I emailed my agent just before we headed into tech, telling her that I needed to step away from acting for an indefinite amount of time after I finished this show - and that we can have a meeting about it at some point. She came to see me in the show a couple weeks later, and we met up for a quick meal after the matinee to have a chat about it. I told her that I wasn't finding the joy in the hustle anymore, and that I needed some space from the industry to tend to my mental health. I still had another show lined up; a devised physical theatre piece with my theatre company Halfpace - which I knew would give me a little bit of a lift in my mood - but then I was going to go back home to the US for Christmas, where I didn't want to even think about acting or auditions. I asked her not to submit me for anything - unless it was in my list of dream shows, dream theaters, or dream franchises (I had auditioned for a Star Wars series earlier that year; one of the many close calls I had...) She was very kind, sympathetic, and receptive about it. She agreed that if I was feeling resentful about the industry, it's okay to take a break. 

I was, and still am, very grateful for my agent - who puts her clients first before business.

After the show ended, I would go to have a bit of a life before starting rehearsals and performing with Halfpace before going back home for Christmas, where my mother, father, sister, and I would be under one roof for the first time in many years. My wife and I would visit each others' families, see old friends, and visited our favorite haunts in Seattle. It was a rejuvenating time, and I felt more like a human again.

At a cafe in our old neighborhood.

When we got back to the UK shortly after the New Year, I started applying for jobs - jobs that weren't as flexible as the temp job I had, which meant less room to take on auditions. I looked at being a teaching artist, front-of-house at a small theatre, I even spent a lot of time on an application for an internship at PlayStation! What I needed was money and more of a structured schedule so that I could make time for life outside of work, and my current job - while I loved the people - wasn't giving me what I needed.

The only non-acting experience I had was retail and customer service, so it took me a while to find a place that was hiring that didn't involve working in a store of some kind. I wanted to be closer to the arts & culture sector, but I didn't necessarily want to be front-of-house at a West End theatre due to the horror stories I've heard of how West End patrons acted in theatres nowadays.

Once again, my wife comes in to save the day.

I was still working my temp job whilst job searching, so she very graciously helped me do some searching of her own. She began sending me jobs from museums all across London. I applied to the one that we lived closest to. I got invited to attend a group interview, where I immediately knew that this was going to be a great place to work. 

I got the job, and after a few weeks of working there, I noticed I was in a much better mood coming home than I was with my previous job. Megan noticed it too. The visitors of this museum were far nicer and more personable than the customers I'd encounter in the high end department store I used to work at. If it was a quiet day, I could just read about the artifacts we kept in whatever gallery I was assigned to for the day. I had my rota for the whole year - so I could make plans SO FAR in advance. I had my evenings back, so I could come home and cook dinner with Megan or meet up with friends after work. My paycheck was steady, and it would be the same amount each time; I was already making more than my previous job!

This change in pace would allow me to make more time for things I wanted to pursue. It was the year I started training in eskrima - a Filipino martial art - something I wanted to do for a couple of years at that point. I played more Dungeons and Dragons that year. I filled my cup with more fun things in my personal life, which I think allowed me to reenter the audition scene more focused and rested. I wasn't in constant survival mode anymore, scrambling to make ends meet whilst preparing for auditions.

This change in pace would help me book a new musical later that year - with a cast and creative team that filled my soul to the brim and made me laugh out loud every single day of that process, PLUS musical arrangements that were an absolute joy to sing. That show would put the wind back in my sails to keep auditioning, and it led me to another panto at the Theatre Royal Windsor playing the title character of Dick Whittington - with another company of people that made me laugh out loud every single day, and reminded me of the impact that live theatre can have on young individuals.

And that, dear friends, has led me here. Traveling the country on the UK/Ireland tour of Miss Saigon, playing Thuy.

In the wings for Dick Whittington.

I feel that there are two lines of thinking when it comes to actors quitting.

I hear stories all the time of actors wanting to quit, but then getting their big break after holding on for just a little bit longer, like John Krasinski when he almost threw in the towel right before getting The Office.

On the other hand, when actors DO quit, there's almost a negative aura to it. These stories either convince other aspiring actors that this path isn't worth pursuing, or we look at the quitter and say disparaging things, like: "They didn't have what it takes," or "They didn't care enough to keep going."

The first example feels like it romanticizes the struggles of being an actor, which isn't exactly a bad thing if you're someone who needs that kind of an inspiring story - but it can also set someone up for failure when it doesn't turn out the way it did for John Krasinski. The second example is just flat-out mean. I know a few actors who don't act anymore - and they've lived full and happy lives both as gigging performers and after stepping away from it all.

I go back to that video by Dean Graham that I mentioned in my introductory post. What if "quitting" wasn't "the end" of a journey - but rather a stepping stone towards a fuller life? After taking that break, I fully accepted the possibility that I could quit acting at any moment - and I'm content with that.

There's so much that I want to do still, and I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. I may take some breaks here and there, but when the day comes where I decide to do something else - I'll be ready.

When was the last time you wanted to quit? It doesn't have to be in acting/performing. How did it make you feel? If you did "quit," or took a break for an indefinite amount of time, did it leave you more fulfilled and enriched to return? Maybe you didn't return. And that's okay. At least you're living the life you want to live.

Because that's all we want in the end: a life lived with no regrets, right?