“Is the story worth it?” my friend Drew used to ask me. This question has stayed with me…
It followed me into an ice cream parlor where I was offered a sample of Bacon ice cream (It was as terrible as I anticipated, but I tell people about it all the time)
It followed me into a life of crime when my best friend from college and I came upon an un-mounted NO PARKING sign. (Thank god I have some contribution to the shoplifting category of childhood stories!)
It followed me down a two-way mountain road in Appalachia, on a tour bus, which had no chance of passing under that 13-foot bridge and was forced to back-up for 2 ½ miles, in a blizzard, until it ended up on train tracks with a train approaching (I am not remotely sorry that happened. Mostly because I lived to tell that story).
It followed me into a whole plethora of awkward situations that were mortifying and painful, until the act of sharing them gave me the power to turn a raw experience into an incredible opportunity for humor.
It follows me into every new state, every encounter with a stranger, into audition rooms, on dates, through friendships, and into every single evening when I lay down and ask myself “Was today a story-worthy day?”