Every week day, my son and I make the three-quarter mile hike to his afternoon Kindergarten classroom. The way our house is situated, we can either walk “through the neighborhood” or take a “short cut” out the back yard, thereby saving about a quarter mile on the journey.

Since I make this round trip twice a day, sometimes it’s nice to take the short cut. Especially if my son wants to ride his scooter, in which case I have to nearly run to keep up (and I’m not a runner, in case you were wondering).

But when the weather’s nice, or when my son is feeling ambitious, we take the long way.

And it makes all the difference. 

Because when I take the short route, it’s a straight shot from our house, down the road, to the school. It’s a busy street, with lots of noise and traffic. My son talks about the noise pollution and the air pollution, and how all these cars are making it stinky. But hey, it’s efficient. It’s a nice jaunt that’s easy to ride your scooter down. The sidewalk’s fairly even, and there’s even a traffic light to make crossing the street easier.

When we take the long way, through the ‘hood, I get to experiences the “surprises”. These are the elements of a walk that aren’t always typical. Like the potholes and muddy patches that make it rough for a scooter to wheel through (“Surprise!” I say to my son. “Didn’t know THAT was there, did ya?”)

I’m also surprised by wonderful visuals. Like the face on the tree:

This is some resident’s attempt at humor. At one time, there were faces hung all around the tree, but over the years, I guess, the other faces have lost some of their parts and pieces. Or how about my favorite, the mushroom growing on the side of a tree that I SWEAR looks like the starship Enterprise from Star Trek:

It’s been on that tree since we moved into the neighborhood. And there are other sights that I just don’t see on that busy stretch of road:

spring blossoms

colorful yard art

symbols of passion

symbols of faith

The funny thing about this “other path” is that it also leads me to the school. It also takes me right where I need to go. It ties into that busy road, where the traffic light waits to take us safely from one side of the street to the other.

“I took the road less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.” - Robert Frost

Frost doesn’t say “the road less traveled” is good or bad. Think on that for a minute.

Frost doesn’t say that one road is better than the other. He almost goes out of the way to avoid telling us which road to take in his reknowned poem. He says he’ll mark the other path to take another day, because they both look equally appealing. He also notes that he probably will never get back to that “other” path, because of the nature of the way paths often meander.

No. Frost chose the road less travelled. He doesn’t tell us if it’s shorter or longer, wider or narrower. Frost doesn’t even tell us if his life is “better” because of it.

Just that the path he chose made all the difference.

For me, there are still days when the “straight shot” is valuable to me. Efficiency can be a beautiful thing when you’re over-scheduled, tired, or just needing a quick and easy way to accomplish something.

But there are times when I enjoy the craziness of my neighborhood. I like seeing the creativity of my neighbors, the kids playing outside, and generally enjoying the space in which I live.

So too, is the way of your True Self. It becomes easier, quicker to take the shortcuts. Over time, a new path is beaten in a different direction from the one where our True Self calls out to us.

Quick and easy? Or a bit longer?

Which one is worth more to you?

Both paths will get you there, one will have more to see and enjoy, the other is shorter. Which path is better for you? Which path are you putting off for later (that you’ll probably never get back to if you do put it off)?

Only your True Self knows for certain. Listen for the clues.

For me, the path less traveled by is not a short cut. And I am practicing walking it more frequently – both in my neighborhood, and in my life and business.

I’m standing here, breathing in the final moments of the show.

Recalling the highlights, the laughter, the flubs, and the tender moments.

Reliving the looks on my actors’ faces at Intermission as I shared audience responses, technical issues, and notes regarding their projection, tone, and enunciation.

Bittersweetness washes over me, as the sounds in the room change: hammers pounding pins into flats, men hoisting the bar off the stage and back onto the floor. Brooms sweeping the floor, costumes being piled on the table, set pieces being returned to their homes in storage… and the chatter of the cast and crew as we wrap up, pack up, and clear away any trace of the production.

Strike always gets me.

It’s the completion of the circle of life of a show. We begin mostly as strangers, with a bare stage. We rehearse, almost in secret, in an upper room of the theater. It isn’t until the bulk of the set is present that we take to the stage and begin the process of bringing vitality to these two dimensional characters.

Then the lights, sound and music emerge, creating new challenges, adding new dimensions to the tapestry.

And the curtain goes up on opening night… and the friends I’ve come to know disappear as they slip deeper and deeper into their characters, becoming those people for a fortnight. Then, as quickly as they stepped into those roles, they’re stepping out again, pulling down set dressing, saying our goodbyes one last time.

It’s in this moment that I see the show’s “life” flash before my eyes – much like the flash of the camera as the show’s highlights are snapped off one after another by the photographer. I’m reminded that everything comes to an end – and in that ending, an opening is created for a new beginning.

But tonight, I enjoy the company of my cast and crew, our producer and managing partner. We celebrate a great review, the kinship of this rag tag bunch of actors, and relive some of the humorous moments of the show.

It will be a bit sad to head home tonight, and I know I’ll probably mourn this show a little. But right now, I’m just enjoying this moment, soaking in these wonderful people, this wonderful place, and all the memories we’ve created for ourselves and our audience.

We’ve touched people and changed lives. That’s something of which we can be proud.

I’m already thinking about what my next project will be, and how to make it happen faster, so I’m not living in the limbo. But for now, tonight, I’m here. Enjoying, drinking it all in, until the next circle begins.

Photo Courtesy The Weinstein Company

His is a tale of reluctant heroism at it’s finest. Here’s a guy, born into nobility, yet he’s mocked, abused, and never given his due. He comes to not only believe the hype, but also produces a physical manifestation of his “worthlessness” by way of a stammer he developed as a toddler.

He has no faith in himself, and keeps praying beyond all reason that his brother David will see the light and let go of his “fantasy” relationship with this bad influence. But David has already accepted his call to live his own life. Albert must now become King.

Enter Lionel.

A man with no credentials, save the results he’s produced for a countless number of people with “speech defects”. No alphabet soup, no royal appellation, and in fact, regarded as unworthy to serve the King once his lack of official credentials is uncovered by the “royal attendants”.

As I watched the movie, I marveled at how two men from two very opposite ends of the social spectrum should ever come together.

And then the answer came: Faith.

A wife, determined to help her husband be the best he could be, simply would not rest until she found the solution to his “problem” – even against his wishes. Money was no obstacle, so why could Albert not over come this defect? She had faith that, somewhere, there was still one more stone to overturn. She found it in Lionel.

A teacher, determined to break down the walls built by a young man to protect himself from harm, simply would not acquiesce when told that this man was of noble birth. “My house, my rules.” was Lionel’s retort. His supreme faith in his own abilities left few in a position to debate the King’s choice to have him by his side for nearly every public address His Royal Highness ever made.

A king, forced into a corner, yet understanding his pivotal role in the “life” of his country, ultimately had faith in his own voice – a voice that would  assuage the fears of a restless nation as Hitler blazed a trail closer to their shore.

A country, longing for a protector, desperate for direction and unable to take heart in themselves, hoped for the best when their newly crowned king and well-known stammerer took to the wireless for his first-ever wartime address.

I was struck by the notion that being born into royalty doesn’t automatically make you a great man. And being a great man without a royal appellation doesn’t make you any less noble. When you aspire to greatness in your work, you will catch the eye of kings.

Scripture tells us that a job well done is rewarded richly:

“Do you see someone skilled in their work? They will serve before kings”

It matters not your station. It matters not your situation. All that matters is your focus, your conviction, and your willingness to do what’s right, whether or not you get credit for it. Lionel could have easily slipped into obscurity as an “unqualified” humiliation, at the behest of the court, but his skill and persistence won over a doubftul King and a desperate Queen.

And ultimately, an entire nation would have him to thank for the voice of their “fearless” leader.

But in the annals of history, who gets the credit for the impressive speeches? Certainly not Lionel. It was the king that spoke those words into being.

Yet, it was Lionel that spoke The King’s Speech into being.

According to the film, Lionel earned high distinction for his service to the Monarchy. Not bad for an uncredentialed, yet highly skilled “speech defect” coach.

You are where you need to be right now, doing what you need to do right now. Your credentials (if you have them) are meaningless. It’s your results that people care most about. So stop worrying about what you don’t have, focus on being excellent with what you DO have.

The rest will come in time.