As I was saying…

When it comes to huge opportunities, I might be in the minority, but I believe that sometimes you can and should say No.

But this is not permission for you to cop out of stepping up to meet your opportunities.

You only have permission to say NO for the right reasons – for example, when you know you can’t do the job right now and what you need to learn or relearn/figure out will take a few months or years. Or if your life is a mess right now and you can't handle the load of a much bigger job, say NO so you can get your act together. For everyone's sake.

How do you say NO?

You say NO nicely, using a great excuse to preserve that first impression so that when you are prepared it is that much more impactful.

In the case of acting, it is not obvious to Casting that my singing needs a tune up – I don’t advertise it, after all. But… I am professional and seasoned enough to realize that I can’t fix a couple years of vocal neglect in 72 hours. And? I don’t want them to see me unprepared and unprofessional, and then decide to not see me for other projects. So I was kind and very sorry to not be able to audition, and above all, I was grateful for the opportunity.

Let’s go back to human nature: it’s not conscious necessarily, and it’s certainly not fair, but when you don’t put your best foot forward, someone will probably notice and it can stick with them, to the point that they won’t consider you again for a long time. There are casting offices where I’ve tanked auditions and then wasn’t invited back for five years or longer. That's life.

Is it right, is it wrong? Does it matter?

Getting a job in a corporate or any other professional setting is almost as tough as getting an acting job, especially nowadays with the hordes of overqualified and underemployed jobseekers running around.

Sometimes you’re not even looking and an opportunity will pop up, making you scramble to get your resume together, write a quick cover letter and find someone to give it all a quick edit. This quick effort may not get across the depth and breadth of what you can do and who you are as a professional but in a pinch… it’ll do.

Lots of people do this.

But… are you basing your next career move on what you can manage in a pinch?

If you’re thinking about moving on to a new position or entirely new career, I can help you. I design and write resumes, cover letters and LinkedIn profiles that are meticulously tailored to you and your career aspirations. My packages include varying levels of coaching depending on how much support you need or want and in our sessions, we work to figure out your next moves, how to access the hidden job markets amidst all the search sites, and more.

And if you’re a closet creative looking to get back in or finally transition into a professional acting or creative career from another career, I can help you with that, too.​

Opportunities come and go and come back again. Next time, I'll work on being ready.

What about you? Will you be ready the next time a possible new venture falls into your lap?

Earlier this year I was invited to audition for a workshop of a new Broadway musical. Big auditions like TV shows, films, Broadway and Off-Broadway can be difficult to come by, and to receive a request for a tape is a big win.

But I said no.

On paper I fit the role – heavyset, Spanish-speaking, Latin woman who’s old enough to have an 18 year old daughter. Check, check, check. But I know that despite my acting chops, videos, photos, resume and my agent pitching me, the most important and intangible asset I have is the impression I leave behind. Because even very successful actors may book 1 in 10 jobs, if that.

So we learn to “book the room” and make them want to invite us back for the next thing.

This happens in the corporate world, too. People move on to jobs and when they need to create their teams, they reach out to the people they know and the ones they liked from interviews that they weren’t able to hire before.

Because when the opportunity came, those people were ready. And the ones who interviewed them or watched their auditions knew it.

Years ago I read that casting people wrote “NRFT” on the top margins of resumes at in-person auditions. It stood for “Not Ready For This.” And while that doesn’t mean “never” ready, it sure would preclude them from calling you back anytime soon.

I wasn’t ready to sing for a Broadway casting director this year. No shame in it, it’s just how it is right now. After focusing on film and TV for a long time while doing theatre only sporadically and neglecting my singing, I’ll be the first to admit that when I got that singing audition, A) I was NRFT, and B) I didn’t want to go into the room if I wasn’t going to book the room.

This is applicable to corporate, the arts, everything. Have you ever interviewed someone and it went badly? They weren’t prepared or they just bombed the interview.

Here’s a human nature check-in: would you think to call those people again? Or even if they prepared and did a decent interview, but just weren’t ready for the level of work or the job in particular, how would you respond? Would you trust their judgment after meeting them for something that was far out of their professional purview?

Or maybe… the shoe’s been on the other foot: if you’ve ever gone into an interview and half-assed it, how did that go? Did that interviewer ever call you back? Or friend you on LinkedIn?

When it comes to huge opportunities, I might be in the minority, but I believe that sometimes you can and should say No.

Let's talk more about this big word – NO – next week. See you then.​

It’s a long weekend here in the United States because we are observing Memorial Day for those service men and women who perished while serving our country. And this is also the unofficial start of Summer.

But right now, everything seems to be going crazy, doesn’t it?

If you’re looking for a job in business, all the news screams about is a “strong job market” even as everyone seems to be getting laid off.

And if you’re an actor or creative, the WGA strike has put a whole lotta stuff on hold and precipitated great change all around. Actors are getting dropped from their reps' rosters, signing on with new representation and the dire warnings of a SAG-AFTRA strike (vote YES if this applies to you!) permeate our airwaves and social media.

So, when there’s a big ol’ s***-show going on, what do you do?

Some people:

• Hibernate, go on vacation, get lost in their day-to-day lives;
• Say, “to hell with it all” and just hunker down to watch Ted Lasso and Yellowjackets;
• And some people – many of us, I’d wager – start to engage in Compare-Despair behavior, noticing what others are achieving and doing – awesome new job – a new baby – a series regular audition – and feeling desperately unhappy because those amazing things are not happening to us.

On Dictionary.com, it says that “jealousy centers its negative focus on the person who has the thing that you don’t, while envy is more centered on the desire for the thing.”

So, I’m going to go ahead and call this feeling we’re talking about ENVY, that familiar green-eyed monster that derails our ability to bask in the light of others’ successes.

Yuck. What an awful feeling, isn’t it? But… instead of pushing that envy away, what if you were to welcome and examine it?

Your envy is a symptom of you not being, doing or having the thing you want.

So, what is that thing? If you’re not close to it, that’s OK. What matters is that you have a plan to get there and more importantly, that you get to a better feeling place about it.

This is where the 2nd Strategy in my free Dos and Don’ts Guide comes in. It’s all about listing your successes and achievements. On a business resume, these should be quantifiable – use numbers, percentages and so on.

For creatives whose successes might be more amorphous (I got 5 auditions doesn’t usually translate to “I got 5 jobs,” unfortunately), the basic action is the same: make lists of achievements – auditions are getting better (you should be keeping track), callbacks are coming more often, the feedback at workshops is changing from “Try it this way” to “That was perfect, I have no notes.”

Why don’t you do it now? Grab a pen and paper or open a new document. Go ahead.

Here’s the template:

I was feeling ______ (jealous, envious, upset) that _______ (B got a new job while I’ve got way more experience than she does), but now I realize that:

I did/got _____________ (some examples below)

• 50% more sales in the past two quarters than in the previous year;
• Went to a networking event and have lots of interesting new contacts to follow up with;
• New and amazing headshots that I haven’t unveiled to the world or social media yet.

Do you see how this simple action can shift your feelings about everybody else's wins?

You're on your journey, they're on theirs. Maybe B got that new job but now she has to scramble to meet the people you already talk with on a day-to-day basis. We don't ever get to know what's going on with people and everyone is fighting some battle at some point or another.

I know that, to quote Mrs. Lovett in Sweeney Todd, “Times is hard,” but you are so much more successful and ahead of the game than you think you are. Even now, in this weird time of flux. If you try the exercise above, please let me know how it goes for you.

With warmest wishes,

Gladys

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Mami’s life came with many lessons, many of which I learned after she left us. Today is the May 7th — the 30 month mark (where did 2.5 years go?) and next week is Mother’s Day. So… she’s been more top-of-mind than ever.

Recently I’ve been exploring imposter syndrome with the beautiful souls on my email list, and the question of “belonging” came up for me. So, I thought I’d tell you about the time Mami — my mother — took me to a fancy party.

From 7th to 12th grade, I commuted from the South Bronx into Manhattan and attended fancy private schools with the children of NYC’s wealthy and elite. As a kid from a working-class household, navigating private school often felt like walking a tightrope. And at the beginning of 10th grade — sweet 16 season! — one of my classmates invited our entire grade to a big 16th birthday bash at the swanky New York Athletic Club.

The party was on a Friday after a short school day. I was able to go home from school to the Bronx and stop at the salon before getting home to pack an overnight bag (post-birthday bash slumber party!) and throw on one of my sister’s party dresses — a gold-flecked black slinky number — it was the 80s!

I was a latchkey kid, which means I got home and got myself ready for the party. Once Mami got home from work, I had a little bite to eat. At that time I took the subway by myself to school, but it was a totally different story to allow me to travel that way in the evening in a fancy dress. My parents agreed that it was best for my father to drive me downtown instead of having me take the train by myself.

So I waited. And waited. And he never showed.

This happened sometimes.

Mami was pissed off. But she decided to sacrifice her relaxing Friday evening to take me into Manhattan in a cab. This was before Uber and cell phones and even now, there are no yellow cabs in the Bronx.

Getting a safe taxi in an outer borough at that time meant you needed to call a local car service. So she did.

And off we went.

I was excited for the party but worried about my mother. We didn’t have money — she worked a clerical job at a public hospital. The train was too dangerous to take back up to the South Bronx. How would she pay for the cab ride back home? Mami assured me that she would be able to drop me off and then take a taxi home, and that I shouldn’t worry.

When we arrived at the New York Athletic Club, she insisted on walking me into the building.

I felt very self-conscious.

Mami was older — 57 at the time with a silver head of hair — and she was usually mistaken for my grandmother. Plus she had a thick Spanish accent. And not for nothing: how would it look for my mom to walk me into a party?

We didn’t belong.

Panicked at the opulence of the place and how much I — how much WE — didn’t fit in, I insisted on walking to the elevators without her and told her I didn’t need her to walk me.

I think that hurt Mami. But she respected my decision despite her worry (even the doorman assured us in Spanish that it was really easy to get to the party). So she said OK and after reassuring me again that she would take a cab home, I thanked her and walked through the lobby that was something out of The Gilded Age.

As an adult, I think about that night in that lobby as I walked away from my mother.

I felt:

• Fearful that I I’d get lost and not find the party,
• Embarrassed that I needed to be dropped off by my mother,
• Self-consciousness about what people might think of me — could they see I didn’t belong?
• And finally, I felt a little proud because I knew I was afraid, but I walked in anyway.

And I also think about what Mami must have felt.

Because she lied. She couldn’t afford a taxi home, so after she left me she made her way to the subway and rode home.

Mami had a terrible sense of direction, so I imagine it was not easy for her to figure out which way to walk. I know she was uncomfortable being in that position — getting into a cab and then on the train after a long day at work on her Friday night, and then walking through our rough neighborhood in the evening as it got dark.

She didn’t admit any of this to me for over 20 years.

Mami was the most well-read person I’ve ever met AND she was an immigrant who spoke broken English.

Those who knew her were impressed at her knowledge, her sense of humor and her intelligence.

But there were always the outliers, people who couldn’t see past the broken English or her support-type job, who made assumptions and comments.

As a teenager, I was keenly aware of how she was perceived.

And I know it made her feel bad. I was born here and I still didn’t feel like I belonged in certain spaces.

Imagine Mami — she got her visa to come to this country on November 22nd, 1963, the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. By the time she got here, Camelot was over and the tumultuous 1960s were in full force.

Belonging was difficult for Mami in a lot of spaces and places in New York, especially around people with money, or people who judged accented English, or people who just forgot that the U.S. is a country of immigrants.

But despite all that, she sure as hell was determined to give everything she had so that her children could feel at home in situations that included luxurious surroundings and fancy people and wherever else we wanted to be.

I didn’t appreciate her efforts then, like most teenagers. But years later, I thanked her and I still do today.

Because whenever I’m feeling those uncomfortable feelings: imposter syndrome, being a fish out of water, NOT BELONGING… I remind myself that someone loved me enough to get really uncomfortable so that I could go to a nice fancy birthday party. And I had fun while she braved the 2 train home.

This month — the anniversary, Mother’s Day — is reverberating in my head and I miss Mami terribly. She was brave and willing to try new things even though they were scary. So now, I have to forge through uncomfortable feelings and allow myself to grow, too. Because someone loved me enough to make it possible for me to belong at that party.

How about you? Are there places or situations you’re shying away from just because you worry whether you belong or whether they’re “for you?”

I believe that what you are looking for, is looking for you. And whether or not you believe it too, I want you to consider that it might be true for you, too.

There are people who love you, sacrificed for you, and paved the way for you, whether you’re consciously aware of them or not. So feel your fears and move forward anyway, just like I did in that enormous marble lobby and just like Mami did when she got dressed again to take me downtown while knowing she didn’t have enough money to get home comfortably.

Belonging is a verb. So take heart and go do it. You got this.