‘The Boys in the Band’ Star Charlie Carver on Ending an Unhealthy Acting Relationship

The following Career Dispatches essay was written by Charlie Carver, who stars in “The Boys in the Band,” now streaming on Netflix. 

I recently decided to end a long-term relationship after almost 20 years together, my teenage sweetheart. I have no idea how I’m doing, thanks for asking. 

From the moment Certainty seduced me, I didn’t once let go. Instant simpatico. We shared a desire for success, hedged our bets towards it, and with Certainty, the future always seemed clear. Moving through the world together with our deluded preemptions of every outcome, we were powerful. Or at least felt in control. That was our kind of kink.  

The thing was, our relationship was entirely untenable. Arousing? Yes. Intimate? Impossible. I would perform what I thought my Certainty needed, only to be met with my own resentment and unease. Entirely self-conscious and overcome with self-doubt, every bid for reassurance from Certainty went dismissed. What had allured would always elude me; not only would I never be able to really know Certainty, but Certainty certainly would never be able to know the real me. 

Working in a field wherein rejection is basically the only guarantee, it is in retrospect somewhat illogical that it was a fear of rejection that kept Certainty and I in unhealthy codependence. Sure, I am an “actor” by title, but for all intents and purposes, an “auditioner” by trade. Rejection is the sport, and resilience the lesson. That is the job: facing what is simultaneously most dreaded and most familiar on a regular basis, all with unattractive odds of “success.” Certainty becomes an easy bedfellow—in creative process, in presentation, and in product. 

But we actors work within a series of paradoxes, seeming absurdities that do not sit well with Certainty. Our craft demands us to prepare as fully as time allows in order to “let go” of all that preparation in performance. We learn lines and blocking verbatim, but train to react to the moment in front of us with an improvisational spirit, patterns and ideas be damned. Even “acting”—“do-ing”—is perhaps better expressed as “listening and responding.”  And at the center of these seeming contradictions lies one thing: uncertainty. Uncertainty is possibility. Uncertainty is where the magic lies. 

Befriending Uncertainty is inherently uncomfortable. Rather, Uncertainty requires some comfort with discomfort, another paradox at odds with everything we’ve internalized thanks to a society intent on minimizing risk and maximizing ease. But Uncertainty’s demands are not unreasonable, nor are they burdensome. To get comfortable with discomfort, like anything worthwhile, just takes practice. Sit still for 10 minutes and get acquainted. 

READ: Andrew Rannells’ No. 1 Piece of Acting Advice

The effect in my art and my life has only just begun to confirm the value of this. As I’ve welcomed Uncertainty as a friend to my work and career, I’ve felt the magic of Uncertainty in my personal life. Vice-versa, I’m finding that I’m less self-conscious, naturally find humor in things not going according to plan, and am having more fun—at work and at play. 

So no, I’m not heartbroken about this breakup with Certainty. I hope you can agree that we were entirely incompatible. Besides, that relationship wasn’t going to last through this unthinkable year anyway. Didn’t stand a chance. Yes, I still have no idea how I’m doing, but it’s kind of a relief to be uncertain, to count Uncertainty as a friend. I’m given the space to listen and respond to this moment we’re all in.