The following Career Dispatch essay was written by Zibby Allen, who stars on Netflix’s “Virgin River.”
Whether it’s the business or creative side of my career, understanding the difference between wanting and allowing has been one of my greatest lessons to date.
How To Audition for Netflix I recall a particular audition from my early days in L.A. I wanted the job so badly I couldn’t think about anything else. It was one of those roles I felt was mine to lose. I fit the description to a T. She was just out of a relationship; I was just out of a relationship. She was from Northern California; I was from Northern California. I mean, this stood to be the job that would finally put me on the map and validate that deep yearning, that secret knowing that I was born for Hollywood.
The waiting room was packed full of actors who looked just like me—we were all blonde, big-eyed 20-somethings. Sitting amongst them made me sick with worry. What if my role would mistakenly go to someone else? What if casting favored impressive credits over raw honest work from an actor like myself with less impressive credits? I mean I knew what the writer would want (me) but did they?!
Bellows of laughter came from inside the casting room. “Shit. What if they decide to cast that actor before I get my chance? What if by the time I get in the room, their premature decision coupled with their low blood sugar causes them to overlook my brilliance entirely because they’ve moved on to quietly plotting where to order lunch?”
I considered ways I might charmingly capture their attention and their hearts. A self deprecating line to disarm? A quirky curtsy for intrigue? Maybe something cool and flippant like, “Guys, I haven’t really looked at these lines yet, but let’s just give it a go and see what happens, shall we?” only to then dazzle them with my flawless performance? (I was leaning towards the curtsy.)
It was finally my turn to go in, and I don’t think it will surprise you to know that it went terribly. I tried so hard to prove I was right for the part that I’m not even sure I delivered a performance that related remotely to the words on the page or the story of the scene. I made the opportunity so important, so big, that I inadvertently minimized my own value and talent to the point I couldn’t even access it.
And this, my creative friends, is the trap of wanting.
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It’s like the minute we want something, we’ve mentally positioned ourselves as separate from it. The more we want it, the harder we reach for it. And the more we reach for it, the further away it seems. Suddenly the outcome we want becomes a singular, feverish focus which actually only takes us further away from ourselves—from our magic.
I’ve learned this key lesson: Wanting threatens to disconnect me from myself, while allowing keeps me connected to everything. The agony of wanting makes me feel like I have to do or be something in order to get the outcome I covet. But the ease of allowing empowers me to stay in alignment with my inner being and let it all come to me.
Feel the difference in these two sentences: “I want to book this job so badly” versus “I allow myself to fully inhabit each moment of the audition regardless of the outcome.” Or, “I want to cry here because it says ‘character cries’ ” versus “I allow grief to express itself through me here.”
One way is reaching for an outcome. The other way is allowing an experience (which, frankly, always leads to a better outcome than any I could have planned for). The added benefit of allowing? It hones a deep trust in ourselves and gives us richer access to our deep well of intuition and creative gold. You know, just the stuff we rely on to do great work in the first place—if only we didn’t want it so damn hard.
Maybe allow that to sink in for a sec. *Takes a quirky curtsy, exits the room.*
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