Voiceover

So here I was, at an Italian restaurant in the Jordaan, a hip little neighborhood with a very charming vibe. It was a fantastic location for my last dinner in Amsterdam – and my last tango with cigarettes. I sat at a table for one on the sidewalk, drank wine and ate a delicious meal. I had only two cigarettes left, but I knew I wanted to have just a few more than that.

After dinner, I crossed the street to get cigarettes from a machine at a coffee shop. The very kind guy working there counted out the change I’d need. I kerplunked all of the change into the machine.  And to my dismay, my brand of choice – all three buttons of them – were sold out.  I couldn’t get my coins back, so the very kind guy suggested I just take a different pack.  It wasn’t at all what I wanted, but I selected not my brand and went on my way.

This was it.  This was going to be my last night as a smoker.  I was about to leave my habit in Amsterdam.  For whatever reason, I turned right at the corner after I left the coffee shop, and walked toward the canals. Perhaps my last night wouldn’t be as magical as I had imagined, but I was walking in Amsterdam, right?

As I headed to the next intersection, I heard music and laughter in the distance.  Curious and smiling, I walked toward the sounds of Dutch singing. As I rounded the bend toward the canal, I saw a corner bar with a rainbow flag out front – and 100 people outside near a stage – drinking beer, dancing, and singing along. It was as though I had been transported to this spot by a guardian angel of sorts.

I walked through the crowd with a little spring in my step, and someone took my hand to swing me through. Sitting halfway down the street from the party outside a pub I’d visited the day before, I decided this was my spot. I ordered a very large stein of Heineken, smoked some of the not my brand cigarettes, and felt at peace about my journey. As I lit the last cigarette I was ever going to smoke, the Dutch singer began singing a rousing rendition of Frank Sinatra’s My Way in English. Dumbfounded by the moment, I smoked, smiled, cried a little, and extinguished that cigarette with every ounce of courage I could muster. I did it My Way, and the moment was magical.

I left half a pack of cigarettes and my lighter on the table outside the bar.  As I looked back to take a picture of the place I left my cigarette habit, I realized the night couldn’t have been scripted better. And that the guy sitting next to me was grabbing my cigarettes.

I walked toward the tram to head back to my apartment as the band kept playing. The laughter and music was comforting as I walked away from my friend and foe, the cigarette.

As my plane lifted into the sky for home the next morning, I swallowed hard, cried a few tears, and envisioned myself becoming the Voiceover Artist I am today. All was behind me, peacefully. And so very much was ahead…

5-8 minute read, 6-minute listen

 

PREFACE

I dreamed of being a voice actor for many years. I left my job as a stage actor for a small regional children’s theater in the mid-90s – I toured around the Midwest for eight years, and then moved to Milwaukee, WI. I knew it would be a while before I could get back into the arts and become a voice actor, for a couple of reasons:

1) I decided to earn my undergrad and graduate degrees during my 30s, and I was working in the non-profit and corporate worlds to gain some traction educationally and financially;

2) The Big Reason: I smoked cigarettes. For many years. I was hooked like so many young theater geeks during the 80s and 90s, and the addiction just kept going into my 40s. I was embarrassed to be seen smoking those last few years…

I got itchy about becoming a Voice Actor when I was in my late 30s. I was convinced I could do great voiceover work. Unfortunately, my voice sounded gravelly and had no range – and I knew it was because of the smoking.

So I created a goal: To invest in becoming a for real, full-fledged, trained, and studio-equipped Voice Actor by the time I turned 50.

Under one condition: I could do it only if I quit smoking.

When I turned 48, I knew I was in a now or never place with this goal.  My Midlife Voiceover Dream just HAD to come to life.  I could not waste this existence sucking on cigarettes anymore. I’d envisioned being a voice actor for so long, that I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing myself. So, I created a plan that would allow me six months to mentally and physically prepare for it. And follow that plan, I did.

The day before putting my plan in motion, I was happily prancing up some freshly rained-upon marble stairs to get to the currency exchange before it closed, and fell so hard my jeans ripped and I skinned my knee worse than I ever did as a kid. I should have reminded myself stupid stuff like that happens in threes…

………

PART ONE

I missed my flight to Amsterdam by a minute (seriously – one. stinking. minute.) after an anxiety-inducing, delayed, and stormy flight from Chicago to Minneapolis.

“Are you kidding me?!” I choked out through tears as the gate attendant told me they just closed the boarding door. I was having an out-of-body midlife meltdown after running as fast as I could to catch that flight, dragging my carry-on with a wine buzz and one badly skinned and arthritic knee.

“You guys knew my flight landed late!  Why couldn’t you wait another minute?!?!” The gate attendant just shrugged and said they had to close it at the ten minute mark. “Oh, that is %*&%#@ TERRIBLE of you!” I cried, as I looked over his shoulder and saw the pilots preparing to depart. I threw my backpack down on the ground and sobbed like a three-year-old who just found out she can’t wear her mom’s underwear on her head to go to the grocery store.

Eighteen hours, three travel itinerary adjustments, and several cigarettes later, I boarded my new flight to Amsterdam. This was it.  I was on my way to leaving my cigarette habit behind in one of my favorite places on Earth. And I would come home ready to be trained as a voice actor. I settled into my first class flatbed pod (I treated myself on the way there), sipped my champagne, ate my dinner and drank my wine, and slept for the six hours remaining before touching down in my happy place.

The thing about Amsterdam is that you really can just roll with it and figure it out. I traveled there once before pre-smart phones, so I was somewhat prepared. Many Dutch people speak English, and it is really quite safe and very friendly. I rented an apartment for the week and took the tram everywhere. I spent days walking the streets in different parts of the city.  Did a few walking tours and a boat tour with local guides. It was glorious. The weather was perfection. I people-watched from tables at outdoor cafes. I ate wonderful food, I drank beer, and I smoked. I walked through shops and galleries and went back to Anne Frank’s house to spend hours re-reading stories about her experience. I embraced the idea that I was so LUCKY to have the opportunity to make a life-changing decision.

I was away from my awesome little apartment morning to night, barely stopping in to change for dinner some days. I thought about my life, and how I needed to go home with a renewed sense of self and purpose.  I had to commit to trusting that when I returned, I really could do this.

On day three, I set out to visit a couple of tattoo parlors I researched online. I worked with a guy named Geg – he was the guest artist at the place I chose. I asked him whether he could create a cool-looking “Wise Owl” for me. “Why a wise owl?” he asked. “Because I want to always remember why I made the decision to quit smoking – I’m going to bring her back with me to be my spirit guide and keep me on track.” He drew the most brilliantly colored sketches – all of the owls wearing eyeglasses just like me – and we landed on the one I have today.

The next day, I laid still three hours while Geg inked the owl onto my left shoulder. I felt like such a badass as I walked to grab a beer (and a smoke) afterward.  My wise owl was going to help me through this. (When I got home, my partner Becky named her Luna.)

And in the blink of an eye, it was my last evening in Amsterdam. Five days of the most intense and wonderful time by myself, coming to an end.

My Crazy Cigarette Show, closing that night for good.  I worried because I had not worked out a plan to leave my cigarettes somewhere. I called home. “What am I going to do? I wanted to have a magical moment all plotted out – to bury them somewhere with a note…to place them in a box behind an old butcher shop…to sprinkle the tobacco from my last cigarette somewhere meaningful. And now, here I am – I’m on my way to dinner somewhere at a restaurant I have yet to choose and I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do…” I felt lost. Could I really do this?

I am eternally grateful my people are so freaking amazing. We talked and texted it out, I calmed down. I decided I would just let the night guide me…

… and what happened next couldn’t have been scripted better.

(P.S. – Click on the MOD Musings link below for part two. It’s a pretty funny story…)