Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Nicole Slatin. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Nicole, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. If you could go back in time do you wish you had started your creative career sooner or later?

The million-dollar question. If only I had a crystal ball… or a little fairy dust to sprinkle on it to finally answer that one.

For years, I kept wondering, did I make a mistake? Did I let fear or practicality pull me away from where I was supposed to be? I used to think timing was just chance, but now I believe it’s sacred. Whether you call it fate, the universe, or God, it has a way of preparing us for the moment when we’re truly ready.

At first, the plan was to go all in on acting. I started studying theater and taking on-camera acting classes in high school and continued into college. My acting coach at the time, Michael Blinderman, saw something in me. I trained with him for over five years, and his belief in me was the kind that sticks with you for life. He had this way of pushing me past my own self-doubt, making me believe I was capable of something bigger.

Then one day, everything changed.

Michael fell ill with cancer out of nowhere. One moment, he was teaching class, inspiring us all, making jokes and was full of life. The next, he was in a hospital bed. I wasn’t prepared for that. No one was. We were truly devastated. Then, completely unexpectedly, I got a call. It was Michael, calling me from the hospital.

I still think about how surreal that was. In the middle of being sick and scared, when he could have been thinking about anything else, he thought of me. Not his health, not his treatment, not his own pain, but me – my future, my acting career.

He said, “I’ve taught you everything you need to know. You’re ready to be marketed. When I get out of the hospital, let’s put you out there.”

Three days later, I got another call. Not from a friend or a family member, but from his power of attorney. That part has always stayed with me. Where was everyone else? Why was it a legal representative and not someone close to him? He shared that Michael had developed pneumonia and asked if I would come visit him. By the time I arrived, Michael was unconscious. I had to dress in full protective garments from head to toe because he was contagious by droplets. I looked unrecognizable, and so did he. He wasn’t in good shape. At that moment, I knew, this was really goodbye.

Looking back, I realize that phone call from the hospital might have been the last clear conversation he ever had. And he used it on me. He could have called anyone. Family, friends, former students. But he picked me. I’ve spent years wondering why. What was the purpose of that call? What did he see in me that made him reach out in what may have been his final moment of clarity? I still don’t know the full answer. Maybe I never will. But I know it meant something. It couldn’t possibly be random. And maybe the call itself was meant to be a constant reminder never to forget my creative spark.

You’d think I would have pursued acting then, right? That was my sign. But I ignored it. I did what I had always been told, to play it safe, be practical, have a backup plan, and not put all my eggs in one basket. So I switched majors. I earned my degree in Hospitality, Hotel and Restaurant Management from Northern Arizona University and went on to build a career in business development and HR.

All the while, a part of me still wanted to move to Los Angeles and chase something more creative. I tried, more than once, actually — numerous times. But every time I made a serious attempt, something would fall apart. The person I was in a relationship with wasn’t ready to move. Jobs fell through. Housing or finances didn’t line up. The timing was never right. It felt like the universe was holding up a hand, saying, “Not yet.”

Then, years later, I got the job at a beverage start-up, Marquis. They asked me to come work out of their headquarters in Los Angeles. That’s when suddenly, everything clicked into place. The move, the job, the timing. It all flowed – no weird barriers, no false starts. Just go.

Looking back now, I don’t think that was a coincidence. I believe the doors didn’t open before because I wasn’t supposed to walk through them yet. There was still growing to do. Lessons to learn. And when it was finally time, everything aligned without resistance.

Fast forward to March of 2024. Without even trying, acting found me again.
I got a call from my friend Kerr Lordygan, a professional actor. He said someone had dropped out of Fiddler on the Roof at JFed Players, a community theater under the Jewish Federation. The only catch? They were two weeks away from opening night.

I’ll be honest, I had never even seen Fiddler on the Roof. I knew Matchmaker by name, but that was it. No knowledge of the songs, the story, nothing. And the logical side of me was screaming, “You can’t do this. You already work 50 plus hours a week doing your big girl boss job. When exactly are you supposed to learn lyrics or lines? Between meetings and conducting an HR investigation over stolen Marquis cans in the office fridge?” But something else took over. Something deeper. My brain had every reason to say no, but my heart jumped in first. I told him, with little to no hesitation, “I’ll go check it out.”

I showed up, and they asked me to audition on the spot. I had nothing prepared. So I pulled out Part of Your World from The Little Mermaid, the movie I had on repeat as a kid that drove my parents absolutely nuts. I was so nervous I started pacing while I sang, which I know you’re not supposed to do, but I was completely caught off guard. It was proof I was extremely rusty, but also that I had been thrown straight into the deep end. It was chaotic, off-key, but somehow, convincing enough to land the role.

Two weeks to learn the choreography, the lyrics, the lines, and blocking. No need to panic, right? The last time I performed was over two decades ago. What could possibly go wrong? But I’m happy to say, I did it! And with grace. Just like that, I was performing again, reconnected to doing what I love.

And then, a few months later, I got cast as Eve, the lead role in Wisdom of Eve. Another massive challenge I had no business doing. Fifty-six pages of dialogue in a ninety-eight page play, all on top of my full-time job, surviving on Marquis’ caffeine, my adrenaline, and a dream.

And soon after that, in early 2025, I got a call from another professional actor friend of mine, Rob Schaumann, asking if I wanted to join the ensemble in Drat! The Cat! put on by the Group Rep Theatre. Apparently someone had dropped out of that show too, and they needed someone reliable. I have to say, it feels really good to know these friends see me as someone they can count on, as someone dependable.

So back to why am I telling you all this?

Because for a long time, I thought I had missed my chance; that maybe the window had closed. But everything that’s unfolded in the last year has shown me the opposite. The passion never left. I just had to grow into the version of myself who was finally ready to carry it. It’s funny, people ask me all the time, “How the heck do you do both?” I tell them, theater is what your after work golf game is to you. Only with less plaid and more jazz hands.

Returning to the stage almost two decades later didn’t feel like picking up where I left off. It felt like stepping into something completely new. This time, I wasn’t just acting… I was grounded, I was present. I was owning it. Years of business, leadership, and navigating life gave me something I never had back then, that is resilience, self-awareness, and a real sense of who I am.
But I also never excepted to find that ‘something special’ what they call – ‘charisma’ and I’m not talking about the kind you use to work a room at a party, but it’s the kind that fills a stage. The kind that makes people lean in before you even speak.

I didn’t have that when I was younger. I thought I did, but what I really had was energy, maybe some raw talent, and a lot of nerves. The presence, the confidence, the ability to stay grounded and let the audience come to me… that came later.

So do I wish I had started sooner? I mean, maybe. But if I had, I might not have been ready. I might not have had the thick skin to handle rejection, the life experience to bring depth to my performances, or the perspective to truly appreciate what this craft means to me. And if I had waited even longer, I think I would have lost a part of myself.

I know Michael believed I was ready all those years ago. Maybe I was… maybe I wasn’t. But now I see what he saw, I can now carry that with me every time I step on stage.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

Hi, I’m Nicole Slatin, but this name has some layers. My first name is Cassandra, but I’ve gone by my middle name, Nicole, for years. In the business world, I became Nicole Like. Then I got married… and while my legal name still hasn’t caught up (shoutout to my marriage certificate collecting dust… sorry, husband!), I started using Slatin for my creative work. Depending on where you meet me, I might be Cassandra, Nicole, Like, or Slatin. I like to think of it as a little time capsule that tells you where in my journey we met.

By day, I’m a Director of Business Development with an emphasis in Human Resources at a beverage startup in Los Angeles. By night, I’m an actor, a writer, and what they call a multi-hyphenate. Think less “jack of all trades,” more “why choose one when I can do three?”

Professionally, I’ve spent the last decade helping companies grow with purpose, but my journey didn’t start in a conference room. It started at the early age of 17, when I became an Assistant Manager at a massage clinic. Looking back, it was the first real sign that I had leadership instincts and possessed those inherent qualities. People trusted me at such an early age to rise to the occasion. I studied theatre, then pivoted into hospitality, working my way up from host to server to bartender, then into management at restaurants and five-diamond luxury resorts.

That chapter of my career taught me a lot. Not just how to lead, but how to really listen, how to read the room, and how to make sure the small moments carried just as much weight as the big ones. I also got to work alongside some incredible leaders, and I know without a doubt they helped shape how I lead today.

But honestly, that foundation started way before my first job title. I’ve got to give credit to my parents. My ability to juggle a million things at once, and somehow keep everything moving at the same time, is a skill I’ve leaned into more than I ever expected. It’s part instinct, part stamina, and definitely something I’ve come to see as one of my greatest strengths. That, and my work ethic, and the way I try to lead with empathy, all of that came from them. They taught me to treat people like they matter, to always show up, to do what you say you’re going to do, and that the answer is yes before it’s no.

Since then, I’ve led teams, built HR and operations systems from the ground up, launched national sales programs, and helped founders bring outside-the-box ideas to life. What sets me apart is that I blend creativity with structure, logic with empathy, and I bring a human perspective to everything I touch.

And then there’s the creative side, the part that took a backseat for a while but never really left me. I perform in local theater across Los Angeles and recently returned to the stage after nearly two decades away. Within the last year alone, I’ve been cast in three well-known productions, performing at every level, from lead roles to ensemble. Theater reminded me who I am. It brought me back to life.

Let’s be real, though. Life isn’t a one-person sport. Between the full-time job, rehearsals, and managing a dog who thinks she’s in charge and a cat who knows she is, I couldn’t wear all these hats without my husband. He’s the one holding it all together behind the scenes. He keeps the house tidy, makes dinner just the way I like it, lights a candle and runs the bath before I even ask, and shows up to at least three performances every run. I might be the one on stage, but it’s all him making sure I can actually get there.

What I’m most proud of is figuring out how to hold space for both parts of myself: the builder and the artist. I didn’t have to choose. I just had to believe there was room for both.

If you take anything from my story, I hope it’s this. You don’t have to fit in one box. You can lead and create. You can build businesses and still chase joy. And if that inspires someone else to give themselves permission too, even better.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

One of the biggest things holding artists back is this weird societal double standard where creativity is adored… but not always respected. We binge-watch, stream, click, doom-scroll, listen, and like. But ask someone to pay for an original piece of work? Suddenly, it’s all discounts and dramatic pauses.

It’s this wild dichotomy where people expect high-end creativity on a fast-food budget. We’ll drop $14 on a craft cocktail that tastes like a rosemary garden, but question why a photographer might charge for editing time. We’ll rave about how “magical” a performance was, then flinch when the performer sends a Venmo request. The math ain’t mathing.

That mindset convinces a lot of creative people to shelve their passion and take the “respectable” route. Do what pays the bills. Play it safe. Put your real dreams in a drawer. I get it. I’ve done it. I still do it, in some ways.

My husband is a photographer and filmmaker, and I can’t tell you how many times he’s had to “negotiate” his worth like he’s on a used car lot. The amount of times he’s heard “Can you do it for less?” is wild. For some reason, being good at something people enjoy makes them think your time should be cheaper. It’s like telling a dentist, “But you like doing root canals, right? So you’ll throw this one in for free?”

If we want creativity to really thrive, we’ve got to stop treating it like a quirky side gig and start recognizing it as real work. Sure, funding the arts helps, but support starts way before that. It’s about buying the ticket, tipping the musician, paying the artist’s full rate, and not making them feel like they have to explain why their work matters.

We also need to let go of the idea that creativity and “serious” work are opposites. They’re not. Somewhere along the way, we were taught that logic and imagination can’t sit at the same table. That you’re either an artist or a professional. A dreamer or a doer. But that’s not how real people work.

You can lead a team and write poetry. You can build a startup and still perform in a community play. In fact, I’d argue that doing both makes you better at each. Some of the most strategic, solution-oriented minds I know are also incredibly creative. And some of the most creative people I know are masters at building systems, solving problems, and getting things done.

And while we’re cleaning house, can we please retire the phrase “starving artist”? It’s the kind of phrase that sounds deep until you hear it for the hundredth time and realize… wait, this is just code for “you’re broke but passionate.”

Artists shouldn’t have to sacrifice stability for the sake of the craft. You can be passionate and paid. You can make art and make rent.

At the end of the day, creativity isn’t just a nice-to-have. It’s how we connect with each other, spark ideas, and move things forward. And yet, creatives are so often misunderstood. We think differently. We take risks. We don’t always follow the script, and that can make people uncomfortable. But that’s the whole point. We imagine new ways of doing things, of being, of belonging.

So let’s make room. Room to be bold. Room to be weird. Room to be valued.

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?

I can’t just wake up, go to work, go to bed, and do it all over again.
That rinse and repeat life? It doesn’t work for me. I need something that lights me up. Creativity is how I come back to life. It’s the thing that pulls me out of the routine and reminds me I’m not just here to answer emails, build decks, and pretend I understand Excel formulas.

Whether I’m performing, writing, or building something new, it taps into a part of me that doesn’t always get to speak during the day. That’s where I feel most alive.

I love giving people a way out of their own world for a little while. Whether it’s through a show, a scene, or a good laugh, it’s that moment of escape that connects us. You never really know what someone’s carrying when they walk into a theater, but you get to offer them something that reminds them they’re not alone, or helps them feel just a little less heavy than when they walked in.

It’s also a rush. Every role brings nerves, and pushing through them is its own kind of reward. Sometimes all it takes is five words from someone in the audience to say, “That meant something to me.” That moment stays with you and is the kind of impact I live for.

And then there’s the bond with the people you create with. It’s a kind of magic that only happens when everyone’s showing up for each other. There’s trust. There’s play. There’s a kind of unspoken knowing that we’re all in it together; making what can feel impossible at times, possible. Seeing everyone’s commitment, perspectives, and coordination come together to create a finished show can make it feel like somewhat of a miracle!

One of the most powerful parts of being an artist is the empathy it teaches. You have to step into someone else’s life and ask, What might that feel like? That kind of work makes you pay attention. It stretches you. And sometimes, it changes you without you even realizing it.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/youknowanicole/
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/cassandralike/