We were lucky to catch up with Will Stephan Connell recently and have shared our conversation below.
Will Stephan, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today Are you happier as a creative? Do you sometimes think about what it would be like to just have a regular job? Can you talk to us about how you think through these emotions?
Historically, I like to make a choice by forming a contingency plan before I even hit the crossroads. When I was in high school, I knew I wanted to study theatre in college; but what if I didn’t have what it took? Well, get a BA from a liberal arts university instead of a BFA in a conservatory program. When I was a senior in college, I knew I wanted to pursue a professional career in theatre; but what if I didn’t have what it took? Well, stay in Philadelphia and build a career in a smaller pond. When eight years of auditions hadn’t unlocked the success or fulfillment I had hoped for, I knew I needed to make a choice again.
And this time, the stakes felt higher. Granted, this particular anticipated crossroad came almost simultaneously with an earth-shattering pandemic that forced us all into crisis mode. But what had felt like incremental choices along the way had paved the road to what felt like the ultimate fork: continue performing or jump ship.
“Hey, now,” you’re probably thinking. “‘Jump ship’ is harsh.'” Well, dear reader, you’re correct. It is harsh. Way harsh, in fact. But that’s how this particular cookie is wired to crumble. The pressure and weight of this decision felt all encompassing. It felt like my identity, my future, my very fate hung in the balance. (Yes, I was a big Star Wars fan as a kid.) But it did feel that way. I felt paralyzed by these two roads, physically and mentally frozen when I thought too hard about what to do next.
Until one day, when I dared to think the unthinkable: why not both?
Most people who meet me are surprised to hear I am an only child because I have carefully and intentionally crafted an adult existence that eschews all of the “my way or the highway” tantrums that are the hallmarks of a sibling-free life. But what if one time, the most crucial time, I unleashed the inner unbrothered beast and not only had my cake but ate it, too?
In an almost cosmic twist, a non-profit arts education organization I held very dear came to me with an offer to work full-time on their administrative staff. A steady trajectory of strong work performances gave the co-leaders the confidence to offer me this position with the flexibility to still perform when it fit into the schedule. I tossed and turned, literally and figuratively, about this new fork. One brain praised the opportunity, craving stability and consistency that elude so many of us as creatives. And the other called me traitor, tarring and feathering me in the colonial square of my ego.
After the requisite amount of hemming and hawing, I took an uncharacteristic step above rather than back. And that bird’s eye view, naturally, allowed me to see the forest for the trees. This was not a sentence to the 9-5 eternity of Leo Bloom and his unhappy accountant pals. This was a chance to have that cake and eat it, yes—but also to bake it and frost it myself.
What I discovered was that I am not a creative or other. I am a creative and other. With the encouragement and support of the structured side, I have noticed an almost immediate shift in the artistic. I’ve become focused, I know who I am and what I have to offer. This choice has ushered in the most thrilling chapter of my life so far, onstage and off. Auditions feel like opportunities to succeed, not chances to fail. Rehearsal rooms are now the playgrounds my heroes always said they were. The lightening of that self-imposed cosmic pressure opened a valve that in turn depressurized my art. For most of my 20s, I had so wrongly believed I needed to present a simple, genial blank slate onto which a director or casting director could project whatever they needed me to be. I tampered down who I was outside of my art to fit into who I thought I needed to be in it. No more! Now, I would bring into the room with me the decisive, driven spirit that manages employees, creates programming, and leads MEETINGS! After a decade, it was welcoming the “and” and defanging the “or” that made it all mean more than it did before.
I don’t know if I would ever call myself “happy” as an artist. I don’t know if I think artists are ever truly, truly “happy.” It’s too reductive a word, too simple a feeling. We’ve always got another mountain to climb or another frontier to cross. But fulfilled. That’s one that I’ve been feeling more and more lately. Content. That’s another one. These feelings that come when you are doing the things you want to do, the way you want to do them. Nothing should stop us from making our paths just that—ours.
To protect the innocent, I say…fork the fork. Fuse your “ors” into “ands” and maybe you won’t just have that cake and eat it. You may build a whole damn bakery.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
I am an actor, singer, teacher, arts administrator, and avid home cook. Since childhood, I wanted to be “an actor–the kind who sings and dances.” I’ve delivered on two thirds of that happily, and one third grudgingly and with heavy amounts of practice. After spending my high school years in Manhattan and graduating from the University of Pennsylvania with a BA in Theatre Arts, I built a career as a performer and teaching artists in the Philadelphia area, performing on stages like Paper Mill Playhouse, Walnut Street Theatre, Fulton Theatre, Delaware Theatre Company, and more. Teaching in the area led me to a position as Camp and Special Projects Director at Wolf Performing Arts Center in the suburbs of Philly, where I run a robust summer theatre camp, plan workshops and special events, and help with development tasks.
I want people, particularly aspiring performers, to see that there is no linear or even correct journey for an artists. That we can craft our own version of success without having to subscribe to anyone else’s. That you can apply your strengths outside of the art form to make yourself better within it. I am so fortunate to have found a community of like-spirited but differently-minded artists who support one another as we carve unique, varied paths for ourselves and for one another. And it’s a major goal of mine to set that example for others.
In your view, what can society to do to best support artists, creatives and a thriving creative ecosystem?
Share our stories! There are so many evils or at least challenges presented by social media’s chokehold on our society. But the one thing it does allow us to do is connect across so many boundaries. I was so inspired by people who walked these artistic paths before me; and it has been such a gift getting to work with young people and pay forward that experience. We have the gift (and also weighty responsibility) of being able to reach and influence one another. Allowing us all to share our stories chips away at some of the hardest parts of being an artist: the loneliness, the frustration, the fear. And by sharing our experiences, we can bring each other along and move each other forward.
We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?
“Everything happens for a reason.” I don’t really believe it. When I was younger, I think I used that as an excuse for when I didn’t put the work in or needed to explain away some shortcoming of mine. Auditions that didn’t go my way were because something bigger and better was coming! …not always the case. And that’s OK because that’s reality. It was so much more freeing not to tie every single day to some grand plan. A bad day happens; it doesn’t have to determine the rest of them or somehow fit into some cosmic plan.
A string of incredibly frustrating disappointments from auditions a few years back really chewed me up and spat me out. And continuing to put faith in some nebulous thing down the road no longer cut it. It implied to me that there was a reason why I was suffering. And the idea that I was somehow buying future success with current suffering just stopped making sense to me. I reframed my thinking to focus on what was in my control and what was not. If something worked out, it was because pieces in and out of my control fell into place. If it didn’t, there would be another chance to try those things again. The endgame is alleviating the pressure for everything to have some greater meaning at the expense of what little agency and responsibility this career affords us.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://willsconnell.com
- Instagram: awillandaway
Image Credits
Sam Nagel Photography
Mark Garvin
Portraits by Souza
Rebecca J Michelson
Sam Nagel Photography