It was a particularly auspicious beginning.
In fact, although I was merely an invited guest, in retrospect, even if I had been given a choice, I could not have made a better one.
I’m speaking about the first Broadway show I ever saw: the original production of Sunday in the Park with George.
Sondheim’s masterpiece begins with George Seurat’s line:
“White.
A blank page or canvas.
The Challenge: To bring order to the whole.”
It ends with a modern artist descended from him, struggling with many of the same questions in a different era, who echoes this:
“White.
A blank page or canvas.
His favorite.
So many possibilities.”
And yet — especially as I complete my exploration this month of Discernment — Meditation HERE — it’s often true that rather than creative exhilaration, this kind of spaciousness leads to inertia or overwhelm.
Ironically, the freedom of unlimited choices can be paralyzing.
My favorite early example of this was told to me by the father of the college friend who invited me to that Broadway production.
Let’s call him “Mr. Hunter.”
An enormously successful executive, Mr. Hunter told his son’s friends that when he got out of college he really wasn’t sure what to do with his life.
The trouble, he believed, was that he felt like he could do anything.
Believing this to be an arrogant fantasy that wasn’t serving him, he went to the top career advisor in NYC to request a full battery of intelligence and aptitude tests.
When he returned to learn the results, for better or worse, he was told that his hubris was justified.
”We’re sorry, Mr. Hunter —
but you can, in fact, do anything.”
This “Wealth of Possibilities Problem” is something I’ve often worked on with private coaching clients.
It also translates directly to those moments when you’ve had other mindset and personal growth breakthroughs, but you feel stuck and unsure of your next practical steps.
Or too many projects are calling your name and tugging at your heartstrings.
I’m distilling the essence of how I work with people 1:1 into a five-module course — one you can do anytime — whenever you’re feeling the need for clarity.
It’s called Rapid Reinvention, and the first module is about knowing your coordinates — even when you may, like Mr. Hunter, be unlimited.
Rapid Reinvention is launching mid-month, but until April 1st, you can reserve a spot for $47 (versus $97) — and also see me and Vlad in a video talking about it
Another favorite story about the mysteries of discernment dates back to Amateur Night at the Apollo Theater in 1934.
A 17-year-old Ella Fitzgerald was set to do a dance routine but after seeing another act — commonly identified as the Edwards Sisters, a hot local dance duo — she got intimidated and switched her act at the last minute.
The reasons why she changed her mind vary.
Some versions emphasize being intimidated by the dancers; others add that she felt shabby or underdressedcompared with them.
It doesn’t really matter, because once she opted to sing instead, Ella won Amateur Night and launched her legendary career.
This often neglected aspect of discernment — Permission to Pivot — can lead us down unexpected paths that, like Ella Fitzgerald’s musical career, afterward feel totally inevitable.
It feels like a lifetime ago, but I still have vivid memories of teaching a weekly two-hour advanced yoga class called Cosmic Play.
Yes, it was advanced in the sense that I offered many difficult postures and variations.
Even so, the most challenging part of the class for most students was when — after offering a thorough exploration of a category of poses or a kind of flow — I would cut them loose to explore their own ideas.
“Why don’t you play around with those shapes for a few minutes,” I’d offer. “See how you’re inspired to move.”
So used to having their every move — even their every breath — choreographed, first-time students were often stunned.
Almost always, after the shock wore off, they’d accept the invitation, tapping into their own creativity.
Ironically, sometimes it’s a lot easier to be told “put your foot behind your head” than to think for yourself.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:
You can’t go wrong with a Mary Oliver poem.
In particular, when it comes to discernment, I’m reminded of The Journey.
Rather than the exhilaration of vast possibilities, sometimes the task is to ignore all the voices “shouting their bad advice.”
Part of reinvention’s discernment is indeed overcoming resistance and allowing yourself to move beyond roles, expectations, or assumptions that no longer fit.
THE JOURNEY
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
On November 28, 2021 — two days after Sondheim died — hundreds of members of the Broadway community gathered on the iconic red TKTS steps in Times Square to pay a musical tribute.
Stars included: Lin-Manuel Miranda, Sara Bareilles, Josh Groban, Laura Benanti, Brian Stokes Mitchell, Raúl Esparza, Celia Keenan-Bolger, and Stephen Schwartz.
Together they sang one song: “Sunday,” the finale from Sunday in the Park with George.
You can watch the video HERE.
Interestingly, rather than afterward, a choked-up Lin-Manuel Miranda reads the spoken lines from Sunday — “White. A Blank page or canvas. His Favorite. So Many Possibilities” — before they sing the song HERE.
For that moment and that staging, in the context of a memorial, it made more sense that way.
But onstage — and in real life — it serves best as a final reminder, and an implicit challenge, that the luxury of freedom does indeed require discernment yet is nonetheless dazzling.
Tell A New Story. Transform Your Life.