Are You Looking at Life the Right Way?

Weekly wisdom to level up your creative life in 3 minutes, for free.

A SHORT STORY

This week, I begin teaching at NYU. We’re launching the Innovation Studio—a new theater research laboratory where technology is a central collaborator. I’m thrilled to have this opportunity. And perhaps the most exciting part? I get to design my course, Whole Theater Laboratory, from scratch.

The course is a culmination of 20 years of lessons from my own research across the globe. My goal is simple but ambitious: to pass on as much as I can and, together with my students, to investigate and interrogate the role of the artist. In preparing for this, I came across a story about the poet Rainer Maria Rilke and the sculptor Auguste Rodin that feels deeply instructive.

While working as Rodin’s secretary, Rilke often found himself paralyzed by doubt. He questioned whether his poetry mattered and whether he could ever become the artist he aspired to be. Rodin, known for his grounded and pragmatic approach, grew frustrated with Rilke’s constant preoccupation with abstract ideals.

One day, Rodin decided to teach Rilke a lesson—not with words, but with action. In his studio, Rodin picked up a clay sculpture of a hand he’d been working on and smashed the sculpture in front of Rilke. As the pieces scattered, Rodin turned to Rilke and said, “Stop worrying about art. Stop thinking about it. Look at life instead.”

The lesson feels universal. What matters isn't perfection or even the product—it is the process of creation and observation. For Rilke, this became a cornerstone of his understanding of art: the artist’s role is not to obsess over abstractions but to bear witness to life with open eyes and a receptive heart.

As I prepare to meet my students, I’m reminded of Rodin’s lesson.

Let’s stop worrying about art. Let’s look at life instead.

What is one step you can take today to shift your focus from worrying about the outcome to fully engaging with the process?

A PIECE OF ART

“I Happened to Be Standing” by Mary Oliver

I don’t know where prayers go,
or what they do.
Do cats pray, while they sleep
half-asleep in the sun?
Does the opossum pray as it
crosses the street?
The sunflowers? The old black oak
growing older every year?
I know I can walk through the world,
along the shore or under the trees,
with my mind filled with things
of little importance, in full
self-attendance. A condition I can’t really
call being alive.
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition,
or does it matter?
The sunflowers blaze, maybe that’s their way.
Maybe the cats are sound asleep.
Maybe not.
While I was thinking this I happened to be standing
just outside my door, with my notebook open,
which is the way I begin every morning.
Then a wren in the privet began to sing.
He was positively drenched in enthusiasm,
I don’t know why. And yet, why not.
I wouldn’t persuade you from whatever you believe
or whatever you don’t. That’s your business.
But I thought, of the wren’s singing, what could this be
if it isn’t a prayer?
So I just listened, my pen in the air.

Grateful,

Michael