Lessons From the Tony Awards

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

A SHORT STORY

This past Sunday- I got to fulfill a childhood dream to attend the Tony Awards. Suddenly, I was transported to that high school kid in Lake Mary, FL watching the ceremony from my living room - sitting in such awe of the magic of theater.

While I feel honored to participate alongside my colleague Randi as a co-producer for Shucked and as an investor in Parade - it was the words of the Tony Honoree for Excellence in Education that are still resonating in my heart.

Jason Zembuch-Young, a high school teacher from Florida, said that theater taught him “…that anyone is capable of anything. So, why not cast the actor who is on the spectrum? Or crew the light board operator with someone who can’t see the stage? Or give the dance solo to the girl who cannot hear the music because when we focus on what people can do - rather than what they can’t - the possibilities are endless.”

As you go throughout your week, what would happen if you lived the possibilities your 16 year old self imagined? How would you show up differently? 

And by doing so, what dreams are still waiting for you to be realized?

A CREATIVE TOOL

I think the future of the creator economy will always involve the human element of creativity. As techno-prophet Kevin Kelly once beautifully said — “To connect with a human will always require a creative human in the loop.” So as much as AI can help to generate new ideas and automate tasks, I think it’s imperative for all of us to constantly treat technology as a collaborator. Here is a tool on how to take your ChatGPT skills to the next level.

A PIECE OF ART

JUNE

by Alex Dimitrov

originally published in the New Yorker.

There will never be more of summer
than there is now. Walking alone
through Union Square I am carrying flowers
and the first rosé to a party where I’m expected.
It’s Sunday and the trains run on time
but today death feels so far, it’s impossible
to go underground. I would like to say
something to everyone I see (an entire
city) but I’m unsure what it is yet.
Each time I leave my apartment
there’s at least one person crying,
reading, or shouting after a stranger
anywhere along my commute.
It’s possible to be happy alone,
I say out loud and to no one
so it’s obvious, and now here
in the middle of this poem.
Rarely have I felt more charmed
than on Ninth Street, watching a woman
stop in the middle of the sidewalk
to pull up her hair like it’s
an emergency—and it is.
People do know they’re alive.
They hardly know what to do with themselves.
I almost want to invite her with me
but I’ve passed and yes it’d be crazy
like trying to be a poet, trying to be anyone here.
How do you continue to love New York,
my friend who left for California asks me.
It’s awful in the summer and winter,
and spring and fall last maybe two weeks.
This is true. It’s all true, of course,
like my preference for difficult men
which I had until recently
because at last, for one summer
the only difficulty I’m willing to imagine
is walking through this first humid day
with my hands full, not at all peaceful
but entirely possible and real.

Grateful,

Michael