I Never Wanted to Be a Voice Actor

As a longtime voice-actor and coach writing posts for aspiring voice-actors struggling with their careers, I realize this?title might appear tone deaf. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. It's just not the career I planned for.

Any way my life was?measured, from my adolescence to my mid thirties, ?I was destined, not to be a voice actor, but a singer. A recording artist. Maybe even a "star." I was singing in church at the age of 9, performing in public by 12, and winning national singing contests by 16. I had a “demo deal” with CBS Records at age 19, replete with songs written by a hugely successful writing duo, a Grammy winning producer and Grammy winning music director; a demo deal which ended unceremoniously?when that?music director sexually assaulted me. In my wildest, most naive dreams, I never saw that one coming.

In an effort to recover and reinvent myself, I set music aside for several?years and began to pursue a career in acting. Forget those Grammys. I’ll set my sights on the Oscars! I was a big dreamer, for sure. I headed to Los Angeles to attend acting school,?but abruptly left after two years. Panic attacks and debilitating anxiety had gotten?the best of me. I spent the next couple of years lost. I waited tables, I tended bar. I spent some time in a cocaine-induced haze, smoking too many cigarettes and, as the country song?goes, looking for love in all the wrong places. Somewhere along this dark and lonely path, voiceover work fell into my lap. It came into view?on the side-screen of my life, so to speak, and didn’t really rack focus until further down the road.?I thought little of it, frankly, except to hope that one day I might make enough money at it to stop waiting tables.

In my late 20s, after having reasonably pulled my life together, I began to pursue music again - this time as an artist in the burgeoning Christian music scene where Amy Grant was all the rage, breaking sales records and crossing over into Pop Music. I began to write songs and collaborate with writers in Nashville, the epicenter of Christian music. My writing and singing appeared good enough to garner the attention of both Amy Grant’s booking agent and her producer. Finally, I felt like I had found my feet again and was on my way. But as it often happens, those writing connections and that producer's interest quickly waned. The music business moves fast and is fickle as they come. So, I began submitting myself and my songs to various Christian music competitions. Wherever I submitted I was accepted. Wherever I performed I had bites of interest and placed in the top 3, which kept me hopeful. But after losing yet another grand prize at what turned out to be?my?last entrance into those ubiquitous and depressing competitions, I reviewed very carefully the written evaluation of my performance by one of the adjudicators. In it, he said “while Kay is a good performer and her songs are somewhat catchy, she will likely never rise above ‘local ministry’ (read "mediocrity" in Christian music circles.) It is doubtful she has what it takes to become any kind of star.”

Man oh man, was I Pissed. Indignant. Infuriated. How could I not “have what it takes” when everyone - since I first opened my mouth to sing - said?I do? Don’t they know who I am? Don’t they know this is my destiny??

I have since learned that anger and self-righteous indignation are?common covers for two debilitating psychological siblings: sorrow and shame. In truth I was heartbroken. Defeated. Dejected.?And I felt like a total fraud. By the time I hit 40, it was abundantly?clear: a career in music - Christian or otherwise - let alone as an Oscar winning film actor, was?not, in fact, my destiny.

So, if I am here to encourage you along your voiceover journey, why am I sharing this tale of defeat? Well, because encouragement (and your career path) is more complex than meets the eye. I am often asked questions by voice-actors I coach like “How do I know if I have what it takes to become a successful voice actor? How long do I go without a booking before I should give up? How do I know if I have enough talent to be competitive? What do I do if I know in my heart-of-hearts that voice-over is my destiny, but nothing seems to work out for me?” and, as much as I’d like to, I can't answer them. It felt near impossible for me to answer those questions for myself. I know brilliantly talented actors who have never found commercial success. I know insanely gifted singers and songwriters whose talents far surpass mine who never landed a record deal, and still others who did but whose dreams of commercial and financial success never came to fruition. I also know successful actors and voice actors who can’t act their way out of a paper bag. We all see?recording artists gracing the?cover of Rolling Stone that our dogs can out-sing, who are nonetheless cha-chinging their fine selves all the way to the bank. I also?know that one adjudicator?all those years ago – who’s name I can’t even remember - was just expressing his solitary opinion; an opinion?in which I?put more faith than anyone else's - including my own. Who knows? Maybe?he was right. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe I did have the goods to have been a contender.?But that doesn't mean I'd have been successful, because talent comes with no?guarantees. Put another way:?Life isn't fair. And it never will be.

We've all heard this, of course. But it's not what anyone asking existential career?questions wants to hear. We want answers. We want assurance that our endeavors?are not in vain. We want a steady?path and a concrete timeline. We want our dreams and our talent and our lives validated. We want our efforts to pay off with a guaranteed, on-time arrival at the finish line with the Grand Prize waiting for us, gorgeously wrapped, with whipped cream and a cherry on?top. But that’s just not how it works, and I’d be lying if I said otherwise.?

When I arrived at my mid-30s, I was in rather desperate straits trying to figure?out what to do with my life. Time was "running out," I thought.?So, like many of us do in times of desperation, I had a long overdue chat with The Man Upstairs. "Where is all the fabulous goodness I was promised if I used?my gifts?" I queried. "I’ve done?my daily affirmations. Where's my prosperity? Time's a wastin' and I’ve got nothing to show but residuals from a Clear Blue Easy TV spot, some promos for The Bold and The Beautiful,?and way too many years under my belt serving cocktails to lascivious drunks. What about my record deal? What about my Grammy? My Oscar? Nothing is working and I'm running out of time. God, it's true. I'm a failure.?Please help me. Please. Help Me."

I make a bit of light of my desperation, but I really was at a crossroads. And I know you know what I mean. Because we've all been there: holding so tightly to our dreams and expectations that we back ourselves into tiny corners we can't maneuver our way out of.

What came next?for me was pivotal; something I was not expecting, something which might sound a little far-fetched?to those of you who are more practical by nature and less prone to believing in the Supernatural. But - just as we actors practice in our craft, and as we consumers of books, film, and tv often must do if we're to get to the payoff of the narrative - I humbly implore you to suspend your disbelief?for a moment.

All of the questions I asked the Benevolent Creator in my time of desperation were part of a journaling exercise I undertook?at a spiritual retreat I attended?one August weekend in the mid-1990s. In this exercise, I was to have?a?heart-to-heart with God. Once I finished with all my questions (and apparent complaining) I was to “listen” for God’s reply and write?it down in my own hand, as it came to me.

With skepticism, I journaled. And here's?the answer I received. The handwritten original is dated August 1997 and remains in my bedside table drawer:

God:

Kay. My Beloved Kay.

I hear you. I hear your sorrow, and I hear your fear. I am here to help.

Here's what I want you to do:?Love.

Me:

What?

God:

Love. Love everyone who crosses your path. Whether you like them or not. Whether you agree with them or not. When it's easy, and when it's hard. Everyone whose eyes meet yours. Love them. All the souls?who remain in your life, and all those who leave. Bless them as they go. Find a way to love them.?I've got everything else covered. Just love.

With this, you cannot?fail.

The Grammy. The Oscar. The Accolades. None of it matters. None of it makes you worthy. And none of it would satisfy you without love. Nobody brings those things with them in the end, anyway. But all that love? You’ll not only bring it with you, you’ll also leave it behind. And you might not sense it at the time, but you’ll have made the world a better place - by making a difference to the people you loved. Don't worry about all the other stuff, how you'll make a living, how you'll move ahead.

Just love. Okay?

Me:

Okay. Ohhhh Kaaay. Wow. Got it. No pressure, there, Supreme Being. But honestly? That feels bigger and harder than anything I asked for previously. Because... people. And you know... because... me.

Those were my first thoughts after reading the words?on the page. But... as I read it over again, I began to feel a tiny (very tiny) shift. I considered the possibility that I was capable of loving the people around me and that perhaps this was enough for my life to matter. I could do this, I thought.?I am capable. I will try.

And so I began.

After that quiet, life-altering?revelation, my life - over the years - slowly came into focus. The overwhelming sense of failure I'd cultivated began to wane and was replaced with a quiet sense of purpose. A few decades later, here I am. And this is the life I continually strive to live. It's a radically imperfect one to be sure, as I am still learning how to love, even as I enter my 60s. And I certainly?haven't done a great job loving?everyone who's crossed my path. But it's a life the purpose of which I understand, and?which requires action?over which I have total control. I’m no longer looking for love in all the wrong places. I do not live to be validated by or find my worth in my work, in my pay scale, or by awards. I keep at my voiceover career with diligence and gratitude?for the opportunities that come my way, to be sure. But whether it's my daughter, my family, my friends, my colleagues, my clients, my neighbors, the mail carrier, or even my ridiculously anxious, pain-in-the-ass dog (who's really quite sweet if you just leave her alone) I've set my sights on figuring out how to love them better, to be kind to whoever crosses my path, in whatever small way I can. While that may all sound very lofty, it is doable, and... really quite challenging.

So, what does all this mean for those of you still waiting for?answers? Well, your answers will be different than they were for me. They'll ultimately and rightly come from you and your life experience when you're ready to hear them - from the still, small voice that lives inside you. I simply offer what I've gleaned over the years with the hope that it might help as you do your own gleaning:

First: Know this: You are loved. Deeply loved.?

And, if you don't know it already, you have value and purpose far beyond a career in voiceover, or whatever career you've chosen to pursue. Really. It's true. Explore that for awhile. It'll change you.

Second: Look for and walk through the doors that open for you.

Yes, you may have to knock on occasion, and yes, you may have to knock twice. You might even?have to humble yourself and ask a good and willing friend for the key to help you unlock it. But if you find yourself trying to kick down those closed doors, your foot is nearly broken, and they still aren’t budging, might I suggest you look around for an open door? Or perhaps an open window; one beckoning with a new and promising vista? ?

Third: Follow the path of lesser resistance.

I do this when I’m driving. If I have the choice of two paths while on the road, I go?where the light is green or the turn is easiest, even when Waze tells me otherwise. It’s the same concept. It?makes driving in a bustling city a whole lot more pleasant, and it's also a pretty good metaphor for life.

Fourth: Be open to the idea that your path will change. And that could be the best thing ever.

Maybe with time and diligence you’ll bring to fruition the voiceover career you desire. Or maybe, you’ll walk through a different door... and become a recording engineer. Or a copywriter. Or a home studio designer. Or an audiobook editor. Or a designer of VO websites. Or a casting director. Or a VO agent. Maybe you’ll climb?through an open window and create an entirely new product or service based on a need you see that begs?to be satisfied. If you love the world of voice-over, you’ll find a way to be in it. It just might be in a different capacity than you first thought.?And maybe, just maybe, you'll engage another interest of yours that has nothing to do with voiceover at all. And maybe you'll be happier than you thought possible. Stranger things have happened.

Take it from a former?grand dreamer of Oscars and Grammys, whose dreams did not come to fruition. Take it from a could-have-been?recording artist who, come to think of it, does record her voice almost every day, but who never dreamed she’d do it how?she’s been doing it for 38 years. Take it from someone who found an open door and chose to walk through it, and who's ended up loving the life she never expected.

Trust and Be Brave.