Nine days ago, I closed the door on a show. In nine days from now, I will close the door on my present apartment and move into a new place to start a new beginning.
The power of nine is fine.
Nine is a number of thresholds. A number of changes. It stands at the edge—neither beginning nor end, but that liminal space where reflection and anticipation meet. It is still in the single digits. No complications.
Nine says, you’re almost there. Nine says, look how far you’ve come. Nine gives you time to breathe before the next leap.Nine is truly a derivative of three (my favorite number) .
And here I am—between the past I’ve honored and the future I haven’t yet met. A show behind me. A five year home soon to be behind me. A new life, part one, will soon be in front of me.
But I am not alone in the in-between. I carry with me the people who’ve helped shape my heart, steady my steps, and remind me who I am when everything else shifts.
So I’ll honor the power of nine as I sit here, still groggy from a long snooze that nearly made me miss a meeting—one I scheduled myself, no less. As the haze of sleep lifts, I find myself reflecting on everything that needs to be done, knowing that in just nine days, my life is going to flip upside down.But, in the midst of the to-do lists and anticipation, my mind keeps drifting to the people who have recently come into my life or have been a steady constant in my life. This piece is, I suppose, part reflection, part expression of gratitude.
At first, I considered naming names, but I’ve learned that naming names can be risky. The minute you forget one person, the drama begins. So instead, here are my thoughts—personal, honest, and from the heart. They are in no particular order nor in an order of importance, but rather a flow of thinking.
Person 1- The Radiant Connector
I met her three years ago when she came to see my production of The Laramie Project. We chatted afterward about theater—just two people connecting over a shared passion. From there, our friendship blossomed. We’ve since worked on two projects together, and now she’s even guiding me toward new creative opportunities. We talk almost every day.
It’s her heart of gold, her vivacious personality, her immense talent, and her relentlessly positive outlook that warm the deepest parts of my heart. She has this rare gift—she’s genuinely present with everyone she meets. Because of that, she lifts people up. She inspires them to be better. She inspires me to be better.
Person 2- The Nine Minute Spark
This friendship is brand new. It began with a phone call—ironically, a nine-minute conversation. I’ve never even saw his face. For all I know, I could bump into him in a crowded mall and not even realize it was him.
But even in those nine minutes, something sparked. A connection. A sense that this is someone who will matter in my life. Sometimes it really is that simple—and that powerful. He is the type of person who enters a life with a whisper and still leaves an echo.
He walks into a room, and his magnetic personality draws people to him. His eyes melt the coldest of hearts, while his smile brightens the darkest of days. He is pure. He is authentic. Anyone lucky enough to date him has received a gift. He is a true sweetheart. A blessing.
Person 3- The Mirror
We’ve been friends for years. She’s stood by me through the highs, the lows, and all the messy in-betweens. She lets me vent freely, but she also holds me accountable—with a gentle but firm, “Let me show you another perspective.”
There’s an irony in our friendship, I find especially meaningful. Last year, she stepped away from our shared profession to bring a new life into the world. And this year, I leave that same profession for a new life of my own. There’s symmetry in our paths. A quiet poetry that follows no rhythmic pattern.
We’ve exchanged ideas at work. We’ve shared life hacks. We’ve shared our lives. We have shared our lunch together. I’ve witnessed how intently she loves her husband, her daughter, her world. And through that, I’ve learned something about what it means to be grounded, to be devoted, and to love with intention.
Person 4- The Wow of Mom
Okay—I’ll name this one. Because there’s no other way.
If you take the word WOW and turn it upside down, you get MOM. And my mom is my wow.
She tries to keep me grounded, but her wisdom is rooted in motherly experience. She has this innate ability to see what I don’t. She sees around corners I didn’t know were there. She reminds me constantly, daily, hourly, that we “can’t make this shit up.”
We exchange ideas and perspectives, and yet we travel different paths. I’m immersed in theater; she’s deeply into politics. And maybe that’s the secreboth are, in their own way, part of the great illusions of the world. Both require belief, performance, passion, and an audience.
She may not always understand the path I walk, but she never stops walking beside me. And that’s what matters the most.
Person 5- The Brother by Choice
He is my friend, my priest, my chosen brother. I met him thirty years ago—yes, thirty. A lifetime. He often says, “I know you like water.” Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But one thing I know for sure: he’s been there through every tide. The highs, the lows, the still and uncertain in-betweens—even after fifteen years apart. Somehow, he still keeps me grounded. He is the quiet, steady anchor of my soul.
We don’t always see things the same way; however, we enter the conversation. We’ve stumbled through our share of disagreements, mismatched perspectives, and missed understandings. But do I love him? With my whole heart. Like a brother—the brother I never had, but always needed. We’ve called each other “brother” for so long now, it feels like the truth. Do I annoy him? Probably. Does he annoy me? No. He stretches me, he pushes me, he expects from me - to grow, to reflect, to rise above, and to pray with more intention.
There’s something sacred in our friendship, something only we understand. We may take different roads, but we always find our way to the same truth. Even when tension sparks, there’s an unspoken trust that never wavers. We’ve both poured so much of ourselves into others, sometimes leaving too little for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we recognize something familiar in each other, an echo of understanding words can’t quite capture.
He’s taught me something I hold close: that the people who love deeply and truly—who see you, know you, and stay with you are among life’s rarest and greatest gifts. That truth alone speaks to the love we’ve built, layer by layer, year after year.
He’s the only one in the world who calls me “Michael.” And when I say something outrageous, as I did in a recent show, his rich baritone cuts through with that signature mix of disbelief and affection: “Michael… really?” It’s our rhythm now, our shorthand for love and laughter. He’s taught me how to find the “wow” moments—not just onstage, but in the everyday. He has become my Saturday night wow.
When I say, “I’m living the dream,” he smiles with that spark in his blue eyes, laughter rising warm and easy from his chest, and answers with quiet certainty, “Every day.”
He may not be my brother by blood, but in every way that matters, he is my brother. My brother by choice. And I am grateful—so deeply, wordlessly grateful—that he’s here. Still challenging me. Still believing in me. Still loving me. Still him.
Person 6: The Flame of the Holy Ghost
I met her more than five years ago as a neighbor, but she quickly became much more than that. In our conversations, she often reminds me to “pray about it”—a simple but powerful invitation to pause, reflect, and listen.
We come from different religious backgrounds, but we worship the same God. There’s a quiet unity in that, something unspoken yet deeply understood. She lives her faith as she walks the walk and has no need to talk the talk.
She knows what it means to chase excellence; to be in a show, striving for something just out of reach, aiming for perfection but persistent in purpose. Her discipline is inspiring: she works out her body with impressive consistency, but more importantly, she works out her spirit, day by day, prayer by prayer, action by action.
She is a steady flame: strong, grounded, and always glowing, with shea moisturizer and intention.
Person 7: The Quiet Muse
I met him over twenty years ago at a show; a chance meeting wrapped in joy, tears, and laughter. It was the kind of night that reminds you why theater matters. And somehow, in the middle of it all, I found a friend whose light has become a beacon for so many.
That night sparked a connection that has grown quietly, steadily, over two decades. A twenty-year friendship has led him to become me, and me to become him (if you know the shows we’ve done, that statement makes perfect sense) We’ve reflected one another in ways neither of us could’ve imagined back then.
He is an artistic soul in the truest sense. His love for theater, his passion for life, and his unwavering embrace of who he is have inspired me deeply. He creates, lives, and moves through the world with a quiet brilliance—the brilliance that fills my heart with the love that is him.
We don’t see each other often these days because our schedules rarely align. But he is always with me. In my heart. In my thoughts. In the way I see beauty, approach creativity, and hold space for others. His influence on me and my love for him runs deeper than he likely knows.
I am lucky beyond words to call him my quiet muse, my inspiration, my heart, my AP1.
Person 8: The Call That Cares
She’s the voice that shows up not in grand gestures, but in the quiet, consistent moments that remind you you’re not alone. I’ve known her for over forty years—longer than some friendships even dare to imagine. When mom had some medical issues, she was the one who kept me company. When mom was in the hospital it was her presence that kept me grounded.
What sets her apart isn’t just her instinct to call, it’s when she calls. She has that uncanny ability to check in exactly when I need it. No announcements. No agendas. Just a warm, “Hey, I was thinking about you,” or “How are you?” Those words may seem simple, but they land with the weight of friendship.
She understands the value of showing up, even from a distance. That’s her gift. She doesn’t ask for anything in return. No demands, no expectations. She is the first person who will volunteer to assist in a project.
Her calls don’t just catch me up—they ground me. They remind me where I’ve come from and who has walked beside me on this long path of becoming.
She’s proof that real friendship doesn’t need daily maintenance—it just needs sincerity. A genuine heart. And the courage to say, “I care,” even in the smallest of ways or a plate of pasta on Friday evening.
Person 9: The Wonder Three
They are each so different, and yet, together, they hold a piece of my heart in perfect balance.
The eldest, 30, walks her own path with quiet strength and grounded wisdom. I’ve watched her grow from wide-eyed wonder into a woman of intention, strong in determination, and thoughtful in her choices. She travels her own path.
The middle one, at 24, is a firework. Independent. Fierce. Unapologetically herself. She sees the world through her own lens and doesn’t wait for permission to chase what matters. There’s an energy in her that challenges norms, pushes limits, and reminds me that sometimes we need to be unapologetic in life. Then there’s the youngest; 15. The one who shares more than just my name in the family story. She’s stepping into the theater, following the very path I once did. Watching her find herself backstage watching the action as she puts the set piece in place like it was her own house She asks questions I once asked, dreams dreams I recognize, and dares to make them bigger.
Each of them holds a different chapter of life, a different rhythm. And though they may not realize it, they’ve taught me just as much as I’ve ever hoped to teach them. About courage. About grace. About what it means to be a family in all its layers. I am endlessly proud to be their uncle.
These nine people, each so different, each so vital, have reminded me of what matters most. Presence. Perspective. Kindness. Challenge. Trust. Love. They are the mirrors, the anchors, the spark plugs. Some are new additions, some lifelong companions, but all of them have helped me hold onto myself even as the world shifts around me.
This reflective moment feels like the hush before a scene change: the lights dim, the set moves, and the audience holds its breath. And I’m somewhere in the wings, heart racing, waiting for my cue.
And when the lights come back up, I’ll step into it with every part of me that has been loved, challenged, seen, and held by the people I’ve just named without naming.The truth is, I don’t entirely know what lies ahead. What I do know is that I’m not walking into it alone. I am fine with my nine.