You have decided to become a professional actor.

So far, it’s gone great. You’ve pictured yourself taking the world by storm. It starts in a little audition room, where you deliver a monologue so spectacular that it makes the casting director first weep, and then applaud with joy. They cast you in their new play immediately, and word spreads of your seemingly limitless talent. Soon, you’re on the front cover of Chicago Actor’s Magazine and Seemingly Limitless Talent Quarterly, and, by the time opening night rolls around, your entire run of shows has been sold out. After rave reviews, you take the show to Broadway, where it is met with even more rave-y reviews. The play is turned into a pilot that you, of course, star in, and it results in a network show that runs for nine seasons. From there, you launch a movie career, win four Oscars, marry some young starlet, buy an Italian villa, divorce the starlet, become a recluse, and eventually die in a freak yachting accident off the coast of Brazil.

Planning phase: complete.

But, eventually, you have to take the next step. You have to tell other people that you want to be an actor.

When I decided I was going to tell people that I wanted to be an actor, I expected a whole range of responses, from “Are you sure you want to do this?” to “I do not recommend that you do this.” Then I imagined I would say, “Oh, my. You’re correct. This is a crazy idea. What was I thinking?” and shuffle off to law school.

Sadly, this is not what happened.

Instead, people have been very supportive. Almost across the board. Frequently, they even seem excited. “Go for it,” they say. “Do what you love. Follow your dreams.”

Of course, this vocal encouragement is often coupled with a facial expression that I have since come to identify as “Good luck, buddy” face. This expression contains a unique combination of skepticism, pity, and condescension. It is similar to the look one might give a small, visually-impaired asthmatic boy who insists that he will one day become an astronaut. It says, “I will not be the one to break your dreams, child, but know that they will be broken.” Or, to put it more succinctly, “Good luck, buddy.”

The other response I get essentially boils down to one seemingly reasonable question: “Can you make a living doing that?”

This question is, of course, horribly ignorant. Not ignorant in the sense that this person has grossly underestimated the monetary rewards for storefront theatre acting, but ignorant in the sense that YOU NEVER ASK A CREATIVE ABOUT MONEY.

And because the answer is a resounding “probably not.”

The most interesting responses will undoubtedly come from those closest to you. Because these unfortunate folks presumably have a vested interest in your future, they cannot brush you off with encouraging words and a “Good luck, buddy” face. They must seem genuinely supportive at all times, while still subtly getting across the message that your chosen profession frequently does not compensate you with actual money, which might make your life considerably more challenging down the road. This conundrum can lead to some unique approaches. My mother, for instance, is nothing but optimistic in regards to my acting career when we’re face-to-face. However, she occasionally sends me emails that are entirely empty but for a single link, a link which invariably leads to an article titled “Non-Equity Theater Actors Juggle Day Jobs.”

All of these responses are justified. In fact, there may be no better options. The ideal, one imagines, is honest, unqualified encouragement, but this would do me no good. Even if I received some heartfelt, caveat-less support (which I’m sure I have), I could never recognize it. I carry with me such tremendous doubt about my future that I hear skepticism in every voice and see “Good luck, buddy” in every face. I cannot hear people urging me on because every bone in my body is trying to go hide under my bed and not reemerge until they have formulated a list of concrete career goals and a five year plan that will place me in a stable profession with a comfortable salary.

I imagine that this doubt will dissipate around the time I receive my third Oscar.

I promise more concrete details about the nitty-gritty of professional acting in the weeks to come.

So keep reading.