The house lights went down, and the crowd got quiet.
Then, with a flourish of light and of a crescendo of sound, the stage came to life.
The hour that followed was filled with plot twists, musical interludes, and intrigue. Once it was over, the entire cast of actors lined up on the stage and took a bow.
I was too stunned to applaud.
I had just witnessed the second act of a Broadway musical. One that featured far more action than what had preceded intermission. And I had struggled mightily to keep up with it all.
On the way out of the theater, my sister asked me what I thought of the performance. She had been an assistant director on the production some months prior, and she’d accompanied me to the show on this night.
The second act seemed rushed, I coarsely replied.
Well, that’s Shakespeare, my sister responded.
I stood there, puzzled. Yes, this musical was an adaptation of William Shakespeare’s work. But his plays had five acts to disperse the action. Couldn’t these writers have spread things out more evenly?
I pondered this for a moment. Then we headed out into the night.
Act 2 is an important concept in our society.
It’s the portion of our journey that leads directly to the finish line. It’s where the spotlight is brightest, and where the rewards are most tangible.
We’re primed to give our best in the second act. And we’re conditioned to do the most.
The first act simply sets the table. It’s a construct to acclimate us for the sprint to the finish.
Sports teams don’t get accolades for a hot start if they tail off down the stretch. Neither do companies who frontload revenue growth. The stain of missed potential lingers in these situations, dulling the shine of those early milestones.
Yes, Act 2 is all that truly matters. And if we want to make the most of our opportunity, we better hit the stretch run with reckless abandon.
This is the current upon which entertainment travels. It’s the reason why that Broadway musical was so backloaded.
But does this standard represent reality?
I don’t believe so.
When I was four years old, my mother gave my father an ultimatum.
Change your life or change your wife.
At that point, my father had been an advertising account executive for the better part of a decade. His passion for the job had since faded, and the long hours weighed on him.
Yet, my father was fearful of exiting the industry. The pay was comfortable enough to support a young family. And career shifts were still largely taboo in those days.
So, my father went through his work weeks with a dour disposition. As each month passed, he became more and more of a ghost. That is, until my mother’s ultimatum snapped him back to life.
My father made the wise choice. He changed his life, leaving advertising behind and becoming a teacher.
His Act 2 has lasted for decades. My father has found far more success and fulfillment in his second career than he did in his first. And he’s blazed quite the path for me to follow.
You see, I too have found far more success, fulfillment, and longevity in Act 2 than I have in Act 1. This has proven true with my profession, my hobbies, and even my efforts to build a social circle.
At a high level, this is not all that different from the societal ideal. My first act still sets the table for my second act to feast upon.
But at ground level, the differences are stark. Act 1 is setting the scene for what I should avoid, while Act 2 is establishing the alternative to move toward. And that movement should, by nature, take far longer to play out than the bungled missteps that preceded it.
My career trajectory illustrates this perfectly.
I got my start in broadcast journalism, in the high-octane world of TV news media. I lasted about three years in that industry before making a change. But those three action-packed years still feel like six to me. The strain and stress carried that much weight.
As I write this, I’ve spent a decade in my second career as a marketer. My journey from wide-eyed newbie to seasoned professional in this field has been anything but swift. And yet, I am far from dissatisfied.
The long tail of my Act 2 represents the stability I’ve long craved. It’s provided me with the satisfaction I’ve long yearned for. And it’s offered me the opportunity to grow in my discipline at a sustainable pace.
Sure, it might seem boring to outside observers. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thin
I’m currently on the cusp of another Act 2. One that I find just as significant.
After years of achievement as a competitive distance runner, my body has broken down. The medals, personal record times, and pictures standing atop race podiums have faded into an array of doctor’s visits, protective braces, and canceled race entries.
I still love running, and I love competing. But my body has given me an ultimatum. I can only choose one.
I’ve chosen the former. I’d rather run for fun than compete in something I’m less passionate about. It’s a bittersweet choice, but one I’ve made without a hint of hesitation.
Still, this decision doesn’t have to be a tradeoff. Indeed, I consider it an opportunity. An opportunity to start the second act of my running life.
I’m not quite sure what I should expect.
I’m not sure if my body will accept a steady running mileage base better than it handled the peaks and valleys of training. I’m not if my mind will stay motivated without races dotting the calendar. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to attain the same level of fitness as I did before.
My hope is that all of this does come to pass. That I stay healthy, successful, and fulfilled for years to come — even without the measuring stick of racing.
But I know that this won’t happen overnight. I might be past intermission, but there are miles and miles to go on this stretch run.
Act 2 of my running career will be a protracted journey, hopefully with more ups than downs along the way.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.