Here is what I wrote, my 200 words: In the most basic way, I make my living as a storyteller. I delight in being told, dreaming about, reshaping and retelling the tales that make our culture; tales that outlive their tellers. I spend much of my time with theater students learning to decode, compose, illuminate and narrate these tales. My great good fortune is in getting to play alongside those I teach. I’ve repeated the exercise of putting together a play many, many times. In many places. It never ceases to delight me.
I am happiest in the rehearsal hall and in my upstate New York garden. Both allow me the chance to meditate, to dream, to ponder, to contemplate life, to form it into a more satisfactory vision. My life has not gone by without ample opportunity to ponder. Life has posed challenges to health and happiness, to the head and to the heart. The theater and the garden are sanctuaries where I repair to take up against the world.
A high school history teacher taught me the price the gods demand at the Gates of Excellence is sweat. The garden, the rehearsal room and the classroom are where I pay my dues.
And here is the cover of my autobiography: