Matthew Del Negro - 10,000 NOs

Matthew Del Negro

January 2020

“You never know when those other supportive factors are going to want to converge around your work, but they won't if you don't take the first step.”

— Jessica Blank, Writer , The Exonerated

There are many things that can muddy the waters and make something so simple, like trying a new hobby or ditching a bad habit, seem complex. As crazy as it sounds, most humans will come up with excuse after excuse to try to wiggle out of doing the one thing they know they need to do in order to accomplish their deepest desires. But really, it all begins with one step. I believe you will only take that step, and change the course you are on, when the thought of not doing something becomes more painful to you than the thought of giving it a try. It really is that simple.

The truth that most people fail to acknowledge, however, is that doing something, even if you're following a dream, can still be painful a lot of the time. When you're following a dream, though, there's a pot of gold at the end of the pain. That pot may not be filled with literal gold, but it should at least hold the gold of fulfillment . That fulfillment usually comes in the form of peace, satisfaction, and a pride that only comes from living with purpose.

“We don't tell ourselves, ‘I'm never going to write my symphony.’ Instead we say, ‘I'm going to write my symphony; I'm just going to start tomorrow.’”

—Stephen Pressfield, The War of Art

People these days, myself included, are obsessed with the origin stories of those who have broken away from the pack to take the road less traveled. This is not surprising given the difficulty required to take the first step down any path. The question I'm asked the most, besides how I memorize all my lines, is how I became a professional actor. The trite answer I usually give in interviews is that it started with a girl. That leads to a story about a breakup in college while studying abroad, which ultimately led to my decision to quit playing lacrosse my junior year at Boston College. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I auditioned for a play, and the rest is history. But perhaps a more truthful and accurate answer is that it started with a plethora of proverbial “no”s throughout my childhood.

Most people can trace their why back to some pain, rejection, or perceived loss in childhood that they are now trying to fix. I am no different. For me, my why was forged in the pain of my parents' marriage, which looked one way to my immediate family and another to the rest of the world. As the youngest member of the family, and the peacekeeper, I was constantly interpreting one family member's actions to another. Socially, my role was similar. I could always relate to most people so I'd find myself explaining one person to another, even if they were part of vastly different social subsets. The price I paid for keeping the peace was that I internalized everything and carried it around with me. Looking back now, it is easier to see that my career choice did not really come out of nowhere, the way I previously viewed it, as my job now is to interpret the words of writers and the experiences of the characters I play. But I had zero awareness of this link back then.

On top of carrying other people's secrets around, as well as my own pain and frustration, I could never to seem to attain the things I wanted the most. As far back as the fifth grade, I'd pursue a girl I liked, get close to her, and muster up the courage to ask her out. But, one way or another, I'd end up alone after it fell apart due to a change of heart or some other obstacle I never saw coming until it was too late. Rejection is defined as the dismissing of an idea or the spurning of a person's affections, and I had plenty of both. I feel bad for a certain girl I “loved” in fifth grade because, while I've only run into her on rare occasions since we graduated high school, I never miss the opportunity to remind her of our date that never happened. I had charmed her enough to eventually elicit a “yes” when I asked her to the year-end town carnival, but on the night of the event, she stood me up. Two friends of mine still love to laugh about the memory of me riding The Whip alone in the rain. And while I can laugh at myself about it now, back then it added to the feeling that I was not where I wanted to be emotionally, and not sure I'd ever get there.

While I was not a child actor, I still managed to get a “no” when I auditioned for the role of the Cowardly Lion in an elementary school production of The Wizard of Oz . I had forgotten this story for a long time because it occurred long before I thought of acting as a viable career. It's only been in recent years, as I've reflected about the lessons I've learned in the course of my career, that I've remembered it. It was a play in which the kids in my class were required to participate. I really thought I could get the role of the Cowardly Lion until the new girl, upon whom I had a massive crush, completely outshined me with her audition. (Side note: this was a different crush. I moved on from the carnival stander-upper. But I screwed this one up, too—it wasn't until eighth or ninth grade, when I admitted to liking her three years prior, that she revealed she had a crush on me when she first moved to our school. Talk about missed opportunities. More on self-dispensed “no”s later.)

In the present day, I motivate myself by the thought that there is always someone out there more talented than me ready to take my roles. Perhaps it started back then, with my grade-school crush. She could sing and dance, and she had what people might call “it.” My talent, on the other hand, was rewarded with the consolation prize of playing Uncle Henry. I still remember my sole line, telling Auntie Em I had to fix the incubator. It was an illustrious beginning to my career, I assure you. This “no” was thrown onto the ever-increasing pile of rejections, but I didn't think much of it, at least consciously, because I didn't care about acting back then.

Sports, on the other hand, felt like my life when I was growing up. Unfortunately, my desire to be good at them was not matched by my talent. I'd work my butt off obsessively only to remain skinny, weak, and slow. The fact that I made it as far as I did in athletics is a sheer reflection of a burning desire in me to be accepted and valued. On my own, despite the many things I had going for me and the many great friends and family members who surrounded me, I largely felt like I was not enough.

No matter which “no” I credit as the origin of my career, it was somehow forged in the pain of rejection and the desire to overcome it.

Obviously, all of those childhood “no”s didn't kill me and neither did the “no” of my emotionally harrowing experience in Italy over the summer of 1992. Perhaps the expression “That which does not kill you will make you stronger” is popular because it reflects a truth. The breakup in Italy is what forced me to dig deeper and find something more fully satisfying than being a member of my college lacrosse team. Confusing feelings had been percolating inside me prior to my trip to Italy, inducing a full-blown panic attack long before I had ever heard that term. But, like many people, rather than examine the origins of my unrest, I chose to ignore my anxiety because I was too scared to take the first step.

On the surface, things were looking good for me by the spring of my sophomore year in Chestnut Hill. I had a beautiful girlfriend, a spot on the varsity team, grades that kept me on the Dean's List, and a lot of friends. But beneath the surface lurked a different story. Despite the fact that I thought I was in love for the first time, the panic attacks were brought on by the fact that I had been questioning the relationship subconsciously. I was just too scared to do anything to jeopardize it because I thought it was everything I wanted. There was a chasm deep within me that I had been avoiding and it created a gap between my inner self and the facade I presented to the world. That facade began to crumble in Italy when my girlfriend had the courage to do what I had feared by breaking off our relationship.