For Dad xx.
I’ve always been a Bo Burnham girly but my dad was a Tim Minchin kind of guy. I remember shoving From God’s Perspective in front of my dad’s face and saying,
“Look, Dad, he’s like Tim Minchin!”
He was like a bridge of sorts for us and when my dad inevitably wanted to share his fatherly wisdom, he would invoke the great words of both spectacular artists alike. Reading You Don’t Have to Have a Dream: Advice for the Incrementally Ambitious felt like one of these conversations with my dad. Little nuggets of wisdom that make you groan and say, “uh yeah I know” and roll your eyes with teenager affect, not realising that later in life this advice will be incredibly beneficial to you.
In case you’ve been living under a rock, Tim Minchin is an internationally acclaimed songwriter, singer, pianist, comedian, actor, writer, and human. In addition to his hugely successful music and comedy tours, he is the composer and lyricist of Matilda the Musical and Groundhog Day, and the co-creator of the TV comedy Upright. He is also the author of three previous books. His fourth book – You Don’t Have to Have a Dream – contains the three speeches Tim Minchin gave at The University of Western Australia, The Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts, and the Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts when he received his honorary degrees at each university. In his own words, there is “One about being human, one about being a musician, and one about being an actor.” Each speech features a new introduction from Minchin which places them in context further sharing insights on his work and reflecting on his success. Filled with Minchin’s famed wit, cynicism, and romanticism and some questionably quirky drawings, I would recommend this book to anyone and everyone. Whether you’re in university or currently experiencing a life crisis, Minchin gives wonderfully sage and philosophical advice to get you through, well, life.
“Life will sometimes seem long and tough and, God it’s tiring.
And you will sometimes be happy and sometimes sad.
And then you’ll be old and then you’ll dead.
There is only one sensible thing to do with this empty existence, and that is: fill it.”
The last speech, You’ve Always Wanted to be an Actor is particularly poignant for any art students out there. Perfect for those nights you can’t sleep, lying awake stressing about the dismal and probably jobless future that awaits you at the end of your arts degree, freaking out because you’re writing isn’t as good as your peers or that you’ll never be famous so just give up. Minchin’s advice for these troubled artists seems so obvious except that it isn’t.
“Comparing yourself to others in any area of your life is poison.”
Or when asked how to have a career like his he responds,
“You can’t have a career like mine. It’s mine. You have to have your career.”
There too is simplicity in solipsism, if you become the best at being you, there is no competition.
“We carry our scars and our defeats and victories into how we express ourselves. We bring all our experience, all our hours, all our self-loathing and self-love into our craft. At least we should.”
In the same speech, perhaps the most comforting segment is where Minchin discusses his happiest friends. The artists may not have necessarily achieved stardom, but instead lead fulfilling lives as teachers, and parents, and work on local theatre productions far from Hollywood. I know personally as a creative writing student it is hard to imagine a “successful” career past university. My imaginings range from being Sally Rooney to doing nothing at all and sometimes we forget that there is an in-between, where we define our success. Wild, right?
From start to finish, I felt slightly angry reading this book. I was reminded of my dad’s lectures, taken back to those teenage feelings of angst and stupidity at not being able to piece all this simple wisdom together myself.
Alright, I’m ready for it.
Say you told me so.
