Learning to Love the Long Road
When I first stepped into the world of theater producing, I had no idea what kind of journey I was starting. I was coming from a background in performance and music, with a solid foundation in radio and independent film work. But producing? That was a whole new world—one that required a mix of creative vision, business sense, stamina, and a strong stomach for the unknown.
What I’ve learned over the years is that theater producing isn’t a sprint. It’s a marathon. It’s not just about getting one show off the ground or landing a moment of success. It’s about consistency, about relationships, and about weathering both the thrilling highs and the inevitable setbacks. You learn, slowly but surely, how to play the long game.
Patience Is a Producer’s Best Tool
It took me a while to understand that progress in this field often comes in quiet, incremental steps. There’s a lot of waiting in producing—waiting on funding, waiting on schedules, waiting on decisions that aren’t always yours to make. It’s easy, especially early on, to feel like things should be moving faster.
But over time, I’ve learned that patience isn’t just necessary—it’s powerful. Some of the most meaningful projects I’ve been a part of didn’t come together overnight. They took years of nurturing, shaping, and refining. Sometimes they started as offhand conversations over coffee, or as small workshops with no guarantee of where they’d go. Staying committed through that process, even when there’s no clear finish line in sight, is what separates a moment of excitement from a lasting career.
Building Relationships That Last
In an industry as collaborative as theater, the relationships you build are just as important as the work you produce. I’m not just talking about networking in the traditional sense. I mean building real, human connections—with writers, directors, actors, designers, stage managers, and fellow producers. These are the people you’ll return to again and again. They’re the ones who call you not just because you can get something made, but because they trust your taste, your integrity, and your ability to see a project through.
That trust takes time. It doesn’t come from one successful production or a flashy resume. It comes from showing up, again and again, and being someone people can count on. As James Simon, producer, I’ve tried to make that consistency my calling card. I’m not chasing trends or the next big thing. I’m focused on building relationships that endure and stories that matter.
Weathering the Tough Seasons
Let’s be honest—this isn’t always an easy path. There are seasons when it feels like everything is clicking, and then there are times when nothing goes the way you planned. A show falls through, funding dries up, or an idea that once felt unstoppable hits a wall.
The truth is, sustainability in this career means being able to endure those moments without letting them define you. It means understanding that failure is part of the process—not a stopping point, but a teacher. Every time something doesn’t go as planned, there’s an opportunity to learn, to adjust, and to move forward a little bit wiser.
Over the years, I’ve come to respect those tougher seasons. They teach you to be resourceful. They sharpen your instincts. And, maybe most importantly, they remind you why you started doing this in the first place.
Staying Curious and Open
Longevity in theater producing also means staying curious. The industry changes. Audiences change. What excited you ten years ago might not be what excites you now. And that’s okay. The trick is to stay open—to new voices, new forms, new ways of working.
One of the best parts of this work is that it constantly introduces me to people with fresh ideas. I love being around emerging artists who see the world differently than I do. They challenge me. They energize me. And they help keep the work dynamic and relevant.
If you’re in this for the long haul, you have to keep evolving. You have to be willing to adapt without losing your center. That’s how you build a career that doesn’t just last, but continues to grow.
Why I Still Love This Work
After all these years, I still get excited about the process. The first reading of a new piece. The energy in the room during a run-through. The way an audience leans in when a moment lands just right. That feeling doesn’t go away.
But even beyond the stage, what keeps me going is the belief that theater matters. That stories matter. That bringing people together in a room—laughing, crying, connecting—is still one of the most meaningful things we can do.
The road hasn’t always been easy, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Playing the long game means I get to be part of something bigger than myself. It means building a body of work I can be proud of and helping create space for others to do the same.
That’s the kind of legacy I’m aiming for. And I’m just getting started.