The Final Festival

I just arrived in Alberta for the Edmonton International Fringe Festival!

Edmonton is the oldest and largest fringe theatre festival in North America and I’m thrilled to be one of the 230 amazing shows being performed here this year.

Two years ago I started working on the skeleton of this show. It started as a small idea in the margin of a notebook, then turned into a single monologue, and later morphed into a full-blown show. If it wasn’t for my lovely wife Stephanie and brilliant collaborator, Frank Fogg, this show wouldn’t be what it is today.

My venue in Edmonton, the Old Strathcona Performing Arts Centre.

The summer tour has been full of ups and downs this year. For the first 12 performances I changed the show every night. I was tweaking the script and removing other pieces entirely. It just didn’t feel right - but that’s why you do fringe.

In the midst of it all, I’ve still been traveling back and forth from the tour to Chicago for my weekly performances of MIND READER. (I won’t be doing that during Edmonton, though.) Sometimes I’ve been so exhausted from travel that I’d start doing my weekly show at fringe or vice versa. I’d realize it part way through and have to adjust accordingly!

But now, after three months of touring, rewriting, rehearsing, and preparing…I feel like it’s ready. It’s still not exactly where I want it to be - but I ran out of time. You can’t be a perfectionist about a show like this or it’ll never get onstage. Done is better than perfect.

For now, it’s a fireworks show with a hidden meaning. I lull the audience into a sense of complacency with rapid-fire demonstrations and only then do I sneak in the philosophical ideas that matter most to me.

The more festivals I do the more I realize that I’m less of a mentalist and more of a storyteller. I love telling stories, it just happens that mind reading is the vehicle with which I tell them.

I’ve written more about this on other posts, but my goal with the fringe tours was always to work on an edgier, riskier show. I wanted to take chances and push myself as an artist. And, I feel like that’s exactly what I’ve done.

Eleven fringes in two years has been a life-changing experience. I like stacking my show up against other shows - storytellers, musicals, plays, comedians, and more - and seeing how it compares. I’ve enjoyed listening to feedback (positive and negative) and learning how to get better quickly.

And, I’ve learned to ignore the critics and the naysayers who don’t get what I’m doing. Sometimes they’re other know-it-all artists who think they’ve found the only way to do art correctly. Sometimes it’s a journalist who doesn’t care for your genre. And sometimes it’s yourself.

The more you put yourself out there, the more negativity you invite. So I’ve learned to ignore it, keep working, and believe in what I’m doing.

This will be my last festival for awhile. There are a few other projects that I have lined up, so I probably won’t go on tour next summer. But there are seven chances to see me live in Edmonton before I stop doing this version of the show and start working on something new.

Stay tuned! The tour may be ending but I’m only getting started.

Mystery

I can pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with mystery.

It was entirely unrelated to theatre or performance or mind reading. It wasn’t a movie or a book or a play. It was much simpler than that.

It was a game.

A favorite childhood game in my family was “Hide The Thimble” where you take a thimble and, well, hide it. The object of the game was to keep the bright, shiny thimble in plain sight so that you could easily see it from anywhere in the room.

We had dozens of favorite hiding spots. The thimble easily balanced on a picture frame or fit over a lamp switch. You could sit it between piano keys or rest it high atop a ceiling fan. The possibilities were endless.

We mostly played “Hide The Thimble” when visiting family, so we were full of anticipation upon arrival. We’d take turns hiding and finding the thimble, without a care in the world. There were no iPhones or internet back then so we were content to play as long as our relatives would put up with us.

On one occasion, someone (I can’t quite remember who) hid the thimble while the rest of us waited in the other room. Then the seeker (I wish I could remember) led the rest of us into the target area.

Minutes passed and the thimble had yet to be found. We were all stumped and excitedly waited for the “seeker” to discover its whereabouts.

Another ten minutes had passed and still no thimble.

“Show us!” we begged, but the person who hid it had forgotten where it was.

We were a patient family. It was in our blood. We would play chess and tennis and board games for hours. We would design extravagant scavenger hunts for each other and organize massive rounds of Capture The Flag.

What I’m trying to say is that we would have looked for that thimble for hours. We would have stayed in that room and kept looking if my dad hadn’t told us it was time to head home.

“But we haven’t found the thimble yet!” someone said.

“Well, we’ll have to find it next time then,” my dad said, as we followed him to the driveway.

There was no next time.

Time passed, and so did relatives. Things changed and we grew older. 

The thimble was never found.

I think about that thimble often. I wonder where it was hidden and what might have happened to it.

Did it fall off a light switch and roll under a shelf? Was it resting just above our eyeline and we had forgotten to look up? Did the future owners renovate that room and discover a small, shiny object underneath the floorboards?

Or maybe it was never meant to be found?

Over the years I’ve learned to be okay with not knowing. I like it that way.

Jump

I went skydiving this week. For real.

I jumped out of a plane at 13,500 feet with a guy named Adam who I’d never met until the day of the jump. We fell for 60 seconds at around 120 mph before he pulled the chute and we floated back down to the drop zone at Skydive Chicago.

It was unlike anything I’ve done before and I’ll definitely be doing it again.

The whole morning everyone kept asking me if I was nervous. They wanted to know if I was freaking out or going to be sick.

The truth is, I wasn’t.

I really hadn’t had much time to think about it. I’ve been so busy with my summer tour and my weekly show that I hadn’t had a moment to get nervous.

So when it came to the big day I was just excited. I signed the waiver, got suited up, and next thing I knew we were jumping out of a plane.

Piece of cake.

Those questions reminded me of when I moved to Los Angeles after I finished college.

Back then, I was on a quest to go to Hollywood and follow my dreams. So the second I finished school I packed my bags and headed west. I left my wonderful girlfriend (now wife!) crying in a parking lot and my gorgeous mustang convertible behind, all so I could pursue my passion.

All I had with me was a suitcase of clothes, my computer, my props, and 500 bucks. That was it.

Everyone I talked to had a version of the same question:

When did you know you were ready to move to LA?

My answer was always the same: I was never ready.

At the time, my show wasn’t good enough. I didn’t have enough money or a good plan for when I got to SoCal. I was completely alone. But I knew I had to move or else I might never go at all.

Moving right away meant that before I could get nervous I was already there. I was immediately immersed in a new city with new adventures, so I put my head down and got to work. The next thing I knew, I was taking the bus to gigs in all corners of LA. I found an agent, booked a commercial, and started to build momentum.

I still approach things this way. I dive into something and figure it out as I go.

Sometimes I do shows for several thousand people. It’s a huge responsibility to entertain such a big audience, but I don’t think about it. Instead I do my sound check and preparations like any other show, then head to the dressing room. Next thing I know, I’m being introduced and running onstage. There’s no time to be nervous.

Sometimes it’s better not to overthink things and just do it. Go see a movie without reading the reviews. Take a trip without planning it out. Venture out into your city and find something new.

You’ll never be fully prepared for anything. You can sit around and plan all you want. But at some point you’ll have to just go for it. You’ll have to make your move, take a chance, and jump!

10 Things I've Learned From 10 Fringe Festivals

I’m in the middle of a run of performances at the Kansas City Fringe Festival and I just realized that this is the 10th fringe festival I’ve done in less than two years. Amazing!

I’m far from a fringe veteran - I know many people who have done far more festivals than I have. But, I’m thrilled that I’ve been able to juggle my usual schedule of corporate/college events with some theatrical shows.

After my tour last year a lot of performers sent me messages asking for advice and input on which festivals to do and how to get the most out of them. Now that I’ve officially reached double digits, I thought it might be useful to put a list of things I’ve learned together, just in case you might want to give the festival circuit a try yourself!

I had two main goals going into my first festival:

First, I wanted to work on an edgier show, a show that I couldn’t do in my usual gigs. I wanted to make it more personal, include more storytelling, and try to stretch myself as an actor/entertainer.

Also, I wanted to get some great press quotes for my show. I hoped that I could design a show that would garner some buzz that I could use for other projects, too.

After my first festival, I knew I was onto something. So I started rewriting the show and put together my first tour. Flash forward two years later and here I am, about to wrap up another successful run in Kansas City.

I’ve learned some amazing things over the past couple years that have even helped me in my everyday life. So even if you never plan on doing a fringe festival I hope you’ll get something out of the top 10 Things I’ve Learned From 10 Fringe Festivals:

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1 - SEEK OUT FEEDBACK

For me, fringe has been a great way to talk to my audiences and understand how they perceive what I do. I’m always seeking out feedback and trying to improve. Ask the people around you what was good and what could be better. And when they talk, shut up and listen. That’s how you get better in a hurry.

2 - BE READY FOR CRITICISM

Doing a fringe show means you’re inviting criticism. If audiences don’t enjoy it, they’ll let you know. And press reviews vary from festival to festival. Sometimes the press is on your side and other times they may not like your show at all. I had a friend who got his best review and worst review from the SAME SHOW! 

Learn to embrace the criticism and try to develop a thick skin. It’s not personal. Share your positive reviews and don’t complain about the negative. Hold your head up high and be proud of how far you’ve come. 

In the beginning, a negative comment or review would get me down for days. I’d be so frustrated that people weren’t understanding my motives or missing the point of my show. But I soon realized that it’s not up to me. Once I do the show, it’s out of my control. They either liked it or they didn't, and that’s okay. You learn from it, get better, and there’s always another show around the corner so you can try again.

3 - YOU GET OUT WHAT YOU PUT IN

Fringe is all about the work. I spend most of the time between shows promoting. I pass out postcards and hang posters or send invites to media contacts and friends to make sure they’re aware of my upcoming performances. Some of my best reviews have been a result of multiple follow-ups! As with anything in life, the key is to work hard every single day. When I’m at a festival I take it very seriously. It’s a job for me and I’m here to build my fan base and sell tickets. The harder I work, the better the result.

4 - NOT ALL AUDIENCES ARE EQUAL, BUT ALL ARE IMPORTANT

Not all audiences are equal. I’m sure that sounds obvious, but what I mean is that every audience during a festival is different, let alone different from city to city. Sometimes you do a show at 1:30pm on a Sunday, other times you have a 9pm slot on a Saturday. Each audience varies depending on many factors, so you can’t become discouraged when the audience response is wildly different from night to night.

If anything, I’ve learned to embrace the audience reaction in the moment and cater to them. I assume that if I give the audience my best then they’re giving me their best, too. Sometimes a quiet room ends up being one of my best shows, but it’s taken me a long time to realize that.

5 - MASTER YOUR PITCH

You only have a few minutes to capture someone’s interest. When I hand out postcards I know what I’m going to say and how I’m going to say it. I’ve gotten it down to a science because I rehearsed it. I'm not kidding about this - you can ask my wife.

I thought about how to make it appealing for fringe patrons and practiced it until it was effortless. No matter what you do, it’s a great skill to be able to talk about your work concisely and enthusiastically. When your “elevator pitch” is strong, then other people get excited about what you do and usually they’re willing to help you any way they can.

6 - TIMING IS EVERYTHING

Everything at a festival runs on “fringe time”. That means the show starts exactly when it says it will and it ends exactly an hour later. You can’t be late and you can’t run long. I love that! It’s forced me to methodically plan my show so it runs on schedule. After hundreds of shows over the past couple years I have an amazing awareness of my act.

Now I intuitively know when I’ve reached 30, 45, or even 60 minutes. I can just feel it. This level of planning has helped me in other aspects of my job, including TV appearances that need to be a certain length, custom corporate projects, and phone presentations. Planning is crucial, which leads me to…

7 - PREPARATION IS KEY

The more work you put in before the festival, the more successful you’ll be. In the months leading up to each festival I’m already planning out my entire week. I’ve researched press contacts, promotional opportunities, booked my travel, planned my schedule, and sought out other performance opportunities. Plus, I have to design flyers, posters, press releases, and merch. Oh, and you still need to rehearse your act to make sure it’s ready for the stage! If you stay organized and plan ahead you’ll be sure to succeed no matter what you’re doing.

8 - FIND A WAY TO STAND OUT

The first step is obvious. Try to have the best product you possibly can. I spent the entire winter writing a new show and secretly testing out material around Chicago. I repeated some festivals this year and didn't want repeat audiences to see the same show as the previous fringe. A good show can only go so far, though, you still need to build buzz.

I'm lucky, because a mind reading show is a great way to build buzz. It’s different and exciting and people love it. But I go out of my way to make it even more mysterious with my branding, a few carefully-scripted lines in the show, and intentionally vague postings online. Whatever you can do to be different and exciting, do it! Find your hook and let people know that this is why they need to see you. And if you don’t know what the hook is, just listen.

I had a friend try an experimental show just for fun at one festival. It went over so well that he ended up writing two more shows for that silly character.  Now it’s a favorite on the fringe circuit. Over time the audience will let you know if you’re on the right track. Then you can build on that and use it to your advantage.

9 - OWN IT

Don’t be ashamed of what you do. It was easy early on to be dismissive of my show as a “variety act”. Some of the other fringe acts have even been dismissive as well: “I prefer actual theater.” or “I’m not really a fan of that stuff.”  But that’s okay. You have to know that what you do isn’t for everyone, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be proud of your work and own it.

Be confident in your product and speak passionately about it. I’ve outsold shows that have won “Best of Festival” because I found a way to make my show more appealing, but only because I’m not ashamed of my craft. I think it’s worth seeing and that’s what I'm constantly telling everyone I encounter during the festivals.

10 - YOU ARE THE SHOW

You never know what venue you’ll be in. It could be a hot gymnasium in a church, the back of a loud bar, a nice theater, or a small black box. (Those are all actual venues I’ve performed in!) Chances are you won’t be performing in an amazing state-of-the-art space, but that’s part of the fun. It’s up to you to transform the space into something memorable. I love being in less-than-ideal venues because I get to treat it as a challenge.

I make it my goal to make those rooms come alive. I want people to walk out of a converted space raving about the amazing show they just saw! Thanks to fringe I feel like I can walk into nearly any space and own it. It shouldn't matter where you are because you are the show - so make it exciting, fun, and captivating no matter what.

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Those are 10 of the most important things I’ve learned over the past two years. It’s been an exhilarating experience and I’m so glad I’ve been able to do two consecutive tours.

If you’re interested in doing a fringe festival and have other questions, shoot me an email. Otherwise, you can catch my last two performances at KC Fringe this weekend!

Responsible

The last week was a whirlwind.

My kitchen flooded, my tour promo was delayed, and my workload seemed to exponentially increase with every passing day. Then, in the past 48 hours everything went crazy. I worked nonstop to get things in place for my weekly show and to be packed and ready to head back out on tour first thing this morning.

And so, Thursday Thoughts got put on hold. 

Usually I spend a few hours a week thinking about Thursday Thoughts and another couple hours actually writing it. It sorts of bookends my week so I can explore what I’m thinking and share it with you.

But this week got away from me and I never had the time to write anything - let alone think about it.

I figured I’d write something when I landed in Kansas City today but everything was delayed. Then I had to perform tonight as part of KC Fringe, so I wasn’t able to sit down and focus there either. I had all but resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be forced to miss a week.

But, I don’t want to miss a week. I don’t want to give up on this project. I don’t like to fail at the goals I set for myself.

As I drove back from the festival, exhausted and ready to call it a night, I realized that I’m responsible for this. It’s up to me whether Thursday Thoughts continues for another week or just fades into oblivion. But the truth is, the only person standing between me and my goals is myself.

And so, I’m not making excuses. I’m not blaming my crazy week or hectic travel schedule. I’m writing this now, at 11:47 pm, to make sure I don’t miss a week and don’t give up on my plan.

Some of you might have realized I hadn’t posted this week. Maybe some of you didn’t remember yet. Maybe you missed it, or maybe you wouldn’t even notice if it was gone. 

But I would. I would care immensely because I don’t like to give up on the promises I make to myself.

So, I’ll see you next week. I can’t freaking wait.

Make It Better

You know how sometimes you read a comment online that really drives you insane?

There are two options when that happens. Either stop reading the comments or write a blog post. So, here we are…

In response to a call for political action an anonymous person commented that they had “better things to do”.

Fine. I get that marches and protests may not be for everyone. There are plenty of other ways to take action. But it was their reasoning that really bugged  me.

They wrote: “The world was messed up before we got here and it’ll be messed up when we’re gone.”

Seriously?

If nothing truly matters then why do anything at all? Why create? Why work? Why help others? Why fight for equality? Why pursue your passion?

The world can seem cruel sometimes - especially lately - but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to use our individual strengths to make it better. Even if we only turn the dial a couple clicks we’ll still be making a difference.

Sometimes I struggle with the purpose of my career. It can seem trivial or absurd to stand onstage and do “mind tricks” for a living. Plus, my discipline isn’t exactly revered by the public like music or theater.

When I start to wonder about the point of it all, I’m reminded that people come to my show for many reasons. They aren’t there to see me - they’re there for a fun night out, a first date, a work event, or something else. Last night, a lady’s family had bought the tickets to celebrate her birthday.

Whatever the occasion, it’s up to me to make it special. When you think about it - that’s a tall order. A roomful of strangers are relying on me to give them a memorable experience. No pressure, right?

So it’s not about my skills as a mind reader, it’s not about showing off or being the star. It’s about making each and every person in your vicinity feel special, no matter what you do. It’s communal. It’s inclusive.

For 46 people last night I gave them a chance to forget about how “messed up” the world is. I gave them laughter and wonder and a chance to escape whatever is affecting them in their everyday lives. For 75 minutes, I made their world just a little bit better.

Last week it was 250 people on the west coast, the week before it was 500 on the east coast. It doesn’t matter. I’m just trying to use what I’m good at to brighten someone else’s day. Making a small difference is better than making no difference at all.

So yeah, the world is messed up, but it doesn’t have to be. Use what you do best to be more inclusive of others and shine light in the darkness around you. And don’t read the comments….it’s not worth it.

What Really Matters

The tour is halfway over!

I just returned from the San Diego Fringe Festival, where I performed five shows in ten days at the Geoffrey Off Broadway Theater.

I’ve been working on a new show this summer and it’s still very much a work-in-progress. I try out new ideas during each show, listen carefully to the audience, take notes, and repeat the process for the next show. I made so many changes during my run in San Diego that I ended up performing five different shows during the festival.

Fortunately, I think the show is really starting to come together as I received great press, amazing audience reactions, and even won the award for “Outstanding Magic or Mentalism Performance” for the second year in a row!

My dream is to do a mind reading show that is not about mind reading. I just feel like I have so much to say as an artist that I really don’t want my discipline to keep me from expressing those ideas. The story I’m trying to tell excites me far more than the techniques I’m employing to tell it. 

However, pairing mind reading with my personal narrative is a grueling task that progresses at a snail’s pace. The only way to achieve my goal is to get onstage night after night, embracing the failures and celebrating the successes.

Since I’ve been working out a new show, I’ve been relatively quiet about where I’m performing and when. It’s not that I don’t want people to see it - it’s just that I’m focusing more on the show itself and less on the promotion.

During last year’s tour I had a social media plan in place and worked tirelessly to promote each show every chance I could. But this year, I’ve been trying something different.

A few months ago I deleted Facebook from my phone. I stopped logging on every five minutes and started working more on creative projects. It’s made me far happier.

Any article that promises tips on how to promote a show will always list social media near the top. They stress that you need a Facebook event, frequent updates, ads, Instagram posts, and more. And for years, I believed it.

I was convinced that the only way to pack the house was to post consistently and keep my fans updated with my whereabouts. But it turns out, that’s not the case at all.

I haven’t been posting about the tour at all this year. I didn’t make an event page, I’ve limited how many reviews I share, and I haven’t sent out a single message asking people to attend.

And guess what?

I’ve been performing in larger venues and my audiences have been even bigger than last year. I’ve been getting better feedback than ever before and I’ve been far happier.

Whatever new technology comes our way; whatever new-fangled advice gets tossed around by some current guru - it doesn’t matter. Heed the advice or ignore it. Use social media or don’t. Post every day, or rarely. Tell everyone, or tell no one. It doesn’t matter at all.

What really matters is that you do good work. Have a good show or a good product. Work hard and let your work speak for itself. Do what you do so well that people will talk about it for you. And when word gets out and people come flocking to see you, be better than they could have ever imagined.

That’s why I’ve spent every last second working on the show this summer. Nothing matters except the story I’m trying to tell. It's been a slow process, but it's finally starting to get there.

You don’t need to be what anyone else tells you to be. You don’t have to work how someone else tells you to work. You just need to be you, silently working to be as good as you can be. The rest will come - I promise.

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You can still catch me at Kansas City Fringe and Edmonton Fringe this summer! Tour dates here.

It's Not About You

Here’s a confession:

I started performing for selfish reasons. It was all about me.

I wanted to show off, I wanted to be the center of attention, and I wanted people to like me.

In the beginning performing is addictive. It’s a rush. You shake with nervous anticipation and hit the stage full of adrenaline. Applause from a good show will carry you to the next show; when you can finally get in front of an audience and feel that rush all over again.

But being a show off can only get you so far. When I started performing full-time I quickly realized that I needed to approach things differently.

For me to have a sustainable career I realized that I needed to make what I do about other people. It couldn’t be self-serving or narcissistic. I didn’t want to be the center of attention any more - I wanted to be the link between people and an unforgettable experience.

When I started making my work about other people everything changed for the better. People were more into what I do because it was about them. I still received applause and still got a rush, but now it was because I was cheering someone up or encouraging others. The amount of positive feedback I received for my performances increased exponentially. When you don't expect anything in return it's amazing how much you'll receive.

I hear other artists talk excitedly about the thrill of being onstage or how much they get out of their performances and I sit aghast, wondering if they even realize how much they’re missing the mark. 

It’s not about you. It simply can’t be. 

No matter what you do - onstage or off - it should be at the service of other people. Otherwise, you’re going to have a hard time being satisfied in your chosen profession.

Use what you do to make people happy, help improve their existence, inspire, and motivate. Share your wisdom but don’t be preachy. Encourage others but don’t act like you know everything. When everything you do originates from a place of helping other people you can’t go wrong. You'll be making the world a better place, even if it's just in your own little corner.

There's a wonderful Chinese proverb that goes "If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody."

The best things in my life have come from helping other people without asking for anything in return. It’s made a world of difference for me and I’m sure it will do the same for you.

It's Okay

When I was a senior in college I thought about killing myself. It wasn’t the last time.

I've struggled with depression for much of my adult life. The confident, extroverted, commanding persona you see onstage is the very opposite of what I feel when depression takes the wheel.

Things could have gotten much worse for me if I hadn’t learned to embrace my sadness. I was trying to live with a false sense of happiness; a fabricated joy that fit me like a loose glove. 

I had to understand that it was okay not to be okay.

I channeled my sadness into art and music and exercise and travel and photography and more. I tried to find myself in my work and poured every ounce of my energy into helping others. If I couldn’t be happy, at least I could make other people feel good.

I’m not claiming that depression shouldn’t be treated or that mental health is overtly simple. Treatment is necessary and mental health is a complicated problem to solve. My daily thoughts are confusing and complex, as I’m sure yours are as well. But learning to be okay with my thoughts helped me get through a really low point in my life.

The recent deaths of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain hit me hard, as news of any suicide does. After losing one of my best friends to suicide two years ago, I’ve become deeply affected whenever I hear of someone taking their own life.

As a result, I’ve become an advocate and an activist for suicide prevention. I’ve taken part in numerous volunteer opportunities for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention over the past two years, including turning my own show into a fundraiser earlier this year (with all proceeds going to the AFSP).

This fall I’ll be running the Chicago Marathon on Team AFSP. My goal is to raise $500 for the organization, which will help with their efforts to #StopSuicide across the country.

I’ve never asked for help. Any opportunity I’ve gotten thus far in my career has been a result of hard work and persistence. Any success I’ve had is a result of my own time and energy, and not the charity of others. So, it is not an easy task for me to ask you to donate.

But that’s what I’m asking.

If you enjoy my blog or my show or my videos or my photos, I’m asking you for a small donation. If I’ve been able to bring a smile to your face with a mind reading show or you’ve thought “That is SO true!” when reading one of my essays, I’m asking you for your help. 

Just $5 to $10 is enough. You’ll be giving to a wonderful cause that helps people in need, sponsors research, and changes lives.

This fall, when I cross the finish line after running 26.2 miles, I’ll be so grateful to you for your help.

In the meantime, I’ll keep doing shows, writing these essays, and working tirelessly on my career all by myself. I don’t want your help on that. I’d rather you give your money to a good cause, which could use it way more than I could.

If you struggle from suicidal thoughts, please know that it’s okay not to be okay. If you need someone to talk to, send me an email. Or, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. Someone is standing by to listen and help.