Looking Back to Look Forward
It’s easy to look at someone’s career and assume it followed a perfectly straight path. I’ve heard people say, “You always knew what you wanted to do,” as if I had a map from the beginning. The truth is, I didn’t. My love for the arts started early, sure—but knowing where it would take me? That was a much messier, winding process. And along that path, I’ve been lucky to have some incredible people show up in ways I never expected.
Some were teachers. Some were collaborators. Some were strangers I never saw again. But each left a mark on me, shaping the way I think, work, and lead in the world of theater. They weren’t always official mentors. Most probably never realized they had any kind of lasting impact. But they did, and this is a small tribute to the power of unexpected guidance.
The Teacher Who Saw the Spark
When I was a kid, I was the type who always wanted to perform. Plays, music, radio—anything that let me be in front of people and express something. One of my earliest mentors was a middle school teacher who directed our school plays. I don’t even remember what show we were doing, but I remember her pulling me aside after a rehearsal and saying, “You have an energy people want to watch. Don’t ever lose that.”
At the time, it felt like a nice compliment. But as I got older, I realized how rare and meaningful it was to be seen like that. She wasn’t saying I was the best actor or the funniest kid. She was saying there was something authentic about how I showed up—and that was worth nurturing. That moment gave me the confidence to keep going, to keep showing up.
The Tech Director Who Showed Me the Bigger Picture
Fast forward to college at Emerson in Boston. I was involved in everything—acting, drumming, working the radio station. There was a tech director who ran the behind-the-scenes elements of our productions. He wasn’t flashy, didn’t crave attention. But he understood every inch of the theater, and he taught me how important the invisible parts of a production are.
One day, I was complaining about something small—probably a missed lighting cue. He didn’t scold me or shrug it off. He just said, “You can’t do this alone. Nobody can.” That line stuck with me. It was the beginning of my understanding that theater isn’t just about what happens on stage. It’s about the team. The hundreds of decisions that get made behind the scenes. That mindset eventually led me to producing.
A Chance Encounter in New York
After college, I worked in radio for a while before making the leap to New York to pursue acting more seriously. Like a lot of people in this business, I took whatever gigs I could. One afternoon, I ended up at a casting call where I didn’t get the role, but I struck up a conversation with an older actor in the waiting room. We were both early, sitting on the same worn-out couch.
We talked for maybe 15 minutes—about stage fright, about the weirdness of auditioning, about how you keep going when the odds feel stacked. He told me, “If you’re still doing this in ten years, it means you really love it. That’s all that matters.” I never saw him again, but I thought about that conversation a lot in the years that followed. Especially during the hard seasons. His words helped me stay the course, even when I wasn’t sure where it was leading.
The Young Collaborators Who Keep Teaching Me
Now, as a producer, I find myself on the other side of those kinds of conversations. I work with artists of all ages and experience levels. And I’ve come to realize that mentorship isn’t a one-way street. I’ve learned just as much—if not more—from the young performers, designers, and writers I’ve had the privilege of supporting.
Their energy, curiosity, and perspective constantly challenge me to stay open and adaptable. They ask questions I stopped asking years ago, and in doing so, they remind me not to get too comfortable. It’s humbling in the best way. As James Simon, producer, I see my role not just as someone who puts together productions, but as someone who helps create space for others to grow.
What It Means to Be a Mentor
When I think about mentorship now, I don’t think of it as something formal or hierarchical. I think of it as being present. Sharing your story. Listening with intention. Taking the time to tell someone that what they’re doing matters. Those are the moments that stay with us—not the resumes, not the reviews.
I’ve tried to carry that spirit with me in every project I work on. Whether it’s offering a word of encouragement, being honest about a setback, or just showing up consistently, I know that the smallest gesture can have a ripple effect. I know that because I’ve felt those ripples in my own life.
Full Circle
Looking back, I’m grateful that my journey wasn’t linear. That I didn’t have it all figured out. That I met people who nudged me, challenged me, believed in me—sometimes without even realizing it. These unexpected mentors helped shape the producer I am today, and their influence continues to show up in my work every day.
We don’t always get to say thank you in person. But we can pay it forward. We can keep our eyes open for the next person who’s just starting out, unsure of their path, but full of potential. And when we see that spark in them, we can do what someone once did for us: name it, honor it, and help it grow.