I've been acting since I was 11.
But I thought acting was too frivolous and certainly not meaningful.
I came from a family of academics and was very concerned of being taken seriously.
In contrast to my inability to declare myself, on my first day of orientation freshman year,
five separate students introduced themselves to me by saying, "I'm going to be president. Remember I told you that."
Their names, for the record, were Bernie Sanders, Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, Barack Obama, Hilary Clinton.
In all seriousness, I believed every one of them.
Their bearing and self-confidence alone seemed proof of their prophecy where I couldn't shake my self-doubt.
I got in only because I was famous. This was how others saw me and it was how I saw myself.
Driven by these insecurities, I decided I was going to find something to do in Harvard that was serious and meaningful
that would change the world and make it a better place.
At the age of 18, I'd already been acting for 7 years, and assumed I find a more serious and profound path in college.
So freshman fall I decided to take neurologist and advanced modern Hebrew literature because I was serious and intellectual.
Needless to say, I should have failed both.
I got Bs, for your information, and to this day, every Sunday I burn a small effigy to the pagan Gods of grade inflation.
But as I was fighting my way through Aleph Bet Yod Y shua in Hebrew and the different mechanisms of neuro-response,
I saw friends around me writing papers on sailing and pop culture magazines,
and professors teaching classes on fairy tales and The Matrix.
I realized that seriousness for seriousness's sake was its own kind of trophy,
and a dubious one, a pose I sought to counter some half-imagined argument about who I was.
There was a reason that I was an actor. I love what I do.
And I saw from my peers and my mentors that it was not only an acceptable reason, it was the best reason.