About a year and a half ago, a casting director reached out to me, and I got cast in an acting production.
I was told Bill Nye would be involved.
This was important information.
You see, I never actually watched Bill Nye the Science Guy growing up.
Which is ironic because, well, I myself ended up becoming a science guy.
A science guy with no Bill Nye.
And that felt weird.
So when I had an opportunity to experience Bill Nye’s science guy-ness firsthand, through an exceptionally unorthodox method, my natural reaction was:
Heck yeah.
So I agreed to do it.
As the production date got closer, and my Nye time drew nigh, I took comfort in knowing something so punny was descriptive of my life for more days than one.
That comfort was more necessary than you’d probably imagine, since, well, there were other aspects of the production that I wasn’t particularly excited about.
The production required a very long commute. At none other than 4 AM in the morning.
This would be problematic for any normal person, sure. But, as someone who goes to sleep around 4 AM on the average night, the logistics struck fear into my little heart.
But none of this seemed especially important because:
Bill Nye.
I could finally validate my identity as a science guy.
This was my chance to undo the mistake of child me shunning Bill Nye in exchange for anime and Courage the Cowardly Dog.
Then, roughly a day or two before I was supposed to be there, I learned something.
Something tragic.
Something horrible.
Terrible.
No good.
Not dandy at all.
The opposite of what would warrant a “heck yeah” reaction.
It was not Bill Nye.
There was no Bill Nye.
There never was a Bill Nye.
It was a Bill Nye impersonator.
A fake science guy.
This was uniquely bad for my purposes, given that quite possibly the worst way to validate my science guy-ness is to do so via proximity to a fake science guy.
This was a problem.
And, to be clear, there is nothing wrong with being a Bill Nye impersonator.
They were not the problem.
I think it’s important to support most people just doing themselves and living their lives without judgment.
And that’s cool and all.
But despite them not being the problem, there was still a problem.
My reality.
My reality was the problem.
Because now, I was just over a day away from spending a day following the exact inverse of my circadian rhythm, all whilst being acutely aware of what reality so cruelly ripped away from me.
That.
The long commute.
It was all still real.
But Bill Nye wasn’t.
As irony would have it, I was more nigh to my presumed Nye time than I’d ever been, yet, at the same time, I felt farther away than ever.
Since now, there was no Nye.
Or, well, technically, there was a Nye.
But not, like, THAT Nye.
Which, itself, is bad enough.
However, it wasn’t enough for me to back out of the production.
I made a commitment.
Not sticking to it could create unforeseen inconveniences for other people, and I didn’t want to treat that like it suddenly didn’t matter just because the situation had become substantially less Nye-filled.
So, I was determined to still go through with the production.
However, something happened.
Shortly after I learned of the lack of Science Guys at the production, I fell sick.
Now, I recognize that this may have been unrelated, but I like to think that there is a 100% chance that the abject horror of discovering the truth about the impersonator had been enough to cause a severe immunosuppressive effect in my body.
This made me even more stressed.
I did not want to cancel.
But if I didn’t cancel, then I might have made others sick, including the impersonator.
Which I didn’t want to do.
He was already not as Bill Nye as one would hope.
And if he got sick, he probably wouldn’t be able to impersonate for a while.
He’d be even less Bill Nye than he already was.
Which was already, very clearly, not Nye enough.
Even lower Nye levels would’ve been tragic.
At the same time, I felt pretty bad about the potential impact me not following through on my commitment would have on others involved in the production.
The casting director selected me.
People were presumably planning around the role I was supposed to play being filled.
I could easily make multiple strangers’ days more complicated by giving them a reason to do more logistical work on, and just before, the day of the production.
I really didn’t want to do that.
And even after thinking through the obvious consequences, I knew there were probably things I wasn’t accounting for. Canceling could make someone’s day more difficult in ways I wouldn’t necessarily ever see.
But I felt like the right thing to do was not become a superspreader.
Because, well, you know, as a science guy who specifically works in public health, I was very aware of the potential irony there.
The problem was that both choices still had costs.
My understanding of the situation had changed.
My physical state had changed.
But the commitment I’d already made, and the people potentially affected by changing it, hadn’t magically disappeared; even if the Nye I once imagined did.
With no perfect choice, I had to pick the better of the two options.
So, after a comically long time spent pacing back and forth in my own head, I eventually canceled.
I felt bad about it.
I know it was reasonable and the right call.
But still.
Ultimately, the production continued.
It was successful.
The world moved on.
Bill Nye continued to not actually be a part of the production.
My cancellation was real.
It had consequences for real people.
That didn’t stop being true just because I believed canceling was the better-seeming and safest of the remaining options.
Those people still mattered. Their days still mattered. The impact on them still mattered.
It was just that, weighing those things, risking the irony of making a bunch of people super sick vs. making a production more inconvenient for the people involved, it seemed like the whole super sick thing would’ve done more harm by far.
My original commitment to help with the production was also real, and I knew it was important to be intentional with my choice since it could affect others.
But it didn’t erase my ability to reassess what made sense when the circumstances changed.
The risk I’d posed to others had increased due to the whole being sick thing.
The pros had plummeted.
And most importantly, the expected Nye levels cratered.
Overall, going through with it seemed much more likely to do harm than canceling.
Looking back, I find the situation really funny.
Though I did miss out on a potentially interesting experience, since I’ll never know what memories acting in that production would’ve given me.
But, to be fair, maybe I didn’t really lose out on much:
After all, I was really just in it for the Nye.
I was told Bill Nye would be involved.
This was important information.
You see, I never actually watched Bill Nye the Science Guy growing up.
Which is ironic because, well, I myself ended up becoming a science guy.
A science guy with no Bill Nye.
And that felt weird.
So when I had an opportunity to experience Bill Nye’s science guy-ness firsthand, through an exceptionally unorthodox method, my natural reaction was:
Heck yeah.
So I agreed to do it.
As the production date got closer, and my Nye time drew nigh, I took comfort in knowing something so punny was descriptive of my life for more days than one.
That comfort was more necessary than you’d probably imagine, since, well, there were other aspects of the production that I wasn’t particularly excited about.
The production required a very long commute. At none other than 4 AM in the morning.
This would be problematic for any normal person, sure. But, as someone who goes to sleep around 4 AM on the average night, the logistics struck fear into my little heart.
But none of this seemed especially important because:
Bill Nye.
I could finally validate my identity as a science guy.
This was my chance to undo the mistake of child me shunning Bill Nye in exchange for anime and Courage the Cowardly Dog.
Then, roughly a day or two before I was supposed to be there, I learned something.
Something tragic.
Something horrible.
Terrible.
No good.
Not dandy at all.
The opposite of what would warrant a “heck yeah” reaction.
It was not Bill Nye.
There was no Bill Nye.
There never was a Bill Nye.
It was a Bill Nye impersonator.
A fake science guy.
This was uniquely bad for my purposes, given that quite possibly the worst way to validate my science guy-ness is to do so via proximity to a fake science guy.
This was a problem.
And, to be clear, there is nothing wrong with being a Bill Nye impersonator.
They were not the problem.
I think it’s important to support most people just doing themselves and living their lives without judgment.
And that’s cool and all.
But despite them not being the problem, there was still a problem.
My reality.
My reality was the problem.
Because now, I was just over a day away from spending a day following the exact inverse of my circadian rhythm, all whilst being acutely aware of what reality so cruelly ripped away from me.
That.
The long commute.
It was all still real.
But Bill Nye wasn’t.
As irony would have it, I was more nigh to my presumed Nye time than I’d ever been, yet, at the same time, I felt farther away than ever.
Since now, there was no Nye.
Or, well, technically, there was a Nye.
But not, like, THAT Nye.
Which, itself, is bad enough.
However, it wasn’t enough for me to back out of the production.
I made a commitment.
Not sticking to it could create unforeseen inconveniences for other people, and I didn’t want to treat that like it suddenly didn’t matter just because the situation had become substantially less Nye-filled.
So, I was determined to still go through with the production.
However, something happened.
Shortly after I learned of the lack of Science Guys at the production, I fell sick.
Now, I recognize that this may have been unrelated, but I like to think that there is a 100% chance that the abject horror of discovering the truth about the impersonator had been enough to cause a severe immunosuppressive effect in my body.
This made me even more stressed.
I did not want to cancel.
But if I didn’t cancel, then I might have made others sick, including the impersonator.
Which I didn’t want to do.
He was already not as Bill Nye as one would hope.
And if he got sick, he probably wouldn’t be able to impersonate for a while.
He’d be even less Bill Nye than he already was.
Which was already, very clearly, not Nye enough.
Even lower Nye levels would’ve been tragic.
At the same time, I felt pretty bad about the potential impact me not following through on my commitment would have on others involved in the production.
The casting director selected me.
People were presumably planning around the role I was supposed to play being filled.
I could easily make multiple strangers’ days more complicated by giving them a reason to do more logistical work on, and just before, the day of the production.
I really didn’t want to do that.
And even after thinking through the obvious consequences, I knew there were probably things I wasn’t accounting for. Canceling could make someone’s day more difficult in ways I wouldn’t necessarily ever see.
But I felt like the right thing to do was not become a superspreader.
Because, well, you know, as a science guy who specifically works in public health, I was very aware of the potential irony there.
The problem was that both choices still had costs.
My understanding of the situation had changed.
My physical state had changed.
But the commitment I’d already made, and the people potentially affected by changing it, hadn’t magically disappeared; even if the Nye I once imagined did.
With no perfect choice, I had to pick the better of the two options.
So, after a comically long time spent pacing back and forth in my own head, I eventually canceled.
I felt bad about it.
I know it was reasonable and the right call.
But still.
Ultimately, the production continued.
It was successful.
The world moved on.
Bill Nye continued to not actually be a part of the production.
My cancellation was real.
It had consequences for real people.
That didn’t stop being true just because I believed canceling was the better-seeming and safest of the remaining options.
Those people still mattered. Their days still mattered. The impact on them still mattered.
It was just that, weighing those things, risking the irony of making a bunch of people super sick vs. making a production more inconvenient for the people involved, it seemed like the whole super sick thing would’ve done more harm by far.
My original commitment to help with the production was also real, and I knew it was important to be intentional with my choice since it could affect others.
But it didn’t erase my ability to reassess what made sense when the circumstances changed.
The risk I’d posed to others had increased due to the whole being sick thing.
The pros had plummeted.
And most importantly, the expected Nye levels cratered.
Overall, going through with it seemed much more likely to do harm than canceling.
Looking back, I find the situation really funny.
Though I did miss out on a potentially interesting experience, since I’ll never know what memories acting in that production would’ve given me.
But, to be fair, maybe I didn’t really lose out on much:
After all, I was really just in it for the Nye.
Comments