When Opportunity Meets a Crossroads

I was 18 years old and about to graduate from high school when I auditioned for Opryland USA.

I had no idea how long the odds were. I was simply an ambitious, excited kid who loved to entertain—and somehow believed he might belong there.

I began with a vocal audition. They liked what they heard and asked me to sing something else, so I sang Hank Williams’ “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” They seemed genuinely astonished that an 18-year-old kid knew all the words—even the second verse.

Then they asked me to stay for a callback.

I thought, Well, that sounds amazing.

“Be sure to bring some dance clothes,” they said.

“Oh, no,” I replied. “I don’t dance.”

They explained that if I wanted to be considered for the show, I had to attend the dance callback.

“But I don’t dance.”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to at least try.”

Looking back, that was a crossroads in my life.

I was completely uncomfortable with the idea. Every instinct told me to avoid it, go home and remain safely inside the little world where I already knew what I could do.

But reluctantly, I stayed.

I did the dance audition—and I was absolutely awful.

Apparently, though, the fact that I was willing to try counted for something. Between that and a strong vocal audition, they hired me to perform in Country Music USA, the park’s enormously popular celebration of the music upon which Opryland was founded.

When rehearsals began, they taught us the vocal parts, the story of the show and everything we needed to know about the production.

Then they began teaching the dances.

Once again, I said, “Well, I don’t dance.”

“You’re going to learn.”

“I really can’t do that.”

“You’re going to try.”

Another crossroads.

So I tried. I was still awful, and naturally, I wasn’t placed in any of the dance numbers. But something important happened over the course of that season: I became more comfortable onstage—and more comfortable in my own body.

The following year, I auditioned again and was hired again for Country Music USA. As before, everyone was expected to learn the material and participate in the dance rehearsals.

I tried. I was no longer terribly uncomfortable, but I still wasn’t good.

Even so, they made me an alternate for one of the dance numbers.

I never actually performed it, but becoming an alternate represented real progress. A year earlier, I could hardly make myself attend the audition. Now someone believed I might be capable of stepping into the number if needed.

By my third year, I no longer felt uncomfortable learning choreography. Because I had been an athlete, they placed me in a more physically demanding dance number—jumping from poles, swinging a partner and performing movement that required more athleticism than traditional dance technique.

I performed that number for the entire season.

I was comfortable. I had a good time. It was fun.

Then an NBC television program called The Nashville Palace began searching for country singers who could also dance a little. The producers came to Opryland to hold auditions.

This time, I didn’t say, “I don’t dance.”

I auditioned.

Because of the decision I had made at that first crossroads several years earlier—the reluctant decision to step outside my comfort zone and try something I knew I couldn’t do—I was prepared when a much larger opportunity appeared.

I was selected for the cast of The Nashville Palace, and that NBC television show changed the trajectory of my entire career.

None of it happened because I was naturally gifted as a dancer.

It happened because, years earlier, someone told me I had to try—and although I was uncomfortable, embarrassed and absolutely awful, I did.

You never know which uncomfortable step is preparing you for an opportunity you can’t yet see.

When opportunity meets a crossroads, take the chance.