“Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

– Steve Jobs

We all crave feedback. We want it from our partners, parents, co-workers, and teachers. Need I even mention social media. We want our parents to be proud of us, our bosses to appreciate us, and our partners to love us. We pay therapists to listen intently and give us educated feedback. We read self-help books, listen to podcasts or scan blog posts (ironic, I know) for a nugget of wisdom to help us stabilize our uncertainty. We constantly search for validation, reassurance, and acceptance from others.

I was (ok, am still at times) a prime example of the above. I diligently went to therapy and internalized every morsel of feedback. I would always call a friend or two or even three to seek advice on something I should do, or I would call my mother. I would seek out and latch onto teachers who would talk incessantly for hours. I would come across as curious, appreciative, and humble. People generally liked me. I was agreeable and easy to get along with. But the painful truth was - I didn't trust myself and my own judgment.

My agreeableness became a crutch. I didn't know my personal boundaries. I would be too accommodating and then feel resentful. I had a general hesitancy when speaking, an inability to hold pitch when singing solo, and mostly holding back my feelings to remain liked. Worst of all, being in a terrible and manipulative relationship because I valued his opinion more than my own.

Fortunately, a director friend recommended that I study with the late Bill Esper. A week later, I was in a two-year program with an impressive group of students. A handful had just graduated from Yale, one actress was on the British Office, and another left within the first week because he booked a Network TV show. Bill partnered us up, gave us exercises to practice, and then we would present to the class.

Bill would then give notes and directions. Certain people got a lot of feedback. But when it came to me, he would stare out for a few seconds and say, "Ok," followed by either "Bring it back to the next class" or "Moving on." He was never mean or cold, just brief and efficiently using his 80-something-year-old energy. He described his teaching method as: based on whatever bubbled up inside him after a scene or exercise. He had no planned agenda, just observation and response to whatever his gut (filled with 60 years of acting teacher wisdom) gave him.

Which sounds nice and all. But, I was furious. While Bill's classes were reasonably priced, it was still a significant expense for me. I couldn't believe I was paying for an "Ok." And although a pleasantly surprising "good work" kept me going for a few more weeks, I wrestled with quitting.

In what seemed like forever, but was most likely January, I stopped getting mad or trying to get a more detailed response from him. My goal was to do my best and complete the training. In every class, I got up and knew what I wanted to work on. And did it. Often, I fell on my face, but I always picked myself up and went back to work.

And then, one day in March, when I stopped caring what “Billy” thought, I was in the middle of my scene, and I felt something surge through my body. The energy was growing through me. Could it be those "Bill Bubbles?" It felt like guidance and inspiration adjusting me along the way, giving me balance and confidence.

When we finished, Bill looked at me for a second, said nothing, and smiled. I sat down and teared up because I knew I had found a part of myself that I was desperately searching for.

For the rest of the first year, that feeling never left. I knew when I was heading in the right direction or off course. I trusted my own judgment and started imagining what Bill would say to the other students before they finished. I was impressed with my growing accuracy. During our last class of the year, Bill asked us to reflect on what we had learned. Through tears, I raised my hand and expressed to Bill my desire for feedback, frustration, and the ultimate takeaway – self-trust. He grinned and said, "Am I good or what?". The whole class cheered.

Even though that was almost a decade ago, Bill's gift stayed with me. Like a good parent, he watched intently, nudged me a little this way or that, made sure I wasn't too far off course, watched me fall a few times, and let me learn how to stand on my own two feet.

I am by no means perfectly self-assured. I often call my best friend to hear her thoughts on a subject. I love posting on social media (and getting likes!). Hearing "great job" from someone I respect means a lot. But I don't need it like I did before. It's like a cherry and some sprinkles on top of an already tasty sundae.

With all this being said, don't judge yourself for wanting feedback from others. We all want it and need it. But if you take time every day to quiet your environment, go for a walk, sit by the water, journal, or even meditate in that powerful silence, you will find your bubbles too.

Dedicated to William Esper.