“A few months after joining the YMCA, I was cast in a play called Scarcity, playing Billy, a tough, sexual, reckless guy. My acting teacher suggested that to nail the role, I would need to “get underneath” my character. This meant I had to start thinking like Billy and, if possible, even live like him. But Billy lived in a Massachusetts factory town. I lived between two pad Thai restaurants in the West Village. Billy had guilt-free sex. I had guilt-inducing sex. One more thing: Billy knew how to swim.

It became interesting for me to think like Billy even when I was offstage. Moved by his spirit, I actually bought a swimming cap and a bathing suit, albeit one that extended below my knees. After a particularly satisfying performance one night, I threw on my bathing suit and ducked into the Y, just before closing.

I stood before the empty pool. In the West Side Story version of my life, I brandished a knife, hidden from the pool’s view, in my palm. Slowly, I climbed down into the chill water. I awkwardly waded through the water, heading for the ladder, just as I used to do in camp. And then something else took over—Billy took over. And we decided to swim.”