The other day Wendy and I were talking in the car on our way back from Des Moines. I don’t even remember the context of our conversation. Our conversations tend to ebb and flow all over the map. Somewhere in the midst of our conversation I mentioned that I would love the challenge someday of playing Willy Loman, the iconic, tragic centerpiece of Arthur Miller‘s Death of a Salesman.

“That would make a great blogging challenge,” Wendy said all of a sudden. “Do a series of blog posts on roles you’d love to play.”

She’s so smart (and sexy).

The truth is that I’m not that fond of Miller’s play itself. I got sick of reading it, and re-reading it in every English and Lit class only to have to read it again in theatre classes. It is depressing, and I can understand the legends of how it drove Lee J. Cobb (the great actor who famously made the role his own) crazy with despair.

Still, I’ve reached the age when you start to look back, think about where you envisioned your life going, and compare it to where you stand. I’ve travelled hundreds of thousands of air miles with salesmen slogging through life shuttling their wares from customer to potential customer. I’ve seen, and shared, the vacant look in their eyes. I’ve eaten alone with them together at another restaurant that’s the same as the one before. I’ve slept alone with them in the adjacent hotel room just like the one we were both in the night before. I get it now.

And so, I think it would be a challenge to play the iconic role, slip into Loman’s scuffed up wing-tips, and hoist his valises onto the stage. It would be fascinating and I think it would stretch me in interesting ways.