That was no longer enough for me. So much change was brewing in my life. I had dated my share of people since my divorce. I was with one woman in particular for quite some time. But while Ireland was a child, I convinced myself, rightly or not, that remarrying would have sent my daughter a signal that looked like abandonment. With all that had gone on in my relationship with Ireland, all of the unwanted public scrutiny and shame, I was certain that moving on would have only made it worse. When I ultimately told my girlfriend that I couldn’t move forward, that I didn’t want to get married again, she changed, dramatically. The relationship was then overwhelmed by mistrust and friction.
But life only moves forward. And, if we are lucky, someone comes along who reminds us of that. What I wanted in terms of romantic partners, before and after my divorce, always confounded me. A lot of push and pull out of fear, jealousy, and doubt. It’s almost like I needed a sign. Then, on an unusually mild February evening in 2011, my friend Brendan and I were wandering around downtown with no destination in mind. Sarma Melngailis, the now infamous owner of Pure Food and Wine, was a friend of mine, and eventually, I would puzzle over why Brendan and I went into her restaurant, as I wasn’t particularly craving the raw vegan menu. Did God want me to go there, to give me some precious opportunity? Some peace? A cleft in the rock of the world? I don’t know. I do know that on very few occasions in my life I have met a truly extraordinary woman, singular in ways beyond the limitations of attraction, who seemed to have a light shining on her. Typically, there was some wall between her and me. Sometimes that woman was already married to someone else. I would hear God say to me, “Not now. Not this woman. You’re not ready. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to her.” (God laughs.) “Perhaps at some point, when the time is right. I simply want you to see what someone truly special looks like. Not someone without faults or without their own past. But unlike anyone you’ve ever met. Someone who wouldn’t hurt someone out of spite. Someone smart, opinionated, funny, caring, kind, evolved.” The woman I met on Irving Place on February 18 was all of those things and much more. Suddenly, the idea of avoiding commitment, of not moving forward, seemed misguided. A risk-free life is not worth living.
I believe that things change only when we are truly ready for the change. We come to a situation or event that could be a great turning point in our lives having been prepared by both adversity and hope. And then, if you let it, the future just opens like a flower, becoming more beautiful every day. Hilaria and I moved in together in November and things progressed quite quickly after that. We were married on June 30, sixteen months after meeting. In December of 2012, Hilaria told me she was pregnant with our daughter, Carmen, so as we turned out the lights on 30 Rock, an entirely new life was unfolding for me. I had embraced so many different activities and passions throughout my career, springing from not only real beliefs but also boredom and loneliness. I didn’t have a family to come home to, so why not put on a tux, for the third time this week, and raise money for this group or cut this ribbon or perform a reading at this event? Now, my life with Hilaria and Carmen put me on a road that demanded more of my energy, perhaps all of it. The reality that I couldn’t predict, let alone confirm, where I would be in six months became unworkable and foolish. My new family was my commitment, and the primacy of acting was in my rearview mirror.
I probably listen to radio more than any other medium, so I had flirted with doing a radio show for some time. The author Lisa Birnbach was a friend of mine, and after a twenty-minute phone chat with Lisa, I would say to her, “We should be broadcasting these calls.” Lisa possesses a quick wit like Tina, and she could dispense an inexhaustible quantity of it. I approached Scott Greenstein from Sirius to find out what the radio market was like for mere mortals like me who, unlike Howard Stern, could not command tens of millions of dollars. I thought that the hours involved, the New York base, and the relatively simple production demands were what I needed. As not all movie opportunities were going to be as exciting as going to Rome with Woody Allen or as interesting as watching Julianne Moore and Cate Blanchett give Oscar-winning performances, radio seemed a viable option even before I had met Hilaria.
I concocted a half-baked Howard Stern–knockoff show, with Lisa and me as hosts. We would have a cast of a couple of comedians, a culture editor, a news anchor, and various guests. I wanted to bring on a young guy we’d call “The Kid.” We’d give him a credit card and some cash (a radio-level expense account), then turn him loose on Manhattan nightlife. The object was for The Kid to spend the night doing everything that Lisa and I were too old to do. Openings, exhibits, theater, galleries, movies, parties, clubs, clubs, clubs. I batted this idea around with a couple of friends who, as I remember it, looked at me in a way that said, “Why do you want to do radio?”
I got a call from Kathie Russo, a veteran radio producer and the widow of the actor Spalding Gray. Kathie listened to my idea and essentially talked me out of it (too much production work to write a daily show à la Stern) and talked me into a podcast with me at a microphone interviewing people. Lorne Michaels would often say, “It’s like that thing . . .” and then go on to make some comparison, so I considered the title It’s Like That Thing. I settled on Here’s the Thing, which everyone says in conversation. We began in 2011. As far as my distributor, WNYC, was concerned, I would use the enormous Show Business Chums directory that I had in my rolltop desk and call all my pals in Hollywood, New York, and London. We did a few test interviews, some by phone. One such “phoner” was with Wyoming senator Alan Simpson. Being unable to see him in person, however, hampered my ability to steer the conversation in any perceptible direction, and Simpson came off like Ross Perot, muttering a lot of non sequitur folksiness. We never did another interview again that wasn’t face-to-face. The first show that we posted online was with Michael Douglas, recorded in his New York home. Douglas is a prince whose career I have long admired, not to mention my worship of his dad. Not a bad start.