No Excuses: Turning my life into a theatre show

What creating my own show taught me about letting go, creativity, and being yourself

On my 55th birthday, I stood on stage at Theater Amsterdam with a one-time-only performance: the No Excuses Theater Show. It was a deeply personal celebration of everything I’ve learned as an entrepreneur, speaker, and adventurer.

But this show was more than a performance. It was a ritual. A transition. A symbolic farewell to a life of constant productivity, and an invitation to make space for creativity and presence.

At first, I called it “retirement.” But it wasn’t an end, it was the beginning of a new chapter.

What started as a spontaneous dream turned into an intense creative process that lasted a year and a half. There was no script, no stage experience, just me, my stories, and a brave team willing to jump in. It was filled with improvisation, confusion, magic, and powerful moments of being fully present.

In this blog, I share the most important life lessons I discovered while creating and performing my own theatre show: about personal growth, surrender, collaboration, the balance between doing and being, and especially about daring to fail and truly show up as yourself.

Improvisation as a way of life

Theatre is just like life. You make a plan, and then things go differently. You forget what you meant to say or do. And unexpected things happen that you have to integrate anyway. That’s exactly what made this show so special. And that’s exactly what I love most about life: the unexpected, the spontaneous, the real.
I’m good at improvising. I hate routine. That’s why I didn’t want to rehearse. I love stepping into the moment and responding to what is. And that’s what happened constantly in this show. I would start a scene that was supposed to come later, and my director Jan would yell, “Esther, you have to die first!” Oh right, I had to go to my own funeral. So we did that.

Or if I didn’t know what to do next: “Jan, where do I go now?” And he’d say: “You’re traveling to Australia, then Zeeland.” Me: “Great! I’m already boarding the plane!” And then I’d remember: that’s when the voice-over I recorded would come in.

We improvised our way through everything. And that made the show feel alive. Real. Rich. Just like tango. I talked about that too, on stage, where I also danced with my tango teacher Adrian. In tango, when you make a mistake, you can get stuck overthinking it. But then you miss the next step. You freeze. You ruin the fun. Your only option is to accept what is and keep dancing. That’s how it works on stage. And in life.

Being present: why real life begins without a script

Just before the show started, I stood behind the curtain thinking: wow, I dreamed this up, and now it’s real. From that moment on, I was swept into the flow. Everything started moving, and there was no way back. Whatever I could prepare was prepared. The rest, I just had to do. Live.

Right in the first few lines, I got emotional. I welcomed my dad, who was watching via livestream from Miami. My father has Alzheimer’s. I was completely caught off guard by my feelings. And because of that, I was instantly present. Vulnerable and open.

Some scenes flowed naturally, especially the ones with my brother. Others I had to drag out of my memory: “What was I supposed to say here again? What came next?” But then there were also those magical moments of full presence. The moments I clearly remember thinking: I’m here, doing this, we made it happen.
And the most beautiful moment? The final dance. In the video (filmed by Margo in the audience) you can see everything falling away. I didn’t have to remember anything. I just had to dance. And enjoy. And I did. Because I was there. In the moment. And the audience felt it.

The highlights of the show weren’t perfect transitions or cues. They were the moments of realness, connection, confusion, emotion, joy, and contact. Moments where I was truly there. And I think that’s the biggest lesson: be present. Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Balancing masculine and feminine energy: the dance between doing and being

The balance between doing and being, between masculine and feminine energy, between yang and yin, was essential to creating this show. The idea came from feminine creativity. It became real thanks to masculine energy: planning, announcing, organizing, taking action. I kept trusting it would work out, even though the creative process wasn’t finished yet.

Over the year and a half, puzzle pieces kept falling into place, sometimes just two days before the show. But because I made space, they could fall. At the end, I jumped back into masculine mode to handle the logistics. But on the day itself, I stepped back into the feminine. Receptive. Feeling. Creating. During the show I switched between analytical and emotional, between problem-solving and vulnerable.

I knew this in theory. But now I’ve lived it. And that changes everything.

Why collaboration only works when you let go

The show lived in my head for a long time. Everything fell into place organically. But that made it hard to involve others. I didn’t even know myself how it would come together until the last few weeks. And that made collaboration tricky.
Still, I hired people early on. I knew I had no theatre experience, so I needed help. But because I didn’t have a clear plan or script, they couldn’t do much. What will be on the video screen? What do you already have? What still needs to be made? Where will you be on stage during each of the 40 scenes so we can plan the lighting? How many guests and what will they do?

All the details came from me at the last minute. Everything had to be rushed into documents. That created pressure. I had to prep a lot, and at the same time, stay in the creative flow.

I noticed that writing everything down took me out of that flow. Luckily, it worked out in the end. Thanks to an amazing team that carried me through it. But the lesson is clear: Involve people earlier. Give them something to work with. And create space to build together.

Or… choose something simpler. A TED Talk. A storytelling evening. Something where I just tell the story. No 40 scenes. No props. No lighting plans or cues. Because I’ve learned: the more tech, the less room in my head to really be present. And being present is what I want.

To rehearse or not to rehearse: what I learned about preparation and flow

Most performers rehearse their show. I didn’t. I just discussed some scenes with my brother, and reviewed transitions with the team. My own parts? I left them open. I knew I’d figure it out live. We only did one full run-through on the afternoon of the show. For the tech team.

But that made things confusing. Sometimes during the show I thought, “Wait, didn’t I already do this?” But that was from the rehearsal. Rehearsing pulls me out of the moment. On the other hand, the few things we did rehearse turned out better. More aligned. Better executed. And I got helpful feedback from director Jan and others.

So: I know I work best without rehearsal. But… for new things, repetition is useful. Like dancing. I knew I wasn’t good at it, so I practiced. Repeated. Learned. And it worked.

For speaking, I thought: I can do this. So I didn’t rehearse. But maybe I should have, to integrate it better into the flow of the show. Would it have confused me more? Maybe. We’ll never know.

Selling it before it exists: my No Excuses way under pressure

Everyone says: don’t sell the skin before you’ve shot the bear. But for me, that’s exactly what works. It’s part of my success system. First, I announce I’m doing something, as if it already exists. And then I make it happen.

This time was no different: I announced the theatre show a year and a half in advance. Before I knew what it would be. Before I had a contract with the venue. Even before I had seen the place. The fact that it was the only one available on my birthday was all the confirmation I needed. So I posted it on social media. Started selling tickets. Based the price on the venue’s brochure. No official offer. No formal agreement. No knowledge… 😉

And then the extra costs started adding up. Tech, lights, staff, service. Many things only became clear much later, or kept changing up to the day before the show. But I had already begun. I couldn’t back out. In the end, the costs were more than double what I had expected.

What hurt me most? Not the unexpected costs. But the fact that for the first time in my life, I wasn’t welcomed with enthusiasm. Not as someone doing something special. Just as a regular customer. A number.

With Coins for Care, my projects, my events – people always got inspired. They joined in. Offered help. Did more than asked. So did I, for them. But this time? Nothing went naturally. Everything had to go through formal channels. When I asked questions, I was seen as « difficult.”

Still, this is how I work. And it usually works. So despite the chaos, I stand by my method. Most of the time, it really is better to sell the skin before the bear is shot. I speak from experience.

Would I do it again? My honest answer

No.

A full, honest no.

Not because it wasn’t amazing to be on stage. It was a bucket list item. I wanted to step outside my comfort zone, and I did. I discovered new talents. I gained a unique experience. But in hindsight, most of the work went into organizing and logistics. While what I really wanted was to stay in the creative space. In the content. In the storytelling. And I feel like that part didn’t get enough attention.
Also, I never do anything twice. Even if it would be more efficient. The second time, everything flows easier. You know what to do. Everything is set up. But to me, there’s no adventure in that. I live for steep learning curves. For the thrill of something new.

What do I want? To tell more stories. To be on stage more often. Not just at conferences. But at storytelling nights, podcasts, improv events. Give me a word or theme, and I’ll create a story on the spot.

And you know what else I learned? I always thought I couldn’t dance. And honestly, it’s still not my natural habitat. But when I look at the footage… I don’t see an awkward girl anymore. I see someone having fun. Someone brave. And that is what I want to feel more often.

Missed the show? Want to experience it yourself?

500 people experienced it live in the theatre in Amsterdam. And hundreds more watched the professional livestream from around the world.

The full recording is now available. Including all the scenes, music, emotion, and lessons.

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