Meet Richard E. Waits

We were lucky to catch up with Richard E. Waits recently and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Richard E. , so excited to talk about all sorts of important topics with you today. The first one we want to jump into is about being the only one in the room – for some that’s being the only person of color or the only non-native English speaker or the only non-MBA, etc Can you talk to us about how you have managed to be successful even when you were the only one in the room that looked like you?

I had the rare gift of starting my education in a spacious, open-classroom school—where I spent nearly a decade, from preschool through eighth grade.

There were no rows of desks—only open space to move, gather, and discover.
We mainly sat on the floor. The low tables were tucked in corners, meant for kneeling while writing or doing arts and crafts—positions that, as I now realize, were great for blood circulation and flexibility. I didn’t know that then. But I needit now!

The school was intentionally diverse, racially balanced, and culturally rich. We celebrated Diwali, Passover, Juneteenth, Chinese New Year—every tradition had space.
Parents were required—it was built into the school’s philosophy—to come in and share their work experiences: factory workers, bankers, art gallery owners—and all of it was valued.

That experience taught me to be a self-starter, to appreciate difference, to think critically, and to discover how I learn best. (I’m kinesthetic—give me movement, sensation, rhythm.)
I was surrounded by people who looked like me and people who didn’t. And we were taught—early and often—that every background, every contribution, mattered. I carried that truth deeply.

Then came a shift.

My next school was in a predominantly white suburb, where I was one of only three Black students. The transition was stark.
Suddenly, I wasn’t surrounded by difference—I was the difference.
And I was told something that would stay with me for years:

“You have to be seven times better than any white person just to be considered equal.”

I remember thinking:
Seven times better? What the f…!? The math ain’t mathin’! How the hell am I supposed to figure THAT out?

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Life isn’t fair. I was pissed.
Then my dad said:

“So what.”
(Not dismissive—what he meant was: So what to what people think or do. You know the truth.)

Then came the second hit:
“People in hell want ice water.”

In other words—get on with it.
Don’t let it make you bitter or small.
(And for the record, “get on with it” might be my favorite British expression.)

That kind of pressure sharpened my discipline and planted a weight I had to learn how to carry—and eventually how to release.
I didn’t let that message define me. I let it make me more aware—more observant, more intentional, more committed to knowing who I am.
I turned challenge into clarity.

I began to understand code-switching—and what it meant to shape-shift to protect my spirit and keep moving forward.
I don’t try—I set myself up to thrive.
There’s no “trying” in my vocabulary. Either I’m doing it, or I’m not.

So when I walk into a room where I’m the only one who looks like me—I don’t shrink.
I speak to people’s humanity.
I recognize the differences, and I connect through the sameness.

I’m not there to work for anyone—I’m there to work with everyone.
That’s not a slogan (well, maybe it is—smile)—it’s my way of moving through the world.
And yes, some people don’t always take well to it.
That’s okay. Because I stand by it.

I use humor—especially gallows humor—because it disarms and clarifies at the same time.
And I tell the truth. Because truth is hard to argue with.

I carry the people who’ve come before me—my parents, my uncle, my grandparents, my great-grandfather.
They’ve shaped my values, my timing, my understanding of generosity and grace.
I used to idolize movie stars and comic book characters.
Now, my heroes are the people who’ve survived, overcome, and passed something on.

A few years ago, I went to a family reunion—the first time I’d traveled to the town where many of my ancestors were born.
A cousin I’d never met picked me up from the airport. I took one look at her and knew—(singing) “we were family.”
That whole weekend was filled with moments like that.
There were 180 relatives—some looked like me, many didn’t—but our values, our humor, our rhythms were unmistakable.

On the last day, we attended a small country church.
The piano was out of tune.
The singing… well… wasn’t exactly what you’d call perfect.
But the spirit was exactly right.

One of the elders—likely a cousin—kept saying to me:
“Welcome home.”

I thought, Awww, bless her heart. Isn’t she sweet?
But after the service, I saw the plaques on the wall.

My family’s names were there- founders deacons, pastors, elders—going back to 1867.

That wasn’t just a sweet greeting.
That was truth.

The truth that I carry.

Here’s another truth I hold close:

Some years ago, I was hiking alone in the mountains of Switzerland. The air was clean.
The water was so pure I drank it right from the source.

I wasn’t seeking a spiritual experience—but something opened in me.

When I reached what felt like was “the mountaintop”—a high point where I felt like I could see the whole world—I stood still. I listened.
And I heard:

I am African—where we all began.
I am Swiss.
I am Japanese.
I am Russian.
I am Brazilian.
I am Spanish.
I am American.

I am everything of this world—because I am a child of the earth.

No matter what anyone says—that is the truth.

So when I’m the only one in the room, I remember:

I am not alone.
I am not the only one in the room.
I am not ONLY one thing.
I am many things.
And I belong—wherever I stand.

Appreciate the insights and wisdom. Before we dig deeper and ask you about the skills that matter and more, maybe you can tell our readers about yourself?

I answered a lot of this in the first question, and here’s more!
As you already know, I’m an actor committed to telling stories that carry legacy, humanity, and truth. My work spans theatre, film, and television, and I approach every role as an opportunity to connect, reflect, and uplift.

Currently, I can be seen on Amazon Prime, and I recently wrapped a pilot for a romantic comedy series—fingers crossed it finds a home. I’m also up for a role in a Broadway-bound musical comedy, as a curmudgeonly manager with a heart of gold.

Beyond performance, I’m in development on two deeply personal projects: one inspired by my dear uncle, a remarkable man some called “The Black Forrest Gump”—his life intersected with pivotal moments in American history; and another: a musical-theatre hybrid exploring the complexities of a mother and son relationship, built on emotional truth and musical language.

I’m also gearing up to perform in my 20th year with a longstanding charitable performance event, which unites artists in support of health, wellness, and crisis relief. The funds raised help support food pantries in all 50 states, women’s health initiatives, uninsured performers, and disaster response efforts across the country. It’s a tradition I’m proud to be a part of—one rooted in compassion, creativity, and collective impact.

I am an active member of both Actors’ Equity Association and SAG-AFTRA, and my experience across mediums and communities continues to inform the kind of work I choose—and the kind of artist I strive to be.

At the center of everything I do is a simple but powerful goal: to create space for truth, joy, and transformation—onstage and off.

If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?

1. Discernment.
Knowing the difference between a lesson and a distraction is key. Everyone has an opinion—but not every opinion is useful. Learn to tell the difference between noise and guidance. Trust your gut, but let experience sharpen it.

2. Discipline.
Talent is lovely, but consistency is power. You don’t have to be flashy—you have to show up, do the work, and keep your integrity intact. Learn how to build a life that supports your work: rest, prep, boundaries, humility.

3. Adaptability.
This path will test you. Things shift—industries, trends, people, roles. You have to stay flexible without losing your center. Be willing to grow, but don’t bend so far that you forget who you are.

4. Intention.
Especially in auditions—but really in any room—I always make sure I’m working on something personal. Something that’s just for me. Sometimes it’s stillness. Sometimes it’s clarity or breath or an emotional truth I want to explore through someone else’s words. That way, no matter what they say afterward, I’ve already won. Every audition is a success. Every project is a success. Because I showed up with purpose, and I left with something real.

And two things I wish someone had told me sooner:
Seek therapy. Seriously. It helps you navigate the highs, the lows, and all the in-betweens without losing yourself. This industry can be brutal—having a space to process it all is not weakness, it’s wisdom.
Build friendships that aren’t built on competition. Surround yourself with people who aren’t in direct competition with you—friends who aren’t your type or in your casting category. It’s much easier to root for each other without that unspoken tension. People are human. Jealousy can creep in—even when you love someone.

For anyone just starting out:
Stay curious. Keep learning—about yourself, your craft, and the world. And protect your joy. It’s easy to lose it in a business that often prioritizes profit over people. But joy, truth, and curiosity? That’s where the magic lives.

What has been your biggest area of growth or improvement in the past 12 months?

I’ve continued to embrace my authenticity—more fully, more unapologetically. My eye is sharper now. I know what I consider good, what I don’t, and I can express why with confidence and clarity. That discernment has deepened my choices and refined my presence in the room—and in life.

One of my life mottos is something I share with my dear acting teacher, who recently passed:
“Get out of the comfort, get into the thrill.”
She gave me those words, and they’ve stayed with me ever since. I carry them now as both a personal compass and an homage to her. The older I get, the louder that calling becomes—and the more fun it is to answer. I don’t want to reach my final moments thinking, “I wish I would have…” That’s the fire. That’s the thrill. And it keeps me moving forward with purpose and joy.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://resumes.actorsaccess.com/richardewaits?fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAab6vRK5HCAs-rG9S9aq55Q_PlFh5w7AZ7OEK4MN7k2ZZemt3TP-_5kZVLA_aem_L4kX2Ej2O3R-a2OMnPlMRA
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/richarde.waits?igsh=NmhudWIxb29vODVt&utm_source=qr
• Other: https://t.co/6WsKEbNvI5

Image Credits

D’Ambrose Boyd Photography.
Ramona Rosales