When I was young, there was a television series hosted first by Rod Serling, then by Leonard Nimoy, called “In Search Of…” Every episode was dedicated to the investigation of a mystery: aliens, Bigfoot, Amelia Earhart, Jack the Ripper… you get the picture. I loved that show, but in retrospect, most of the subjects they profiled seem to have been more flim-flam than fact. They never went in search of things that were easy to find, and a lot of what they set their sights on was just plain silliness.

This is how I feel, at times, about the quest to find someone who might be “my” director: someone who loves working with me, cares deeply about my stories, feels a great desire to bring them to life, wants nothing more than to share them with the world, and contributes meaningfully to their development. A lifelong collaborator who wants a relationship in which we will grow together as artists. I’m starting to think that I might as well be searching for the real Jimmy Hoffa burial site or the Loch Ness Monster: I’d be more likely to find what I’m looking for.

But I haven’t given up hope, for two reasons.

First, because I have had a bit of a taste of what the experience might be like. There was one director—I worked with her on a few projects—with whom I had a solid connection. She was demanding and difficult (in a good way), but she made my work much better. (I’m going to write about our partnership next week.) Unfortunately, she also decided to stop making theater, so she’s now the fish that got away. She’s also the director against whom I measure other relationships… not to mention the one who helps me know it’s possible.

Second, because there are also a few other directors—people I haven’t worked with, or haven’t worked with much—with whom I can at least imagine (in theory) having that sort of relationship. Before you asked: yes, we’ve talked about working together, and yes, it might even happen in one or two cases… but that would only be a first date. The sort of relationship I’m talking about finding will take years to build, and even then it can founder on the rocks. It’s not easy.

Or at least… I imagine it’s not easy. I obviously don’t know from experience. The closest thing I have is a marriage, and let me tell you, I’d be thrilled to find a director even one-tenth as important to me and my work as my wife… who acts from time to time, but does not (sadly) care to direct.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe playwrights and directors don’t actually invest the sort of energy and time and risk it takes to form deep partnerships any longer. Maybe long-term relationships between and playwrights and directors are no longer common. Maybe in an age in which associations are made and broken as easily as Facebook friendships, creative collaboration has become a “serial dating” phenomenon, rather than a marriage.

I will say this: I wish I’d started looking for “my” director (or had more success in finding him/her) earlier in my career. As a mid-career playwright, I worry that I may have missed my chance. Am I now the theatrical equivalent of 40 miles of well-worn road? Am I no longer new and fresh and tempting for a director? Maybe I’d better buy a better-looking car and start hitting the gym, metaphorically.

Or maybe I just need to accept the facts on the ground… which would mean, I’m imagining, that if I really want that sort of relationship, I need to start a devised work company. The thought of doing that, though—I’m just being honest here, not passing judgment—tires my very soul. I almost certainly can’t go there. (Note the equivocation? If the right partner invited me, I’d consider it.)

Thankfully, I’m still pretty satisfied just being a playwright and working from project to project with different directors. I mean, it’s rather like dating: there are some bad evenings spent, but largely, the worst thing that happens is you meet somebody interesting and have a nice conversation. And hey, maybe one of those conversations will lead to something more…