I Get to Be an Actor if I Want To
I was in my first play when I was seven years old. It was a very third-grade production of the Nutcracker, where instead of dancing gracefully, we sang silly lyrics to the classic tunes as the Nutcracker journeyed through the Kingdom of Sweets. To this day, I can't hear the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy without thinking…
It's a magic place a lovely sight,
Pure delight,
If you go,
You will want to stay.
If you dare now,
We'll go there now,
Through the air now,
To-DAY!
Anyway, I was cast in my first leading role as Marie, the little girl who accompanies the Nutcracker, based solely on my seven-year-old ability to read fluently. My performance wasn't so much acting as rushing to a microphone between songs, reciting my memorized lines as quickly as possible, and then pursing my lips together while darting off stage.
Nevertheless, I was hooked on this thing called theatre.
I auditioned for every play and musical I could from then on. The roles weren't always glamorous (And sometimes they were terrible), but as long as I was in the “room where it happened,” I was in heaven.
By the time I got to high school, my identity as a Thespian was firmly established and I spent more hours of those four years in the auditorium than in the classroom. Drama was my thing and drama people were my people. Everyone was kind and generous and every show was an opportunity to work together to create magic.
So, of course, I became a theatre major in college. What else could I possibly do?
Being in a university theatre program was fun, but it wasn't the same as the high school love-in I'd come to know. It was competitive. And political. And those things have never been my jam. And somehow during this time, I developed a serious fear of auditioning. As in, I would not do it. (This is a signifcant obstacle for one trying to act as their career.) I felt discouraged and out-of-place. Paired with the pressure of needing to figure out how to actually make a living in just a few years, I decided I needed to switch majors.
When I set out on my journey to become a teacher, I told myself I could still act in community theatre. Yes, I would definitely do that.
Only I definitely did not do that. And now it's been 22 years since I've been on stage.
And so today, at age almost-40, it seems silly to think of myself as an actor. A theatre-person. What right do I have to claim that identity when the real actors have been showing up all this time? And yet, it was such an important part of me for so long that I’m still grieving its loss.
Plus now I have new-and-improved fears and stories about auditioning, including these gems:
I don't know what I’m doing
I'm too old
I'm going to make an ass of myself
I can't dance
I can't sing anymore
Super-helpful stuff.
My Big Leap
I'm explaining all this backstory to help give context to a thing I recently did.
About a month ago, I was scanning the local auditions and came upon one that looked interesting. It was at a theatre that was close-by, fit my age and type, was at a time when I was available, and was at a sufficiently small theatre that didn't make me feel too far out of my league. In a moment of bravery I quickly drafted an email to the director requesting an audition and attached my ridiculous acting resume with credits dating back to the 90s and the headshot my husband took of me in our living room.
Deep Breath.
Send.
I felt a little zap of excitement/anxiety immediately, thinking, "What have I done?!" but it felt way too much like the pre-shipping jitters I've learned to chase when it comes to my business, so I knew I was on the right path. Sending that one email set the wheels in motion to lock me into doing the scary thing I needed to do.
I spent the next 3 weeks leading up to the audition at times ignoring the fact that it was going to happen and other times obsessively re-reading the script and studying my character. I felt like a complete spaz and I wondered how I was going to make it through this audition. I realize now that I had doubts that it was actually going to happen. Maybe I was going to cancel it or sabotage it in some way. I do that sometimes.
But the big day drew closer and I realized it was really going to happen. If I canceled now, I'd inconvenience the director who had scheduled me to specifically read for that part at that time. It would be unprofessional and rude. I was actually going to have to audition for the first time in about seven years. (OMG)
The day of the audition was an anxious one. I kept thinking forward to this monumental (to me) thing I was about to do. Luckily, I had a packed day of client meetings which made the day speed by quickly. As I finally drove to the theatre, I practiced my mindfulness and took slow, measured breaths. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I didn't let them get carried away. I noticed them. I acknowledged them. I kept driving.
I arrived 45 minutes early and sat in my car beforehand reading aloud from the script in my very best terrible British accent. Why the hell did I have to pick a show where I needed a British accent?!
Finally, it was time to go in. I couldn't prepare anymore. All I could do now was the next right thing.
As I sat down in the tiny theatre, I watched the other actors around me filing in. Some of them greeted one another warmly, others sat down quietly and focused on the audition sides in front of them. But instead of feeling out-of-place like I expected, I felt this kinship to them. Even after all these years, these people seemed like my people. Instead of getting inside my head and feeling unworthy, I started getting legitimately excited for this thing to get started. The tiniest smile crept across my face. I was right where I was supposed to be.
After watching a few scenes, my name was called to do my reading. The very moment I began, all nervousness melted away. This. Was. Fun. I performed my heart out, making strong choices and trying to be as generous as possible to my scene partners.
I walked out of that theatre feeling like I'd reclaimed a precious piece of myself that I'd lost long ago. When I got home, I felt a joy and energy that had me bouncing around and being the goofy for hours. I felt like the exuberant person that used to be part of my everyday self, but which I so infrequently was being at home these days. I felt like me.
We Can Choose This Anytime
I didn't get the part, but I loved every minute of this little mini-adventure. It was yet another reminder of the magic that can happen from leaping. Leaping before we’re ready. Leaping when the outcome seems hazy. Signing our future selves up for scary-yet-exciting things. Hell, just having fun!
I got a glimpse of a version of myself that I want to cultivate and grow for a very long time. That joyful , daring me. She's the one.
It was a beautiful reminder that we get to choose to live our lives safely or as an adventure. We can keep things business-as-usual, or we can pursue the little tugs we feel that pull us towards the things our hearts desire. Here’s to the next big audition.