Changes coming soon ... I hope

I am amazed. I knew it had been a long time since I had updated this blog, but I forgot how long it had been. And it had been almost as long since I had even read what my last update was.

I'm trying to develop new resolve in my life. I am going to move to New York to pursue an acting career. It's immensely overwhelming! I have so many things to do. I figure that my to-do list falls into four main categories:

1. Financial (getting out of debt, lining up sources of income in New York, etc.)
2. Health/fitness (being healthy both mentally and physically is important)
3. Moving (getting our house in condition to sell, actually selling it, finding a new place to live)
4. Career development (headshots, monologues, lessons/classes, etc.)

Whew!

And maybe I'll get a new/different blog, too. I'm not sure.

One thing in every blog post remains constant: I want an acting career more than anything else.

It's time.

Trying to Find Balance

A few months ago, I thought I had it figured out. Why not go to New York and try to make it? After all, I was unemployed and hadn't been able to find any kind of job around here. I was unemployed anyway, so there was nothing to lose! And, I said, I'd rather be an out-of-work actor than an out-of-work cubicle-dweller.

But now I do have a job. More important, I have a job I love. So now I'm confused.

For the time being, I've decided to focus on my new career. It would be stupid to throw away a great job to move to New York after only a few months on the job. Plus, the economy sucks. So I've decided that I'm not even going to audition for any upcoming community theatre shows. At least not for a while. (I've also stepped away from my voice lessons. Since I'm not in auditioning or performing mode, there's less of a need. Plus I wanted to save the expense, at least for a little while.)

I feel good about that decision ... but it also scares me. Am I selling out? Am I deferring my dreams yet again? Can I be truly happy in this new career, or do I eventually need an acting career to feel fulfilled?

It's all about balance.

Having no job but a thriving theatrical life is fun at first. But after a while, the lack of balance begins to be too much of a negative. I think I did need a) something else going on in my life and b) for the financial/emotional turmoil of joblessness to end. For right now, focusing on a new exciting job is great. And after a while, I'm sure the lack of a show will begin to really bother me.

At the moment, I'm enjoying where I am and what the immediate future holds. And I'm trying to figure out what the hell to do next.

Casting results

Well, huh.

I came home at 1 a.m. to a voice mail offering me a spot as a cut dancer in A Chorus Line. Cool! This is fine by me because I know I'm not as good a dancer as the people who got cast as main characters (though I reserve the right to believe I'm a better singer and actor). So, knowing my limitations, I don't feel I was treated at all unfairly.

Plus — and this is what I'm really excited about — it will give me a chance to learn and grow. The dance audition was challenging and fun. So I'll be in the opening number and the finale, which will give me a chance to do more dancing on stage. Yay!

I just have to call the stage manager back tomorrow.

Auditioning practice

After the last show, I had sworn off auditioning for Lyric Theatre. In seven auditions, I had never even gotten offered a chorus/ensemble role (to the bafflement of more than just myself). I said I didn't want to waste my time on an unfair process.

My resolution didn't last long, and I auditioned tonight for their next show. And I feel good about it. I totally shifted my attitude. If I go into an audition wanting to be cast, I'm likely to be disappointed. If I go into an audition even wanting to be treated "fairly" or cast ahead of people who are less talented, I'm likely to have wasted my time. But what if my goal is to use them and take advantage of the audition? Maybe they'll never cast me. But if they're going to waste my time, I'm going to waste theirs. They're going to have to sit there and watch my audition.

More significantly, I decided to use the auditions as an opportunity to practice auditioning. I especially wanted to get more experience with learning choreography in a dance audition (as well as dealing with nerves while singing).

So I got exactly what I wanted. I did a good job. Maybe I'll even get cast. Probably I won't. But I got a nice opportunity to practice my auditioning.

The dancing was challenging for me, and I did mess up. But, boy, was it fun! I really do love dancing. I got a little bit of a workout, did a fun dance and worked on my auditioning skills. That's not a waste of time at all.

Hmm...

I am in a seriously contemplative mood.

Nothing ever seems to get "crossed off." From issues with the dog to my life and career in general, few things have been resolved lately — even when I take action on them. (Or if they resolve, they fall apart again or immediately get replaced by new issues.)

Yesterday I voiced my frustration at how confusing things are. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't know what any of the answers are.

But maybe that's the point of this time of my life: soul-searching, asking questions, exploring options. Maybe it's not about taking action or forging my path (yet). Maybe it's about exploring the territory and trying to figure things out. Maybe it's about becoming comfortable with uncertain situations (e.g. joblessness) so that when I face them again, I'm better prepared to deal with them. Maybe it's not about finding the answers (yet) but about learning how to ask myself the questions and being comfortable with that.

My mom said to me today that she thinks this period in my life will be very valuable to me some day because it is forcing me to look at my life in a different way and it could have a huge impact on the person I become. That comment surprised me and opened my eyes.

Where is the Universe Pushing Me?

I've been unemployed (and searching for a job) for 10 months. And I've realized why this is so depressing and frustrating to me.

I never realized looking for a job (any job) would be this fraught with rejection. That was theoretically why I initially chose not to pursue an acting career — it's so hard to find work! But if I'm going to be rejected, if I'm going to be unemployed, if I'm going to be stressing and working hard to find something ... why am I not going through all those things in order to find the job I want, the job I'll love? Why am I going through all that to find a job I don't really want anyway?

Maybe the universe is trying to give me a kick in the pants and push me where I need to go.

Sometimes I think that and brush it off. Sometimes there's just such a thing as crappy luck and there's no cosmic plan involved. Other times I'll feel reassured because it makes so much sense. That's why I haven't been able to find another day job in Vermont! I'm not supposed to have another day job in Vermont; I'm supposed to pursue an acting career (which means moving where the work is).

Well, I'll think on it.

Fear of Aging

I remember being 10 years old. My grandma had a bottle of Oil of Olay (the kind in the glass container and before they had 50,000 different products). She said, "It will make you look 10 years younger!" That was the reason to use it. And my 10-year-old self derived a great deal of amusement out of this. Here was a lotion I could put on to make me look like a newborn! Of course, I wasn't surprised when it didn't work that way, but it made me laugh anyway.

I had a vague concept of why women wanted to look younger, but I didn't really understand it. At that time in my life, the greatest compliment in the world was to be mistaken for a 12-year-old. Even after I turned 21, there was a time when it felt good not to be carded.

So when did that change? When did getting carded go from being an insult to being a compliment? I used to love it when people thought I was older than I was. When did I start loving it when people thought I was younger than I was?

I've always looked younger than my age, which I'm grateful for now. But I also realize I don't look like a teenager. Gray hairs don't bother me. I've had some since before I was 20, and they can always be dyed. But wrinkles! I'm a little freaked out over the signs of aging on my forehead, eyes and hands.

I suppose everyone has hang-ups over their age and physical appearance. But it's especially tricky for an actor. There are days when I'm okay with it. After all, I'm not yet old enough to play Mrs. Lovett. I have to keep aging if I ever want to play that role. I also have come to terms with the fact that I'll never play Leisl. I don't want to shoehorn myself into roles (like 30-somethings in Grease).

I was flipping through a copy of The Coast of Utopia and took great comfort from the fact that Jennifer Ehle and Martha Plimpton played characters that were considerably younger than their actual ages. I was technically too old to be Hope in Urinetown, yet I could pull that off age-wise because I do look younger.

But there are days when I just feel old.

And I think the reason is that I'm years behind in the game. I didn't go to theatre school right out of high school. I didn't start auditioning right after college. My career hasn't even started yet. And that's scary. It makes me fear that I'm too late, that I'll be "too old" before I get anywhere.

What I Say ... and What I'm Really Saying

I've taken important steps toward stating my goals in positive, clear terms. I included it in my most recent bio. I tell people about it (friends, interviewers, fellow castmates, etc.).

I want to perform professionally. I want to act full-time.

And the challenge is not to qualify or weaken that statement. I've gone from saying "I think I might want ..." to "I want ..." most of the time. And that's an important change.

I felt good telling people at the cast party "I want to do this professionally." I knew that was important for me to do.

But I also realized that I was actually saying something slightly different. My actual words were "I want to do this professionally" or "I want to be a professional actor." What I was actually saying was "Don't laugh at me but ..." (That in itself is a good example to learn from acting-wise, how what we say can be different from what our meaning is.)

Or I sometimes said to people, "I'm thinking of going to theatre school." It's true. I am thinking of it for two reasons. First, it would give me more credibility and experience and boost my resume. Second, I am sincerely interested in improving my craft and in learning to be a better actor. But what I was really saying to people was, "You might not think I'm good enough to be a professional actor. I guess I'm not good enough. I'll go to theatre school so I can become good enough."

It's time for me to stop apologizing! This is what I want. I want to be a professional actor. I want to perform as often as possible. And I believe I am good enough. I am a very talented singer and actor, and I already have the skills to merit a career. I am just going to get better from here.

Pursuing an acting career has to have this weird balance of confidence and humility. Cockiness and ego are inappropriate, but at the same time, I have to have confidence in myself and belief in my talent in order to get anywhere. And as much as I believe that I am good, I know that I am far from perfect. I can improve. To stop learning and growing would be boring. I want to take my talent to new levels. That is something I look forward to very much.

Photos and compliments

When I came out after the show, the one thing people invariably said to me was "Your costumes were amazing!" Friends and acquaintances told me how gorgeous I looked and gushed over the final dress.

I did joke a bit about how I could have forgotten all my lines and I would have gotten the same reaction. (How was my acting? Was that any good or was it just about the costumes?) Nevertheless, it felt good to be told how well I looked on stage. Many people commented on how much I looked the part, too.

And I got some lovely compliments on my performance. The music director of Urinetown told me he was proud of me. Former Urinetown castmates said I was "amazing." Well, there were a lot of nice compliments — from my looks to my singing and acting to my dancing. And the choreographer of Urinetown gave me the one compliment I think I most wanted to hear. She said, "You've developed a lot since last year." I said, "Thank you. I've been working really hard."




This dress was amazing. Vintage (from the 1930s), bias-cut satin. Girly-girl that I am, I adored it. And everybody commented on it. People would walk up to me and say "Oh my god, that dress!"




All photos © Adam Silverman

Meaning

Last year, when I was in Urinetown, it was a big deal for me. It was my first musical in years, my first lead in a musical in 11 years. I wanted everyone to be there. I e-mailed everyone I was somewhat decent friends with. My parents came all the way from Illinois to see it, which meant a lot to me. I was excited, and I wanted people to share my joy with me.

This year, in Annie, fewer of my friends/family are seeing the show. And that's okay. In a way this show is less of a big deal.

And yet, I think my performance in Annie has much more personal meaning for me. It's not about support from friends or congratulations or compliments. For me, this show has been about growth: working, learning and my quest for excellence. So this show has intense private, personal meaning for me.

In addition to my artistic goals (i.e. acting, singing and dancing well), I have some attitude goals. One of those is to have a healthier level of confidence. In Urinetown, if I had a period of no compliments, I started to get paranoid. Lately, I've been feeling good about myself even if I don't get compliments, which is a good thing. As an aspiring professional actor, I have to find confidence within myself.

Mid-Run of Annie

We are halfway through performances of Annie. Our first five performances are over; five remain. The show is a joy to do. As always, I feel that intense mingling of bliss at performing ... and sadness that it's about to end. So many people I do shows with say, "I'll be glad to get my life back." I've never said that and doubt I ever will. This production has just reaffirmed my desire to do as much theatre as possible. I really want to do this professionally. Once the show ends, hopefully I will ease my blues with serious action. And while it lasts, I'm going to enjoy every last moment.

I'll try to post pictures this week.

Reality-Show Perspective

I've been watching some performing-arts reality shows recently. I caught a few episodes of Step It Up and Dance. I watched the first episode of the Legally Blonde casting show (the title of which is too long for me to bother looking up or typing out). And I watched the audition episodes of So You Think You Can Dance.

On every show there is the professional. Been there, done that. They know what it is to work hard. They know what success feels like. And they also know what rejection feels like. So they're less likely to blow the reality-show rejection out of proportion.

And then there are the "passionate" amateurs. I put the word in quotes because they pretend a passion they probably don't really feel. They're melodramatic. Or maybe they're just young. Lord knows I've been there, too: devastated by a rejection and feeling things are over. But watching from an outside perspective, obviously, I'm not as emotionally involved as if I were competing.

I want to give these people a knock upside the head. If you really want to sing, being rejected from American Idol does not mean your singing dreams are over. So You Think You Can Dance is not the only way to make it as a dancer. It's not even the best way. If you give up after one rejection, either you're a fool or you didn't want it that much to begin with.

Instead of yelling at my TV, I file this wisdom away in my own brain. I've needed it before, and I'm sure I'll need it again. Keep trying. Pursue other venues and opportunities. No single rejection means the defeat of an entire career.

A 19-year-old on So You Think You Can Dance said she'd give up if she were rejected. The judges found the attitude troubling. She was probably just being overly emotional and not really so defeatist. Still, the point was powerful. If you give up so easily, maybe you don't deserve if after all — even if you're talented. If you give up so easily, it must not mean that much to you.

How much do my dreams mean to me?

I want to act (and sing) so much that I couldn't ever imagine stop dreaming it and trying for it. Maybe my goals will change form, becoming larger or smaller as circumstances dictate. But I will never stop working for what I want. I will never let rejections kill my dream.