This World We Live In ...

The world of theater school is a horribly volatile mixture of extreme emotions.  One day, or a week, or perhaps even for a whole month, you’ll be feeling super positive about everything in the world.  You’re doing well in your classes, you’re learning like never before, and with the whole world of Broadway going on around you, you think, “I’m totally going to be able to do this!”

And then, one morning, you wake up and everything feels wrong.  Maybe it’s a side effect from your sleep aid, or from the lack of sleep.  It might be hormones, stress, exhaustion, dehydration, fatigue, malnutrition, or a number of other battles we constantly must fight as college theatre students. 

Somehow, you start feeling anxious and even a little bit depressed.  You’re physically exhausted, swamped in work you probably should have done a week ago, final demos are one week away, and you have to struggle with the fact that your college experience is already one-quarter of the way over.  And then your teachers tell you, very nicely, that this is the real world of acting, it’s not all rainbows and unicorns, and you are always working.  Even when you’re sleeping.  And they mean well, but in this anxious, depressed state, you begin to feel like the apocalypse is upon you.

Then you go to your last class of the week, anxious for the weekend so you can lock yourself up in your tiny dorm room and pretend you are anywhere else.  But in your last class, your teacher says, “I want you to walk into the room like your name was just written above the title of a Broadway show.”

And suddenly, you can see it.  You can see your name in lights, and you can feel that joyful sensation within in you, and as you start to walk, a sense of pride fills you from your head to your toe, and you smile this brilliant smile, thinking, yes, I can do it, and I will!

And in the rest of said class, you dance like your life depends on it, and you’re utterly exhausted from a long week of depression, and you can’t breathe because it’s such a hard dance, and you can feel the blisters on your feet and the ache in the ball of your foot from dancing in two-inch heels for four hours that day.  And you don’t even mind, because this is the world you want to live in.

You want to be exhausted and fatigued and sleep deprived, because it means you get the chance to act.  And sing.  And dance.  For a paycheck!

And you love it.  Always remember that.  When you love something like this, no work is too much work.  

Ever.

Love, Little Me