The One with the Tale Gush.

In the last eight and half years, I have performed in 22 productions. From the beginning of my journey in 2002, playing an 11-year-old redheaded orphan (at age 15) to 2011, where I played a vengeful and victimized villain, I have been on quite the ride. Each show has had its effect on me, and each show has to open and, eventually, close. On to more things, yes, but what a heartbreak to leave such sweet things behind.


As I mentioned a few entries ago, A Tale of Two Cities is no exception to this rule of hurting to let go of a show. And this past Saturday marked the day that I would have to say goodbye to that chapter of my performance story. When I woke up on Saturday morning, I immediately had to fight the tears from falling. As the day went on, that didn't change. I couldn't talk about it ending or I would become an immediate puddle. Sweet friends in my dressing room even amused my childish nature by pretending like we still had four weeks of the show left to perform, that we were only halfway done. That trick only lasted so long; during and after the curtain call, I sort of let my emotions go, and I wept. Obviously, I became obsessed with the show; I expressed my love for this show very clearly in just about every post since the beginning of the process.

It was just so different.

I told a few people this as we discussed closing the show: it's like going to church every other day. It always felt so out-of-body, so spiritual and uplifting... even with the role that I was playing - the villain. I've played roles bigger than this one, so it wasn't its size that made such an impact.

It was its heart. The show's heart. The cast's heart. The crew's heart. The writer's heart. The audience's heart. The character's heart. I fell in love with everything about this production. It was or seemed to me to be absolutely perfect, and it came into my life at the best time that it could have.

I don't talk much about my spirituality in this blog - mostly because I think there is such a fine line of what's awkward for people to read and what's not, and while I do write what I want to write about on here, I still want people to want to read it without any reservation or hesitation. But I'm going to tread that fine line today. My spirituality has been a very private thing for most of my adult life. I credit that to the heartache I experienced with my most serious romantic relationship when I was 17 until I was 19 years old. (Another story for another day.)

Because I do keep my testimony of my spirituality to myself, experiences like Tale are especially prominent in the building up of my religious experiences. Anyone in that cast would have a hard time denying the tenderness of the heart of the show, and I fully believe that the love we have for and showed each other throughout the rehearsals and performances was a result of our recognizing its depth. I'm just going to say it: I know we were being watched over constantly by a much Higher Power during this production. I can't deny that. In fact, I don't think I've ever been so sure of something.

A big theme of this blog, I've noticed myself leaning towards, is gratitude. I don't think a single entry goes by without my using that word or words relating to it - thankful, opportunity, lucky, etc. I don't do it on purpose; it just happens. When I'm writing, I find myself especially open to expressing my emotions; I find myself, almost every time, overcome with gratitude for my everyday surroundings.

Next Saturday, I'll start the next chapter with Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I'm positive I will love every minute of it as well; I'm sure I'll fall in love with the cast; and, hi, it's my biggest dream role. I really cannot wait for it; it will be a big party (but a challenging party because I am scared to death of it). It will make its own imprint on my heart, I have no doubt.

I'll do my best not to gush about Tale after this. I know it's time to let it go. I know it's time to focus on the EXCITING things ahead (and thank goodness for that, because the excitement ahead softens the blow of saying goodbye to this "baby"). Consider all of this closure.

Madame Defarge is the meatiest and most complex role I've ever played, and the truth is, I feel like I could play her forever; I would want to. If God would bless me with vocal chords of steel and anti-aging abilities after 40, it would be totally possible. More importantly, though, I forged new friendships and strengthened old ones. I learned things I never thought I'd learn and I felt things I never thought I'd feel. I received inspiration from everyone involved, and I feel like a changed person because of every single moment.

Lucky, lucky me.