The One about My New York Trips.

Before I go into the ramblings of my latest thoughts, I thought I'd share what happened this weekend:

PUPPIES!

Mary Jane had NINE puppies on Saturday night - all healthy, and ALL adorable.

See?!

Now...

In lieu of a recent status update I posted on Facebook, the change in my blog layout (didja' notice?!), my first search (online) for an apartment, and with graduation approaching in a little over a month, I think the subject of this post is more than appropriate for today. The first time I went to New York was in July of 2004. It was in between my junior and senior years of high school, and I went with a small group of friends in the theatre department. We stayed in a hotel in Newark and took the tour bus to the city each of the four days we were there. We saw a few shows and visited museums, shops, and restaurants. The trip was planned for me, and 95% of the time was spent in our group. It was a lot of fun, but it was sort of a whirlwind of packing so many activities into so few days. It was all so fast, but really the perfect way to spend my first time there.

The next time I went was in October of 2005. I lucked out with the chance to go with my mom on a "business trip" to New York for a five-day stay. This time, we were picked up at the airport by a chauffeur (who held a sign with our name on it... like in the movies...) and dropped off at The Benjamin Hotel, just seven blocks from Times Square. With this arrangement of my mom having to work while we were there, I understood that I would be spending the time during the day by myself. For whatever reason, this didn't scare me one bit. Instead, it excited me.

The nights were absolutely reserved for the adventures my mom and I would have (like when she showed up with sixth row tickets for opening preview night of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Woman In White or when we ran into Aaron Lazar on the subway immediately after seeing him in The Light In the Piazza and gabbed with him for a half an hour). That still left so much time for me to explore the city on my own. I was 18 at the time and, even then, I knew that New York was where I wanted to be when I finished my college degree.

I don't think I've ever made myself more aware of my surroundings than I did as I roamed the city during those few days - I took in the smell of the city and the taste of the air and I watched how different people acted around me - tourists and residents. It wasn't hard to distinguish the two, of course. As I walked the streets on that first day, I studied the residents and paid close attention to how they carried themselves. They seemed busy and bored, in a hurry and frustrated. Quite frankly, I became a bit disheartened. Stone-faced robots walked the streets of the city that I was dying to be a part of.

On the second day, I went out and about with that little heartbreak still tugging at me. I didn't want this excitement I felt being there to be simply because I was a tourist. I wanted it to be a part of me always.

Then, perhaps, a tiny (even silly) unspoken prayer was answered. It was a Wednesday morning, and I was just trying to decide what show to see for the matinee a few hours later. Somewhere along the way, I got a bit lost. My getting lost led me to Carnegie Hall and eventually to the Lincoln Center. My feet were a bit tired by this point, so I got a muffin and sat down on the ledge of the fountain. When I sat down, I noticed two people sitting just a few feet away - a boy and a girl - talking about "only 16 bars." Of course this piqued my curiosity as this is common audition lingo, so I listened more closely.

As I said before, the difference between the residents and the tourists was clear... but this was different. They had a business about them, yes, but the excitement they had as they discussed a recent audition came as a surprise. Their knowledge of where things were in the city and of future arrangements was impressive, so I came to the conclusion that they had to be residents. Their eyes were bright and they were completely personable, I could tell, even though I had no interaction with them. I only heard about five minutes of their conversation before they left the fountain, but during the time they were there, I wanted to go sit right down next to them and let them tell me everything they knew. Every secret. Every story. Every reason why they were still so optimistic.

Needless to say, when they left, the heartbreak I felt for the residents of the city was healed in a sense. I don't know the story of those people. They could have only been living there for a very short time. They could have only been extremely experienced tourists. They could have been students. I really have no idea.

And truthfully, I don't need to know. What I saw in those few short minutes was business and pleasure. Mixed together. Just like I hoped my career would be, just like it should be.

If things go as hoped for, in a year and a half or so, New York will be my home. With graduation approaching in December, the heavy preparation for this move has begun. I have to figure things out financially, emotionally, and logistically.
I know I talk about it a lot. I know there are people who will roll their eyes at the cliché. I know it seems a bit far-fetched and dreamy to some. I know that so many people go there with the same aspirations as my own. I know that it won't be easy. I know that it's going to take serious discipline, time, dedication.

"New York remains what it has always been: a city of ebb and flow, a city of constant shifts of population and economics, a city of virtually no rest. It is harsh, dirty, and dangerous. It is whimsical and fanciful; it is beautiful and soaring - it is not one or another of these things but all of them, all at once..." - Paul Goldberger

I know that it could, at times, lead to some heartache. I know I have to take some bad with the good, the business with the pleasure.

I know that if I don't at least try, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

But most of all, I know that I have never wanted for something so much in my life or worked so hard. And that's bound to get me somewhere.

Oh, and of course I can't forget...

The One about My Friend Julie.

Before I get too far into this post, I should warn you: I am feeling a bit sorry for myself today. However, writing in my blog has proven to be an effective way of changing my perspective on days like today and has also proven to be a perfectly positive outlet for my feelings.

When I was in high school, I sort of had things handed to me. I was heavily involved in the choral department, where I got the solos I wanted in programs, competitions, and concerts. In the theatre department each year, there were two mainstage productions - typically, a musical in the fall and a one-act play in the spring. My very first full-length production I was a part of was when I played Annie in Annie as a tenth-grader. The next year, which was my junior year, I immersed myself in the program. I was then cast as The Witch in Into the Woods and the female lead in J.B. The next fall I was cast as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.

Somewhere along the way, I got really self-entitled. I had very little tact and a very big ego.

The one-act play was always a big deal for those of us involved. It was a part of the University Interscholastic League (UIL) One-Act Play Festival, a competition whose highest honor was performing at State competition in Austin, Texas, with many potential scholarship opportunities.

For the One-Act my senior year (in 2005), we did a show called By the Bog of Cats. This is a modern retelling of Euripedes' Medea set in rural Ireland. The story follows a woman named Hester Swane through an incredibly emotional journey of murder, anger, betrayal, and abandonment. Of course I wanted that role and couldn't even imagine myself playing any other role. I walked around with that air about me, too. That it was mine and no one else's.

(I'm not saying this like I'm proud of it. I actually hate saying things like that because I like to pretend I never really acted like that.)

When auditions rolled around, it was an intense few days filled with an Irish dialect workshop, movement exercises, and all sorts of line- and side-readings. I kept that arrogance in plain sight.

Then, the cast list was posted just a few days later, and I wanted to crumple into a little ball on the floor. I was not cast as the lead. I remember even saying at one point of my obnoxious complaining, "That's the first time my name hasn't been on the top of a list."

Like I said... VERY BIG EGO.

It wasn't easy to deal with. In fact, for a while, I didn't. I made it very clear that I was unhappy with it.

Onstage I was playing the best friend of the female lead who happened to also be my closest friend at the time in my personal life. Friendships are an important part of any thriving human being's life. I hadn't really expressed to Julie how I felt about not getting Hester, but she knew. And I hate that the only reason she knew was because of how I acted for so long.

After I cried about it a few billion times, after I griped about it, after I sulked and fell apart and blamed, something happened to me: I became a best friend.
I remember after school one day sitting in the Black Box on that plaid couch with Julie for hours. We laughed and cried and said absolutely everything we needed to say to each other. When I left the room and got in my car, for the first time, I was happy for her. Better: I was proud of her. And suddenly, it didn't matter anymore that I was a secondary character. This was the first time I had ever felt like I was giving just as much as I was getting back in a friendship and vice versa.

Whether it's my lack of care for a friendship or a lack of care on the other side, 50/50 friendships are hard to come by. I can count on one hand the number that I have had in my life. I've realized lately that I haven't been nurturing the friendships I have as well as I should. Especially those that I consider equal. I find myself easily irritated, easily hurt and frustrated, and even easily victimized.

Friendship requires two people who are equally committed to making it last. It doesn't play games. It is based on trust and honesty. It is based on mutual liking. It is based on support. And it is and should be important. I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

The One about Joseph.

Two years ago, I was given the opportunity to play what could be easily considered one of the largest female singing roles in musical theatre. I didn't know the show that well, but before I auditioned for the show at Rodgers, I made myself as knowledgeable as possible about the role of the Narrator in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
I performed three nights a week for almost a month to sold-out crowds and had the time of my life. The role allowed me to be myself and sing my guts out at the same time. I couldn't complain. It was a breeze, really. Compared to what was ahead, anyway...

When Hale announced their season, obviously I was over the moon about their choosing to do Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Of course, my eyes bugged right out of my head when I saw that the show immediately following Dirty Rotten was Joseph. I knew that the Hale would pull out every stop in order to put on the production; the spectacle of the show would be magnificent and, of course, Utah would swarm to the production. For whatever reason, the show is a "phenomenon" here.

I don't know when I was 100% positive I was going to audition for Joseph. I don't know when I thought to myself, "I can handle this." This being doing two shows back-to-back; to make it more clear, that meant rehearsing on the nights I wasn't performing and, on the nights I was performing, rehearsing literally minutes before I went onstage to perform. But... I talked myself into auditioning sometime during the Dirty Rotten rehearsal process and was, again, lucky enough to be cast as the Narrator.

At the beginning of Joseph rehearsals, things ran rather smoothly. I knew the music very well, and had the confidence that I could pull it off since I knew I had once before.

This time was different than last time, though; this time, I was absolutely overwhelmed. I was taking 13 credits of summer classes, working 25 hours a week, rehearsing, and performing... all while attempting to have a tiny taste of a social life. Sundays were my days off, but they ended up being strictly devoted to homework that I had gotten behind on during the week.

It got the best of me and I sort of started to feel a bit out of control... which, if anyone knows me, is not something I handle well. Instead of me running my own life, my life had started to run me. I got very sad and very lonely and very jealous and allowed myself to live in a place of self-pity for a couple of weeks. Then one day, when I was catching up with a friend in the lobby during a show, I said something that made me crawl right out of that funk.

"If I weren't in school, my life would be perfect."

You see, all my life I've enjoyed being busy. I love making plans and following through with them. I love having things to do. I love feeling productive. For the rest of my life, if I worked a day job, rehearsed and performed at night, my life would be perfect.

And I feel a bit spoiled that I get to say that. Of course things happen that upset me or make me sad. But the only thing I genuinely despise at this point is school. And it's so almost done. Maybe that's a little pathetic, but if that's the only thing that makes me feel like my life is "imperfect," I'll take it. I'll finish it. And then I'll proudly - and FINALLY - wear the achievement of a bachelor's degree in Theatre Arts on my heart.

When I said that, it allowed me to enjoy the entire run of Joseph. All 8 weeks and 43 performances of it. And when the show closed, I felt fulfilled by what I had accomplished and I felt like a better person because of the people I got to know.
I decided, after speaking that simple phrase back in July, to stop whining about how I had no time for myself and recognize that I am living a particularly exciting life and that I am, in fact, spending my time doing exactly what I want to be doing. I have ridiculously wonderful and perfect friends. I have powerful emotions and strong confidence/self-esteem. I have a solid sense of spirituality. I have the abilities and capacity to do exactly what I love to do, physically and mentally (maybe imperfectly, but that's part of what makes it so perfect - confusing enough?). I have an incredibly perfect family, the most supportive mom and dad. I am perfectly healthy. And, of course, absurdly happy.

See? Perfect.

Maybe saying that makes me naive. Maybe. So what? Because if naive means happy, I'll take it.