The One Where I Win the Contest.

In my last post, I shared my most recent adventure of heading back to Texas to participate in Ennis' talent competition. 

When I go to Texas, I usually stay for about a week, and by the end of that week, I am itching to come back to my life here in Utah with familiar faces. However, this latest trip, I stayed for 11 days and was so sad to leave when it was time. I spent quality moments with my entire family. I played with the best dog and her adorable puppies. I wore pajamas 90% of the time I was there. I stared at, held, rocked, dressed, fed, burped, snuggled, laughed with, cried at, sang to, and loved on my sweet niece. I saw some wonderful people. And I sang and sang and sang.

I decided before I even got on the plane to fly to Texas that the trip was all going to be worth it even if I didn't walk away with the $1,000 prize from the talent contest.

But I did. I am $1,000 richer in my savings account (yes, it went right into my savings for the move to New York) because of the votes I received in the audience and invaluably richer in my heart because of the warmth and love of my family and home.

A little over a week has passed since the contest ended, and I am back in Utah, back to the grindstone of work, and back to rehearsal (see what show I'm doing next by clicking here). 

I have a lot of feelings. I always have. I always will. I am a very passionate person in regards to just about everything that I have anything to do with. This blog is, perhaps, a feeling-overload for some people. Maybe I say a few too many cliché phrases. But these words are my feelings, and my feelings are an important part of who I am, who I have been, and I who I will become.

Because I am so emotionally driven, I am an emotional performer. Because I am an emotional performer, theatre is therapy. As I sat in Natalie Toro's master class last month, a distinct question crossed my mind: Who needs therapy when they've got theatre?

Each show I have been a part of has taught me a different lesson, whether it be a lesson in life or a lesson in performing. For example, in playing Madame Defarge in A Tale of Two Cities, I realized the importance of choosing to be better instead of bitter when something goes terribly wrong in our lives. In Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, I learned that, yes, I can play flowers and sunshine and comedy. In Joseph, I learned that I was, truly, a belter. The list seems endless in what I have learned in my ten years of performing.

However, never has a show been as relevant in my personal life as 9 to 5 was for me this year. Again, no, I am not going through a divorce. No, I didn't feel a need to kidnap and harness my boss to a garage door opener. 

But I did find that I was rather tortured in my own understanding of what love is, where I should direct it, and who deserves it. I'm aware that this statement is pretty vague, but I think I'd rather keep it that way for now. Make no assumptions; they're probably wrong. I had a conversation with my mom when she came into town to see 9 to 5. She hadn't seen the show yet, but I explained to her that something had changed inside of me that made me let go of the things I was being tortured by. I said that I thought the role had something to do with it, but I wasn't sure how.

The next day, she came and saw the show. When the show ended, she greeted me in the lobby with the world's best hug. After being interrupted by everyone's favorite Superfan, she said as tears started to well up in her eyes, "Angie, you've let go because you've sang that song every other day since June. It's a constant reminder of what you can and should do." 

And then I started to cry as I realized how spot-on she was. That was exactly it. Singing "Get Out and Stay Out" in 9 to 5 was constantly reminding me that I can control who is in my life, who takes precedence, who I stand by, who I don't, what I choose to let affect me, and on and on and on. It was a constant reminder that I am loved, that I love myself, and that I don't need someone else to be in love with me in order to be happy and feel fulfilled. It was a constant reminder that I am strong, that I am full of love to give to my friends and family, that I have dreams and goals to fulfill that I am capable of fulfilling. It was and is a constant reminder that the important things aren't always easy, but they are always, always worth it.

And you better believe those last two times I sang that song after that performance were the most emotional, satisfying, and liberating.

Moms are so smart.