The One with the Pictures.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #7: "Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose." - from The Wonder Years

Since yesterday's post about Adam, I've been determined to find the one picture of him that I remember taking. Just to help me remember him better. And I did find that picture.
Which led me right into this tribute...

I have hundreds of printed photos and even more digital ones that I am able to look back and reflect on. As I dug through my collection, I found pictures of moments and stages of my life that I had almost forgotten about.

Perhaps stages I would've rather never went through in the past... but I can actually look at and laugh at now. Like this...
Or stages that I don't remember that well, but am able to still reflect on...
I am so thankful for photography and the memories that a single photo can provide.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #8: "When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves." - Victor Frankl

In June of 2010, I was gearing up to open Annie Get Your Gun at Rodgers Memorial Theatre. It was just a couple of weeks before we opened when a few of our costumes were brought in for us to try on. My double was teeny-tiny and had no trouble fitting into the adorable costumes the theatre had rented for us. They gave me the ones that they had rented for me and I went into the dressing area to put them on. Not a single one fit.

I lost it. I went back into the fitting area and just wept as I put my street clothes back on and put the costumes back on their hangers. My director knocked just as I was finishing the task. She saw that I was crying and didn't say a word. She just wrapped her arms around me and let me just fall apart.

It wasn't just those costumes. There had been things that hadn't fit me before. This was really nothing new. But I suppose this was the straw that broke the camel's back. I wasn't huge, but I was definitely overweight, and I was unhappy with myself because of it. It seemed to be validation of how crappy I was feeling about myself. I remember thinking that this was an obvious reason for me to not love myself, why my self-esteem was as low as it was.

For three months, as I've mentioned before, I lived in a state of self-pity. The worst I've ever been, the most self-hate I've ever doled out to myself, the most depressed I've ever been, the most uncomfortable I've ever felt, the most unlovable I ever imagined feeling. I felt like my life was honestly falling apart.

Then on September 27, 2010, I woke up at 7 AM, as usual, and sat up in my bed. My mirror hung on the north wall of my bedroom. My bed sat in the center of the western wall. As I flung my feet over the side of my bed, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was wearing my orange 2005 Tony t-shirt and my pink- and green-striped pajama bottoms. My hair was in a messy bun on the top of my head. Of course my face was clean of any make-up.

I sat there for a very long time looking at myself, I remember, before I stood up, grabbed my towels and went to shower. During my shower, I thought about how long I had just spent staring at my reflection and how, while I was doing so, I was absolutely disgusted by what I saw. And what's worse, I knew that every time I looked in the mirror, that is how I felt about myself.

I knew something had to change. I knew that for years I'd said, "I'm going on a diet," or "I need to lose some weight," but I'd done nothing about it.

So I turned to the only thing I knew:
I'd done the program with my mom for a short time in high school (with no success because I didn't commit to it). I called in to work and said that I would be running a little late. I stepped on the scale and logged my weight. I turned on my laptop and went to Google's homepage. I typed in the words, "How many Weight Watchers Points am I allowed?" I clicked on the first result and calculated my points. I opened an Excel document to put in my information. I finished getting ready for the day and went to the store where I bought Special K bars, Progresso Light Soup, light string cheese, some Lean Cuisine, a new water bottle, a banana and some Diet Coke.

I've told very few people this next thing because I consider it a very personal thing...

I don't remember that week. I remember it was tech week for The Drowsy Chaperone, but I don't remember how "hard" it was to start eating better. All I really remember is stepping on the scale the next Monday and seeing a weight loss of 7.1 pounds. That was all I needed to keep going. I truly believe that Heavenly Father took my hand, covered my eyes and walked me through that week in order for me to start. Because seeing those results made me happy... and He knew that.

As of today, I've lost a total of 45.3 pounds, and I am the most confident I have ever been. I remain the happiest I have ever been. The goal is 50 pounds, but I am in a place right now where my body is no longer an issue to me. Instead of hiding it, I don't mind showing it off. I'm proud of it. But more than proud, I'm grateful - for Weight Watchers, for that first week, and for the support around me always.

The One with Batman.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #5: "All music is beautiful." - Billy Strayhorn

I know that it's an ongoing argument among some people about when Christmas music should be played, but I'm definitely one of those people who doesn't really care when I hear it. I appreciate it at anytime.

I do tend to leave it for around this time of year, just to keep the excitement of it. This year was different. The show I'm in right now is A Christmas Carol, so Christmas music has been a part of my daily playlist since September. And I'm more than okay with that.

Yesterday was STRESSFUL thanks to my impeccable procrastination skills. From 8 AM until 7 PM, I was going non-stop trying to fix problems I'd made for myself. I was in a pretty sour mood, honestly.

But last night as I was watching rehearsal, the music of A Christmas Carol acted as a medicine for my tension. I couldn't stop smiling. I'd be crazy not to be entirely grateful for that.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #6: "Do or do not. There is no try." - Yoda

It's probably pretty clear that the LDS culture is not as prominent in Texas as it is in the Western part of the United States. For one thing, church meetinghouses are few and far between. The closest ward to my house is about 20 miles from my house and takes about 30 minutes to get there.

In addition to the sparsity of the church buildings, instead of high school students having time set aside in the actual class curriculum actually attended early-morning seminary. My seminary class started at 6:10 AM, so with the travel time and the time it took to get ready for the day, I was up at 4:45 AM every Monday through Friday for all four years of high school. It's not hard to believe that on most days, I felt like this... But one person made it worth it.

I met Adam West when I was 14 or 15 years old, when he was my Sunday school teacher. He and his beautiful wife, Susie, had just moved into the ward. Adam West brought a freshness to Sunday school that I didn't really know how to handle at that age. After a very short while, I recognized what I was feeling as fun mixed with learning. I looked forward to Sunday school every time and was so sad when the year was over and I was no longer in his class.

So, when he was called as the seminary teacher, I could have sprung right through the ceiling with joy.

He made coming to a class at 6:10 AM so special. He always showed up so bright-eyed and happy and excited to teach us... which made us all excited to learn.

When someone would start to fall asleep, he threw a pencil at him or her. He made Scripture Mastery Friday hilarious with his contests. He had the best impersonation of Yoda and would often quote, "Do or do not. There is no try." He told the most incredible stories about his conversion, his life, his family, his dreams, his aspirations.

During the day, Adam West (whom we often called Batman) was a professional motivational speaker. He attended conferences and influenced the lives of the people who listened to him talk. He truly was a force to be reckoned with. He brought a confidence with him wherever he went, as well as the most tender heart you could imagine. I'm not kidding. I have never known anyone as kind.

Occasionally, Batman would invite his students to his "bat cave" for a party. We were able to get to know him even better, as well as his sweet wife and his twin baby girls. It became a bit of a family bond with him; we really couldn't help it.

The most altering moments of the relationship I shared with Adam West was in the moments after seminary class, though, when I would feel so inclined to stay and ask him questions and pick his brain about life. I was a troubled high-schooler... ask anyone who had to deal with me. Adam's insights, his opinions, his stories, and his faith were so honest that he always seemed to say just the right thing, even if it wasn't really what I wanted to hear. He became a dear, dear friend and an excellent mentor.

I graduated from seminary in 2005 and moved away to college in 2006. I came home for a little while in 2006 and spent one of my evenings at his home with him and his sweet family. I made dinner at his house and spent hours there talking to he and his wife and playing with Savannah and Olivia. During this little get-together, I remember him saying, "Angela, you are meant to do great things." I know it sounds like a cliché statement, but that was the first time anyone had said anything like that to me. I was adamant to prove him right. I am adamant to prove him right. He believed in my abilities unlike anyone I'd ever known. I have never, ever forgotten those few words.

Then, I got a phone call from my mom in September of 2008. I remember where I was walking on-campus and that I stopped dead in my tracks when my mom said the words, "Adam West passed away today."

I knew he had been battling cancer, but because I was so far away, I really had no idea how bad it was getting. When I'd first heard he was sick, I felt like I needed to write him a letter telling him how grateful I was for his guidance through so many of my hardships and the support I had from him. So... I did. I wrote the letter, I put it in an envelope.

And I never sent it.

I didn't take the time to address the envelope and stamp it. Ten seconds of my life and I could've expressed appreciation for my own real-life... well, pardon the cheesiness... superhero.

I came across the letter last night and re-read it. It is several pages long and written in purple pen. As I read it, I started to beat myself up about never sending it. Then, I felt such warmth in my heart for this man. He changed so many lives; he helped so many people... just by being himself. I put the letter back in it's weathered envelope and had the overwhelming feeling wash over me: he knows exactly what that letter says.

The One about Books and Bells.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #3: "I cannot live without books." - Thomas Jefferson
Every now and then, a book falls into your lap...

I have to share a story.

I'm willing to bet that every person involved in musical theatre that found his/her way there him/herself (as in, they weren't forced into it as a child) has that one show that sort of spoke to him/her and said, "Hey, this is why you want to do musical theatre!" For me, that musical was Aida. It was my junior year, and my choir class was singing an arrangement of "Written in the Stars." My boyfriend at the time and I were the soloists, and for whatever reason, that song was all it took for me to delve right into the show. I downloaded all of the music and memorized it. I became completely engrossed in everything Aida.

So... when we went to New York in 2004, I knew I had to see it live. I'd lived with it for almost a year by then and had never seen it, so when the opportunity arose, I was going to take it. There was all this talk from other people in our trip group about going to see another show, a new show, called Wicked. I didn't listen; I didn't know it, and therefore I didn't care. It's no secret: I was a BRAT and pretty determined to get what I wanted. I insisted - by whining, of course - that we go see Aida instead. So... we did.

And it was such a let-down. Not only did Deborah Cox (who played the title role) blow her vocal chords at the end of the first act, but the quality was just... meh. When I walked out of the Palace Theatre, I still appreciated the music somewhat, but my love for the show was pretty much gone. I'd thrown a fit to see a show that ended up not even being that good. I guess I deserved that.

Two days later, the day before the 2004 Tony Awards, we flew back to Texas. My director had bought the cast recording of Wicked and was listening to it in her Walkman CD player (remember those?) in the seat behind me. About an hour into the flight, she tapped me on the shoulder. "You have to listen to this," she said, and handed me her headphones. There was a small flourish of music as she pushed play and then I heard the lyrics, "I'm limited..."

By the end of "For Good," I was practically drooling. I asked if I could keep listening to the CD, and she let me for the rest of the flight. By the time we touched the tarmac at the DFW Airport, I wanted to turn right back around and fix the mistake I'd made in missing out on seeing Wicked. It would've been the original cast with Kristin Chenoweth, Norbert Leo Butz, Joel Grey, and... wait for it... 2004 Tony winner for Best Actress In a Musical, Idina Menzel (who won the award the day after I discovered the show).

Besides to fill you in on how stupid/bratty I was, I wanted to give a little background on where Wicked came into my life and therefore lead into the explanation of today's tribute.

I know that I join hoards of women - little girls and teenagers, even - that call Elphaba in Wicked "the ultimate dream role." I know how silly it sounds; I know how stereotypical it is. But I would be a fool to pretend like I wouldn't die to play this role. I've said it before and I'll say it again... if I played Elphaba on Broadway for one night and died the next day, I would absolutely die happy.

I'd heard the hubbub of the release of a certain book for a little while during the summer, and I sort of forgot about it until I was taking care of some Christmas shopping on Amazon last Wednesday. It came up in the "Frequently Bought Together" section when I was looking at the description of a different product. Of course it sparked my interest. Amazon has the option to read the first chapter on their site, so I did. I didn't think twice after that; I bought it on Kindle and have been reading it in my free time since then.
Felicia Ricci was the Elphaba standby in San Francisco to Eden Espinosa in 2008. She compiled her experiences during her time with Wicked every step of the way. It's unbelievably detailed - I feel like I'm cheating as she reveals tiny little secrets: how you learn quick changes, where you live when you're out of town, how often you can pee during a show.

But better than that, it's inspiring. She shares the audition process and how she felt as she went through the grueling process. She talks about her insecurities and her ventures, her hardships and her dreams and emotions.

I'm not joking: any aspiring actress - especially in musical theatre - should read this book. How could I not be grateful for such a good read?

Tribute to Thanksgiving #4: "A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." - Elbert Hubbard
This is Ames and Emily. They are the cutest married couple that ever did live.

I met Ames in August of last year, during The Drowsy Chaperone. I met Emily shortly after we opened, when she would some see the show. We were instantly friends: Ames, Emily, Kyle and I would spend countless hours together and continue to do so as we all auditioned for and were cast in A Tale of Two Cities. After that, we all auditioned for and were cast in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. After that, Ames and I were both in Joseph together.

It's been a little over a year since I met the two of them. I don't really know how to express the appreciation I have for the friendship that I have forged with them. They just seem to make every little thing they touch sparkle; they make things important and special. My birthday last year was special because of them; ringing in the New Year was special because of them... just to name a few.

It seems that there are always things to talk about with them, things to share and even things to debate. I have such admiration for their well-thought-out opinions and outlooks. They are respectful and therefore respectable. They are fun. They are classy, nice, smart, eclectic, and a wonderful privilege to know. I never feel judged in their company.

Above all else, they are remarkably loving... and two of my very best friends.

I feel proud that I can even say that. They are such a special light in my life, and I hope and pray that I can hold onto them for a long, long time.

The One where I Start the Tributes.

As I sit in the arctic that is my office this morning, I've been perusing through Facebook news feeds, Twitter feeds, and blogs that I follow. I've noticed a lot of people are taking the time to countdown their "Days of Thanks" or "Days of Gratitude" in the month of November in recognition of the Thanksgiving holiday, of course (which a lot of us, myself included, toss aside due to the Christmas season).

I have found myself inspired by these acclamations - some entire blog posts, some simple yet profound one-sentence statements - and I want to follow in the footsteps of the writers. After all, as I have said before, I prefer that the main through-line of this entire blog be that of gratitude.

I have a feeling this will do a lot for my personal life. It will help in my consistency of blogging. I sometimes let the inconsistency of my posts be my excuse not to write, if that makes any sense. I intend on writing everyday this month about at least one thing that I am thankful for, even if it's short. Doing this will also help me stay in the moment. Sometimes, when things get too busy, I have learned the hard way that I become a bit robotic (as I have blogged about before) and disallow myself opportunities to take in what is happening right at that moment in time.

My biggest hope of all, in taking on this effort, is that I become a more grateful individual, that I don't take the things or the people around me for granted, and that I, in time, make this a habit. After all, it takes 21 days to form a habit, so it seems I've decided to do this little project just in the nick of time.

I realize that it's November 7th, which means if I start today, I am six days behind. No big deal; for the next six days, I will just do two a day to make up for it. That should really get the ball rolling. I've chosen, just now, to refer to these posts as "Tributes to Thanksgiving."

Before I begin today's tributes, I want to state a few disclaimers... 1) These details that I choose to write about are not meant to be listed according to priority. I will just write them as they come to me. 2) I anticipate that some will be minute elements or small things, and some will be absolutely immeasurable. But everything I choose to write about is important to me. This means that I could get very long-winded on the subjects. 3) I will probably repeat several aspects or people or thoughts I have expressed before in my blog; I hope you'll understand and forgive my redundancy. 4) I fully intend on continuing my posts regarding issues I run into or thoughts I have or soapboxes I want to stand on.

Now that that's out of the way...

I realized as I was writing a few paragraphs up that there are two extremely significant individuals that I have failed to ever write about. What opportunity more fitting than now?

Tribute to Thanksgiving #1: "A brother shares childhood memories and grown-up dreams." - Unknown

My family really is remarkable. I know that I'm so lucky to have them. I've gabbed about my mom and my sister in posts past (and in posts future, I'm sure). I'm actually surprised that I haven't expanded more on this next young man, though, as he has been an infinite force of positivity in all my 24 years.
I don't know anyone like Roy. While he is the picture of what a "big brother" should be - supportive, funny, a confidante, protective, etc. - he is also a light to everyone around him. I have so much respect for his abilities and his knowledge but most of all, his care and kindness.

I'm grateful for the laughs I have with him in reminiscing our childhood - from realizing how much TV we actually did watch as kids to joking about how much we got picked on to remembering moments that we may have momentarily forgotten.

Roy goes out of his way to be a good brother. He even makes it a point to call at least once a week to touch base with his family, no matter where he is. I like to think that he is the glue that really holds my family together.

People are drawn to him. He's hilarious, of course, but also just has this magnetic personality that people can't seem to avoid. This has been something that I have admired about him for as long as I can remember. I recall times when I was younger when I would literally brag about him to my friends. While I may not do that as much anymore verbally, in my heart I'm still convinced that I have the most admirable, classiest, and sweetest brother on the face of the planet.
I also think he's also the smartest... why, you ask? Maybe he just passed the Texas state Bar Exam and is getting sworn in as an "attorney at law" this week.

Sincerely, though, if I could have chosen qualities that I would've wanted my big brother before we came to Earth, he still would've been just like Roy.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #2: "My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person: he believed in me." - Jim Valvano
I never have expressed it enough. In fact, I have had nightmares where something happens to him and I never get the chance to express it. Of course I don't want that to happen, but I've never really taken the time to voice my appreciation of this amazing man. Now is absolutely the time to do that.

I had a really incredible childhood. Of course when I was living it I didn't think so because I was always the one to dramatize and make negative every little situation (I realize I do that sometimes now, too). I lived in the country, in our log cabin, on our four acres of land, with my older brother and younger sister, my mom and dad. While I lived at home, I learned the importance of manual labor and imagination. I never wanted for anything, really. It was all right there at arm's length.

My dad is a strong man. In case you didn't know this, he was actually the Oklahoma state championship wrestler in high school. I'm convinced he can fix anything and lift a million pounds at the same time. He's come face-to-face with Death a number of times and prevailed.

But truly, his physical strength pales in comparison to his emotional and spiritual strength. In his 59 years, my dad has been through some of the greatest hardships I could ever imagine and still manages to express so much love in his everyday life.

I stand amazed at the work he puts into projects and manual labor. I can honestly attribute my willingness to work hard to my dad. He occasionally put us to work when we were little. Before I was even 15 years old, I had tarred a roof, helped build several fences, tilled a garden, cut cattails in a pond, helped build a shed, shoveled, raked, mowed, hammered, climbed, pushed and pulled my weight in rocks and wood. Of course while these things were happening, I wanted to die. I never imagined that I would one day appreciate what those tasks taught me. But I do!

Besides teaching us how to work, and more importantly, my dad has given me some of the grandest memories of my life. Once, we washed his truck in rain water on a business road. I've bottle-fed a newborn calf and had proper burial of some of my most precious dogs. I've been chased by a (harmless) garden snake. When it would "snow" in Texas, my dad would link a huge "sled" to the back of his truck and drive us down the country road. When I was very little, he made a mud-hole in the driveway for Roy and I to play in. He made a tradition for ringing in the new year to jump into our icy swimming pool at midnight. He's woken my siblings and I up with "quacking" noises, Martha's pet duck beside him, outside of our bedroom windows early in the morning. He makes the tastiest stews, the yummiest pinto beans, and the most delectable breakfast burritos.

As I sit here and type these few things, I am overwhelmed with the pride I have for my father. Because of him, I'm able to look back on my childhood and laugh... but above all, I am able to say that my dad is absolutely the best man I know.

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.