"It Wasn't Paradise... But It Was Home."

There's something about being in a rehearsal room for the very first time on your first day of rehearsals for a show that makes it... electrifying. Your first day of school, as it were. You get to meet new people, possibly reconnect with individuals you haven't seen in a while - and by a while, I mean the last show you both just worked on together - , and begin the process of bringing a story to life. The first reading of the script is the basis of how the show will come together, along with the many transformations and discoveries being made along the way. You hear the voices of the characters for the very first time in the same room. If it's a musical, you might even hum or sing along to the songs as it was meant to be sung or played. You hear the laughter from each other, you hear the gasps of the shocking moments, and you are going to start to feel the connections from each other as the reading goes on. It's no secret: the first day of rehearsals are nothing short of exciting. You get to go on a new adventure doing what you love, and with people who are like-minded and supportive of the journey you're on. I mean, that's what we all hope for, right? The opportunity to be in the rehearsal room with your fellow cast members, the director, the producers, the composers, the costume designers, the stage manager, the tech crew, and others putting on a show from the ground up for the next four weeks, and then perform the show with all of the elements coming together before an audience for an even longer or shorter time, depending on the length of the run...

We glamorize this moment before our mind's eye, and we believe that we are truly worthy of this experience, no matter how big or how small the theatre company is. There's nothing like it, putting on a show. And yet... People tend to forget that it's not quite as glamorous as we were all led to believe. Especially if it's the general public who doesn't always go out to the theatre or see movies at the cinema on a regular basis. Whenever we see images of actors, artists, and creatives in rehearsals or in tech week, we get to see the joy, the laughter, and the passion each of us put into what we do in our roles onstage or behind the scenes. In other words: We only see a fraction of what it takes to put on a show. The vast majority of us don't get to see the realities of what it means to be a working actor, creative, director, playwright, costume designer, and other vital roles that bring a show to life. But if you know, you know: The hustling to and from auditions and job interviews and internships,

The callbacks,

The vision boards,

The rejections - and they seem to be getting bigger and bigger as we go about each day,

The tears,

The too-big-for-their-britches or the lack of leadership from the creative teams,

The clashing personalities of artists and creatives that may not always get along with everyone or have fun in whatever they do,

The waiting by the phones or emails for a response of a callback or an offer,

The doubt, The stress, The pushing yourself to exhaustion, The late nights memorizing lines or working on choreography,

The lessons and classes and workshops, The long lines at EPAs and open calls that stretch around the block, with some instances leading to a lot people not being seen after waiting around for hours, The networking without making it sound like you're desperate for a job, The bullying and harassment from those with clout, sometimes with the threat of not being able to work again, The bad reviews, The good reviews,

The building of your website so that people can find you via Google, The headshot sessions, The resume updates, The process of cutting your resume to fit your headshot (or is it the other way around?),

The editing of your script over and over again, The updates to your portfolio over and over again, The traveling to and from the theatre, The delays on the metro or traffic jams, The scammers who claim to help you get into the rooms you want to be in, The abusive professors and teachers who are scaring you into doing your best in the classrooms in the wee hours of the morning, The planning of your week, month, or year, The late nights at the bar after the show to unwind, The pilates classes to keep you fit and focused, The dance classes to keep you on your toes (see what I did there?),

The hours being a teaching artist at the theatre in their classes and camps for the kids, The marketing, The pleading for donations for noble causes,

The crashing on someone's couch while you're out of town, The missed family events and gatherings, The missed church attendances, The takeout for dinner in order to keep you nourished, The questioning and complaining about the industry, The beating yourself up after not getting called back or an offer for a show, The pivoting to a new realm of the craft or industry just to get noticed, The fear of being a failure to everyone else, The amount of money it costs you, The thoughts about quitting and giving up, The fears of never being able to work again after not booking anything for over a year or a longer extended period of time... And yet, through it all... Many of us wouldn't want it any other way. Maybe we take steps to bring down our blood pressure and take care of our mental and emotional health in the process, but we still wouldn't want it any other way. Even with the ups and downs and unpredictability and uncertainty, we still wouldn't have it any other way. And it's probably because that the rehearsals and the performances make us feel more alive, more inspired, more encouraged, more dedicated, more vulnerable, more real, and more like ourselves than we've ever felt... Even at home. Because no matter what, the arts are our home. It's not paradise by any stretch of the imagination, but it is a home away from the home we've ever know, or the only home we've ever known because of how much of ourselves we can be in a space like the rehearsal rooms or the dance studios or the stage. I think this calls for a discussion and reflection, don't you think?

If there's ever a show that gives a glimpse into the life of a working performer, it would be A Chorus Line. Incidentally, this beloved long-running musical just celebrated its 50th anniversary last year, and it still has a huge impact for artists and dancers across the country, and even across the globe. The premise is seemingly simple: A group of dancers are auditioning for the latest show that could make their careers go right into the stratosphere. But underneath the simplicity of auditioning for a role on the chorus line lies something more complex. And that's the realities, harsh as they are, of what it's like to be a dancer or a performer. Many of these dancers who are auditioning are not just showing off their dance skills, but also sharing their backstories of why they dance, and the tough journey they each had to go on to get to this place. For one dancer, she has the skills and tenacity for a successful career, but all of her life she was told that she didn't have the looks to back it up. (Dance: 10, looks: 3.) One dancer was told that she was a "nothing," no matter how hard she showed up for her career and the world of dance. And then comes an emotional moment where three dancers shared their stories about their parents. One dancer shared that her father told her that he married beneath him (that's what he said, that's what he said), and when he proposed to her mother, he told her that he was probably her last chance. Against better judgment, her mother married her father and in doing so, gave up her ballet career when her father made her mother quit. He wasn't the warmest father to her mother, or even to the dancer herself. Another dancer shared that her mother told her that she would be very attactive when she grew up, with a very "different" sort of attractiveness. Even though the dancer was eight or nine, she immediately decided that she hated her mother. She didn't want to be different, she wanted to be beautiful. (Different is nice, but it sure isn't pretty. Pretty is what it's about.) She never met anyone who was different, so who the hell couldn't figure that out? The dancer never lived to see herself as beautiful, but she would go out of her way to find a place where she could be beautiful. If not to her mother, then to herself. The third dancer shared that she was born to save her parent's deteriorating marriage, but when her father went to pick up her mother from the hospital, he admitted that it didn't work. Apart from the heartbreak, the dancer did have a fun fantasy: she saw an Indian chief and whenever the dancer put up her arms like a ballerina, the Indian chief would say to her, "Do you want to dance?" The dancer replied: "Daddy, I would love to dance." In case you didn't figure it out by now, the song where three dancers described some of the most heartbreaking memories of their upbringing is "At the Ballet." While their lives at home weren't necessarily the best, they did have a place where they can be their best away from home in the form of ballet classes and professional dancing. They could be pretty, they could always have someone always there for them when they raise their arms like ballerinas, and they could be happy. Was it paradise for all them? Nope. There was a lot of work involved in getting to this place. Lots of climbing up and down the very steep and very narrow stairway. There was a lot of listening to the voice of the ballet master or instructor like a metronome. There was also probably a lot of rejection, a lot of hustling, a lot of work on self-confidence away from the people who were supposed to support them and love them, and lot of praying that they get this job. But they wouldn't change it for anything. They found what they loved to do, and they found a new home where they could be happy and be at their best. And also be surrounded by others who can support, encourage, empathize, and sometimes push them into being their best selves onstage and off stage. They may not be able to escape the problems at home, but just for a little while, they could be themselves and be happy in a space that allows them to just breathe, be elegant, and be happy. One of the most important reasons why A Chorus Line has continued to be successful over 50 years later is that it gives a glimpse into the realities of why dancers, actors, playwrights, directors, and more in the arts do what they do. A sort of behind-the-scenes look into the world of auditions, rehearsals, and even opening night. Many of these dancers and artists are just people at the end of their day, and their job is to show up at auditions with the hopes of booking the job that might help them keep doing what they love. Or at least provide enough financial cushion in order to help them book more jobs down the road. But here's the thing that makes A Chorus Line special: It shows the dancers who they are when they're not onstage. We get the chance to see their insecurities, their traumas, their heartaches, their frustrations, their goals, their determination, their drive, their passion, and most important, we get to see their humanity. Up until 50 years ago, we never got to see artists and dancers as human beings. At least not in a way that was caricatured or something even along the lines of hilarious. Because for many shows and films that did give us a glimpse of backstage life, it only showed the artist and performers moments before they go onstage or once they get off stage. And sometimes there was conflict or comedy that didn't really go into the struggles of how they even got to perform in the show in the first place. No auditions. No tears. No stress. No fears of never working again. None of that. There were even some times where the actor loses a job and ends up marrying someone wealthy to get them to quit their lives in the theatre and live happily ever after as a husband or wife. A Chorus Line changed all that when it showcased what really happens in the audition room and rehearsal spaces. We get to see the dancers pour their hearts out in the combinations from audition to audition, and wondering if they got the part or if they blew it once again. But we also get to see them as their most vulnerable selves, and the reason why they decide to dance for a living. Most of the time, it came from a place of being loved and being happy and even proving others wrong. They can be a dancer, and they can be happy, no matter what others may say otherwise. One heartbreaking we get to see is when a dancer is injured in the rehearsal, and he has to be carried out on a stretcher to the emergency room. In that moment, you see another harsh reality that a dancer's career can end just like that... Just like any performer. And in that moment, you can be replaced, just like that... Just like any performer. Yours truly tends to forget the humanity side of this industry, and that can be because of the amount of times I show up for an audition and callback not being human. It can even become beastly and inhumane when I don't get an offer. And that's because I'm under the impression that I'm not allowed to feel the doubt, the sadness, the frustration, the anger, the stress, and the confusion I seem to get all at once when I get rejected. What's worse, you're expected to push through it, swallow it, if you will, as you go onto another audition. Especially when you see someone else get the role that you wanted so badly. It's when things that are out of control in terms of this career that makes us both remember and forget that we're human. We forget because we believe that we're in absolute control of our destinies and things should work out the way we want them to, and if they don't, we don't hold ourselves accountable but instead blame something else for why we didn't get this part, and not see that this industry is tough and that casting is subjective and that we shouldn't have to take it personally every time we get a "no." But we do, and then we shame ourselves for all of the sadness and anger and frustration we feel because others have told us that we have to have a stiff upper lip or we have to have titanium steel in order to even remotely survive in our careers. And it's in those moments where we remember that we're human because of how deeply we feel and how much we care about what we do. The tears are real, the anger is real, the frustration is real, the sadness is real... Our careers are real. It's just as real as being a doctor, or an attorney, or even a politician (though that can be marginal in the recent given circumstances). The arts industry is quite possibly the hardest industry to be in because of how much we want to bring people together in a collective space to be reminded of what it's like to be human - complex as we are, but very fascinating and eye-opening to see just how big and vast this world can be. But when we're not onstage, we're just like all of humanity - trying to find a way to prove that we matter in the next project or opportunity that comes along so that we can continue to show both the beautiful side and the ugly side of being human. We love what we do, whether that's acting, dancing, painting, sculpting, carving, directing, writing, costume designer, the whole nine yards. But many people outside of the arts don't get to see the 99% of what it takes to keep doing what we love, especially when the doubt, insecurities, and fear creeps in. No one wants to see the struggles and the exhaustion and doubt. There's enough of that going around these days. Especially when there are big names out there making millions of dollars and booking the big projects. It's one thing to be inspired by someone who is doing all of these amazing things onstage or in films or creating something beautiful, but when it comes to seeing the realities of what it takes to create something beautiful... We tend to get put off by it. And that's because we're scared of the hard work and relentless pursuit of an uncertain and even unstable career. Maybe we even get discouraged and scared by it because of our own lack of courage to do what makes us truly happy, and in doing so, turning away from our humanity and only focusing on the wealth and prestige to make others adore us and be inspired to become wealthy and even worshipped. So that's why we only look to the performances onstage or on the silver screen because it allows us to escape into a world we only dream about - One that is filled with possibilities, joy, certainty, and even enough income to sustain us for years to come. But there's just one problem with that: We forget that behind those roles, those dancers, those directors, those costume designers, those intimacy coordinators, those painters, and those writers... Is a human being who just wants to do what they love and make a difference, even if it means speaking out against those who don't see or value the humanity of all people. The arts brings us together to remind us of how much alike we are, no matter how complex we are. So why not see both the bad with the good of the arts, especially where the people bringing these stories to life are concerned? Even where all of the hard work and doubt is concerned? (It takes posts like these to remind us of how much we can be alike and how much we can be complex human beings, and it also takes a lot of reflection and observation about how we see the world through our eyes to remind us that not one perception is the same. And that's my reminder to you: my posts are simply observations and reflections on how I see the world, and it may be vastly different from how you see the world. You are welcome to disagree with anything I've said in this week's post or any of my past posts. One thing I will not tolerate is hateful speech, offensive language, and divisive words to harm and criticize each other. As different as we are, we each bring something to the table, and we deserve to take the time to listen, understand, and appreciate each other's unique points of view. More importantly, we need to be kind and understanding with each other. If you can't do a simple thing like that, I will block you.)

A Chorus Line got many things right: Great music, wonderful characters, heartfelt stories, and dance numbers that still take your breath away. But if there's one thing A Chorus Line did that no other show has ever come close to matching is how much it showed what it really takes to be an artist in this industry. No matter what your profession is, there is still so much work and inner struggle that takes place behind the scenes and away from the stage that not a lot of people know about. And for many years, people haven't seen what really goes into making a career out of being a dancer or any arts professional. All of those rehearsals, auditions, doubts, callbacks, negative feedback, and persistence... They shape us into the artists and creatives we're meant to become. It is hard as hell to keep showing up in an industry that's so hard, but somehow, we find a way. The dancers in A Chorus Line found a way. Why would this show even exist if they didn't? (At least from the original creators perspective, that is.) Maybe a reason why we tend to get put off by stories like this is because many of you believe that roles should come easy for people like us. We have the talent, we have the drive, we have the determination, we have the stubbornness, so it should be easy for us to get parts, right? I wish that were the case. We all do. But there's a little something called "the director's vision" that keeps getting in the way, and like it or not, we don't always fit the director's vision. It's especially rough when we don't fit several "director's visions" in a row. That's when the doubt creeps in, and that's when we both forget and realize that we're human. We may be dancers and actors and directors and playwrights and everything in between, but we also have feelings and hopes and dreams... We also have this innate desire to do what we love when our loved ones or even other creatives don't see our potential, let alone our worth, beyond their own expectations for our lives. The reason why we value those rehearsal spaces and the stage so much is because it's the one place where can be our most vulnerable and beautiful selves, especially when our own homes don't allow us to be that way due to the people who are supposed to love us not giving us the love and support we truly need to thrive. And even if we did have homes that were supportive, finding those rehearsal spaces and stages that can be both a comfort and a safe space takes a lot of persistence, especially when there are people in this industry who may see your worth as nothing more than expendable and not worth a dime in this business. Maybe that's why there's such a turnover of artists and creatives in this industry: No matter how many times people try to change the status quo and the equation of how things worked for so many years - when in actuality, they never worked at all - there will always be those people who are so adamant to keep things the way they are in order to keep the money going and please the older generations and not adapt to change. And that includes not seeing the worth of the artists and creatives. That can lead to burnout, sometimes an eye-opening experience, and eventually, leaving the industry all together. As I sit here writing this week's post, yours truly has just gotten a double dose of rejections... Within the same day. For someone who has always viewed herself as a professional artist, there's always going to be the rejections that will always sting and hurt like hell. And no matter how many times people tell me not to let the rejections get you down, I can't. Because that would deprive me of my own humanity, and my own feelings. I spent several years in a row not caring about the rejections and building up a suit of armor around me to protect me from the feelings that came with rejections. Until there was one part that I worked my butt off to get cast in, and when that didn't happen... Well, the armor was ripped off, and I was a blubbering mess for a long time. And then I vowed never to allow myself to pursue my career heartless and without feelings. Especially if it deprives me of taking the bad with the good. There are people out there who are pretty good with handling rejections. I'm just not one of them. I will always feel sad, disappointed, angry, frustrated, and doubtful. At least that means I'm in tune with my humanity! But will I ever back out of what truly makes me happy? The answer is always no. Because I value acting and the theatre as my safe space, especially after growing up in a household where I wasn't safe to express my feelings in a way that brings me joy and purpose. Sure, I can go to therapy to unleash the worst of my demons and journal to vent, but there's nothing like acting to make me be reminded of how complex I am, and how much this career can bring people of all walks of life together. To tell stories and see another viewpoint from someone who is different from me and love them - that's my purpose, the reason why I believe God has called me into this profession. It may not always be paradise to me - long hours at rehearsals, constantly traveling to and from rehearsals via carpools or the metro, auditions, callbacks, waiting by the emails or constantly refreshing emails for a response, seeing someone else get cast when the cast announcement is released, acting lessons that can seem both challenging and tedious, the doubt, the frustration, the sadness, the tears, the uncertainty, the anger, the hard lessons, the showing up even when you're not your best, the inner work, the changes, the process... But it will always be home to me. The arts are my home. The theatre is my home. I am home.