I remember more of my first year at college more than I remember any other year. I couldn’t live on campus (or I’d talked myself out of it…something) so I didn’t know anyone.
I. Didn’t. Know. Anyone.
It was the loneliest time of my life. I would drive to school early, go to class, go to Mitchell’s, drive back to campus, eat breakfast in my car, go to class, eat lunch in my car, read a book in my car, go to class.
Typically this is me anyway. People freak me out.
But in a college setting, where relationships are forming all around you…it’s harsh. No one cares.
I hear about an audition for a musical. I think “well, the worst that can happen is I get laughed off the stage, and I’ve done that before.” I go to auditions. There are lots of girls. Lots of tiny blonde girls, and they are all best friends with each other (Lord I was naive). One would later become my maid of honor, my “blonde counterpart,” but I didn’t know it yet. Just then, she was competition. I was terrified. A room full of beautiful blonde people.
I sang a horrible song. It was the worst audition of my life. I got a part. I was a whore. No, in the show, that was my role. I was one of 10 or so. “Get some character shoes,” they said, “rehearsals start next week.”
And just like that I was in. I had friends, a crowd to hang with, even a boyfriend, err..sure. We can call him that.
I also got from them a terrible lifestyle, but I digress.
I spent the better part of the rest of my school years in my character shoes. Auditioning, falling on incomplete sets, smoking outside the theatre. These shoes are slippery when you first get them, and you have to wear them a lot to have a grip, to get your footing.
It has been 2 years since I’ve done a production. Because even though I could get into character in my character shoes, I couldn’t quite grasp my character. Who was I? What did I believe? How far was I willing to go? What would I do when no one was looking? The theatre was a place of acceptance and approval. No boundaries. And I found that I became the character I was playing. A whore, a snooty sidekick, a cheating wife. I didn’t always take it so far (like, I didn’t cheat on Mike, duh), but my thought processes were impacted significantly. I’d lose the ability to distinguish my reality from the character’s world.
So I’ve stayed away, trying to clear my conscience, move on, build my character, love God.
But now, my character shoes are calling me. I am absolutely itching to do a show.
The question is, when I put the shoes on, who exactly is filling them? Have I changed enough that the same girl that walks into the auditions will be the same person taking a bow on the final night? And if that’s the case, did I really do it right?
Character shoes indeed.
great post girl. thanks for the transparency.
Emily, that was great.
This should be required reading for any profess-or of faith stepping into a performance world (or business world, or academic world for that matter). It’s easy to forget who we are when we finally start to fit in.
You are going to be just fine!!!
first of all, I love being your blonde counterpart.
second of all, I amen this post will all my being and am right there… the itch is bad right now for me too.
third of all, we have been through alot of shows together and I have seen a strength grow in you over these last couple of years that is nothing short of God being amazing through you. I not only think you’d tear the roll apart, but you’d start tearing down the walls of the fellow actors and actresses around you. Imagine the difference you can make…
Wow! Now THAT was definitely not at an elementary reading/writing level! I can’t tell you how true what you said is. I struggle with knowing who I really am myself too. It’s difficult when you feel you have to choose between fitting in and being the person you are “supposed” to be. But I have been told numerous times by many people in my life, that this is what happens when you get to college age. You start to question everything and decide who you are going to be. It’s not always easy, but it can be pretty fun.