About a month ago, I stumbled upon a notice for an audition for "Les Mis" at Musical Theatre West in Long Beach. To be honest, I don't love that show; mainly because I've music-directed it a handful of times and just don't know if I could stand listening to any more underaged Jean ValJeans or overrated belting Eponines....
But this company actually pays their actors. And this show is entirely sung. And, despite calling myself a triple threat, I definitely feel like my voice is the strongest of the 3 disciplines. So, after perusing the potential rehearsal schedule over & over and discussing any and all possibilities with my husband, I decided I wanted to audition. After all, in a previous life I had been called back for the role of Fantine for the national tour which obviously means *insert sarcasm* a small regional theatre would BEG me to do it, right?! (P.S. any of you who don't understand the theatre process, a callback really means nothing. It means nothing).
I struggled with the decision off & on as the audition date loomed closer. There were multiple things working against me: JD still won't take a bottle. 5 out of 7 nights, I would not be there for bedtimes, which is a huge part of my day as a mom. I had multiple conflicts that I imagine the theatre would be none too pleased to accommodate. Not forgetting, also, that their biggest rehearsal days were Sundays.
Sundays.
For an active member of the LDS faith who's greatest passion is the theatre, it is a frustrating conflict. It's the 4th commandment of the famous 10. Look it up. And if you're LDS, the Sabbath Day is Sunday. And if you're anyone else? The best day to be entertained is Sunday. Since moving to California, theatre opportunities are just so out of grasp due to the whole Sunday conflict.
Nonetheless, I decided I would audition. Maybe, by some miracle, JD would start taking a bottle. Maybe, by some miracle, if I were cast, I wouldn't be required to be at all scheduled rehearsals, thus allowing more bedtime attendance. Maybe, by some miracle, they would think I was so amazing that my conflicts would be worth it to them. Maybe, by some miracle, I could show up late to Sunday rehearsals as long as I promised to not miss the Sunday matinees.
Two days before the audition, I changed my mind. "I'm not going," I tell my husband. "I'm not going," I tell my sisters. "I'm not going. But try to talk me out of it," I tell my mom.
"Why?!"
I just couldn't balance the pros (i.e. some extra income and an outlet for me) against the looming cons. My gut was saying, "No." But at the exact moment that I resigned myself to that fact, my gut decided to pull a Brutus. It got mad at my "No." The twisted feelings of frustration I had felt, convincing me not to audition, actually increased once I made the decision not to go. This has happened to me before. It's the part of me that wants to be back on that stage so badly that it literally, physically hurts.
And then yesterday, my selfish desires won out, and I spent the morning typing up a resume', picking out a song, showering (Yes. A shower is a significant thing), and printing head shots. In the afternoon, I taught Malia "Castle On a Cloud." I curled my hair. I put on heels and red lipstick. My supportive husband came home early to watch the younger 3. And off I went, my 9-year-old in tow.
Traffic was a nightmare. And when we got there, I was blown away by the size of the crowd. It was 5 pm, and I was bringing Malia to the kids' audition. 6 pm was the call for non-union adults, and at 5 pm, there was already at least 200 people there, lined up. I wasn't intimidated that I couldn't compete with 200 people. I was intimidated by the likelihood I'd be there all night. That's never fun.
I sent Malia in. They wouldn't let me join her. I stood outside with the masses in the ridiculous line for receiving paperwork... and waited.
Quick side note: WHY are people at auditions such stuck up jerks?! I have never been that person. I mean, it's possible we'd be working together! We share a common passion. I always talk to people at auditions, and they always seem relieved and grateful. But when I look around, people look at me like I'm a freak for being friendly. And ladies? The sluttier the outfit does not improve the odds you'll get the part. Statistically speaking, if the director is male, he is also likely gay.
So, I'm in the mini-skirted lion's den, and I see the kids start to come out. I run up to Malia, and I can already see it on her face. The thing is, Malia is a talented little girl. I'm not just saying that as her mother. I am saying that as objectively as I can. BUT - she is no star. Not in the way those child actors with the drive and ambition to do whatever it takes are. She loves to sing and dance and perform, but she is no diva. And I thank heaven for that. And I did see some of the other girls who had gone inside. Many of them carried themselves in a way that I knew they have been through multiple processes. And many of them were older than her. But I also know they were legitimately, likely, better than her. I'm not delusional. I momentarily stepped out of my place in line to give her the privacy she'd need and asked her how it went.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head.
"They already told you?"
Again, more tears, a sniffle this time, but still no words. Just a nod of the head.
I can't exactly explain why or how things happened in my thought processes next the way that they did. But at that moment, I handed my yet-to-be-filled-out paperwork to a still empty-handed individual further back in line, thus making their night, I'm sure, and we decided to go home.
"You're not auditioning, Mommy?"
"No. You are sad, and you don't want to hang out here for hours waiting for Mommy, who likely wont even get in anyway. And it's more important to me right now that we make you happy. Besides, they have all those rehearsals on Sunday, so it's not worth it anyway, right?"
And I sincerely meant all of that. Did I want to cry inside at yet another missed possible opportunity to finally return to my 1st love - the stage? Absolutely. But, even stronger in my heart, I felt a drive to comfort my daughter and not force her to sit and suffer as I pursued "me." When I called David on the drive home, he thought I was nuts. "She'll be fine. You'll regret it." I couldn't put into words to explain to him exactly why I ended up making the choice I did.
I do know that, as strong a pull as "the smell of the greasepaint" is, something else will always come first. And it hurts sometimes. PHYSICALLY, as I mentioned. I'm not just saddened by the sacrifice of performing. I am often sickened by it. But, to quote my man Victor Hugo -"To love another person is to see the face of God." And when I look into the faces of my children, I gain God's perspective.
And that's something I'll never get from the sound of applause.
