Music is the Shorthand of Emotion: The Luxury of Lyric Stage

Lights dim and anticipation builds as I shift excitedly in the plush, velvet seat in enormous Carpenter Hall. God, I hope this is good. A silent prayer for something transformative. For "art," whatever that means. To escape.

A collective sharp inhale as the maestro raises both arms above his head, glistening baton in right, energy in his left. With one forceful whip of the baton, a resplendent cacophany of not just sound, but true music envelops the space. Bernstein's glorious, agitated West Side Story overture has begun, and I've just fallen head over heels in love. As I age and the nagging necessity of responsiblity becomes unaviodable, so do more mundane activities and choices. I am guilty of the common plight of "not living in the moment." It is unfortunately rare to find myself wishing I were nowhere else. Music is my express-lane ticket to ethereal bliss and that night in Carpenter Hall, you could not have paid me or wooed me away from the magic. Were there wonderful performances? Probably. Was there beautiful dancing? Certainly. But oh! that beautiful orchestra. 38 glorious pieces remastering one of the most perfect scores as it was first performed: a luxury that has vanished even from the most commercial, tourist-friendly theatres--those currently on Broadway.

And lo and behold, this wonderful gem of a theater exists in Irving, Texas, of all places. Now, it is probably by some terrible mistake, but my blogger stats tell me I have readers from all over the country as well as some international readers. If you, dear readers, find yourself in Texas or in need of a musical catharsis and/or pilgrimage, do yourself a favor and trek out to Irving for some musical theater magic.

The night I saw West Side Story, I had just decided to attempt pursuing theatre--even though I really had no background in it (outside of fanatic nerddom and quasi-closeted obsession.) About twenty seconds into the overture, I made it my ultimate aim to work at Lyric Stage. It is the marriage of what I love most in theatre: the old school, smartly written, narrative orchestrations that are essentially nonexistent now, an orchestra to parlay that narrative to the audience, a production team invested in the integrity of the work, and even sometimes a collaboration with the composer/original collaborators of the work.

West Side Story was three years ago, so my love affair isn't new by any means, but I find rather than my honeymoon phase waning and fizzling out, I continue discovering further reasons to fall in love with Lyric Stage. In the past couple years, I've had the extreme privelege of performing in six shows at Lyric as well as teaching a couple of classes and choreograhing the kids summer production. (If you have kiddos interested in the arts, consider taking them to the classes throughout the year and definitely get them involved in the summer production--they use the same costumes and set as the professional production and it is a wonderful experience!)

After a couple months away from Dallas and beloved Lyric (as a result of a job I have through a connection I made at Lyric, incidentally), I have to confess I am a little homesick for that orchestra. (And as a result I felt compelled unsolicited and entirely voluntarily to blog about it out of town on my day off. That's gotta be true love, right?) They just did a production of Charles Strouse's Rags, which I heard (and I have no doubt it's true) was glorious. I'm still very much enjoying my current adventure performing 8-10 shows a week in Pennsylvania, but the more I see and experience away from Lyric the more I realize how rare and amazing it is. This morning in New York City (it's my day off!) I had the chance to grab coffee with a wonderful co-worker from Gypsy at Lyric who has worked literally everywhere--Broadway and beyond--and we collectively marvelled over what a luxury an orchestra and a theatre like Lyric Stage is. We are terribly spoiled, Texas. Apparently the love spell isn't exclusively for young enthusiastic novices like me.

All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it. Jean Cocteau said it, but Lyric Stage exemplifies it. And we get to reap the benefits of some incredible work as a result.

How lucky are we?

The Thing Is

The thing is this: I lead the most beautifully charmed life. I am doing exactly what I want to do. I am living in the Northeast, I'm traveling, I am performing, I am housed and fed, I am meeting wonderful people, and I wake up happy every single morning. I couldn't possibly conjure a better first year out of college. I am stupidly grateful for my lifestyle (and particularly grateful to my blood-related family and my theater family) and I can only hope to cntinue to be blessed in this fashion.

Life is good. I am loving it.

Really, that's all you need to know.

On Winning

"I win!!" A smile breaks out over my sister's infectiously radiant seven year old face. Grandmama smiles warmly, congratulates Abby on her success, and both she and Abby cautiously turn towards me. It's a typical Tuesday night: we're in the game room--me, Grandmama, and Abby. Abby has just won a game of Sorry. Ergo: Katharine has just lost a game of Sorry. ie: Uh oh.

Katie Beth was insisitent that EVERYONE feel her loss. I wish I could use that past tense "was insistent" without feeling like a liar. I'm still not a spectacularly graceful being. With my mischief, glee, and passion for life came an equal magnitude of zone-out, shut down the world, pouting, sore-loser angst.

Losing gracefully has never been one of my stronger skills.

Fortunately, I was raised around two of the loveliest, kindest spirits: Abby (my sister) and Grandmama (Katharine the first.) Though they were always gracious and lovely (well, I don't know that Abigail was ALWAYS gracious and lovely--after all, she was still a little sister) I don't know that their kind spirits necessarily rubbed off on me. At least not in the realm of game-playing.

This isn't to say that I'm a bad person or dislike the fortune of others. It is simply to say that I'm stupidly competitive by nature. And some days--days like today--a cornucopia of tiny, tiny losses (that no one else would even recognize as losses) amount to my feeling like a worthless, unsuccessful, unattractive schmuck when I know full well that's not reality.

The question I pose is this: what degree of drive, competitive nature, and desire for winning constitutes a dangerous or unhealthy attitude? Drive and competition mandates my life. Part of this comes naturally in my profession. But I've not always been an actress and yet I've always been this way. Does this mean I've spent 22 years being painfully insecure and NEEDING success? Or is 'being competitive' a legitimate trait that I've been cursed/blessed with?

Regardless, I think one of my more immediate goals (along with slowing my instinct to overanalyze) is to pace/monitor this competitive drive.

...

Confession: I already know this isn't going to happen. Even as that goal occurred to me and I typed it I knew I won't be able to quell my desire for success--immediate success and lots of it. What is that? Do I have a deficit of some kind in my life? Happiness? Security? Or is that just me? It's always been this way. And maybe I'm jsut being neurotic. I'm talking in Woody Allen-worthy circles. So it's likely.

Maybe I should just accept it. I'm driven. I'm competitive. I'm curious. I want to win. I'm constantly afraid I'll miss something. Sometimes I can't sleep because my adrenaline from dreaming is so frenetic that I feel electric. Like I could actually catapult to whatever ethereal nonexistant dreamland I've concocted where I have everything I want. And then I drive myself crazier still with the realization and paralyzing fear that I'm not skilled enough to make it happen.

Do these thoughts ever occur to you? Am I a bona fide crazy person? Will I ever be satisfied?

Probably. Probably not.

On Fear of Blogging (On Being Silly)

I think about writing daily. In fact, I'm haunted multiple times a day by my cowardice and negligence of this blog. I know it seems silly (and it is) but I'm daunted by the need to write something profound. Yet, when I encounter something beyond my comprehension or an occurance/sensation that I don't quite understand, I run from sorting it out on here. And I can't even bring myself to journal about it privately, even though writing is always my dearest companion and counselor. I'm not sure what this says about me, but here are my vague assertions:
1. I need applause. Figuratively, literally. I need to immediately know that what I've just produced/done/said is acceptable. Appreciated. Correct. A success.
2. Therefore: Please comment.
3. A journal is a blog without comments. But it's also probably a more effective means of sorting out the mess that is my cluttered, overactive mind.
4. There's a lot I'm afraid of. Maybe that's a more worthwhile list to make...

Things I'm Afraid Of:
1. Starting a list title that ends in a preposition. Should it have been "Things of which I have fear"? Dear Elaine Liner: help.
2. Being grammatically incorrect.
3. Being a disappointment.
4. Letting my life be dictated by fear.
5. My tendency to be all-or-nothing. I love you or I hate you. I love my life or hate it. I love my body or hate it. I have faith in myself or I suck. It's exhausting.
6. Being too bold on this blog.
7. Not being bold enough on this blog.
8. Wanting the unattainable.
9. Wasting time and energy on dreams that will never come to fruition.
10. Remaining intellectually stagnant.
11. Remaining artistically stagnant.
12. Being unattractive. Being unwanted. Failing. Falling.
13. Investing in a world in which I do not belong. Pursuing the wrong career. Not being talented enough.
14. Being too honest.
15. Ending this list with an uneventful number like "fourteen."

Things I know:
1. Right now I am happy.
2. It would behoove me to assess my current situation and figure out just what is making me happy. And keep it that way.
3. I'm anxious about Lauren Ambrose being Fanny Brice.
4. I need to stay away from narcissism in myself and others. And similarly to steer clear of negativity.
5. It's my life. Be kind to others, but also do what you need to do for you.
6. I hate sounding like a poorly written self-help tweet.
7. Twitter has replaced self-help books.
8. I'm growing weary of lists.
9. I'm talking in circles.
10. I just got some remarkable shoes from modcloth that are STUNNING and make my world go around.
11. I covet fantastic perfume but I'm allergic to most of it. It's depressing.
12. I'm enamored of jazz music.
13. I wish my heyday occurred in the 1920s or 1940s. This is impractical. And my grandkids will hate me for saying this and wish their heyday had been in the 2000s. Silly kids.
14. This is list is all about me.
15. Am I a narcissist?
16. These are no longer "things I know."

Wearing myself out again. I'm happy, not angsty. I swear. I just do all my soul-searching on here. You should know that by now. Mmkay. Done now. Goodnight. Comment please.