On Fear and Vulnerability

Do one thing a day that scares you.


You see it on "inspirational" shopping bags (looking at you, Lululemon), blogs, pinterest, and hear it from your friends and guidance counselors.  Being scared and challenged is generally a sign you're doing something right.

I sure hope so.

I've never been good with fear.  I'm rotten with vulnerability (an unfortunate trait for an actor, I guess).  But for some reason, my life has led me on this chutes-and-ladders windy trajectory and I've rarely found jobs that bore me.  In fact, I'm terrified most of the time.  I re-live the first-day-of-school experience every couple of months.  I have no vocational or fiscal security.  There is no settling; only career-climbing.  I'm never not a student.  I'm never good enough.  I live and work with a new set of strangers all the time.  You meet them, you learn them, you love them, you leave them.  Sometimes, you keep in touch.  Sometimes, it was fun while it lasted and you move on.

I'm a little ADD by nature, so I guess it works for me.  I play dress up for a living.  Theater people are the best (read: BEST) people.  They're family.  They don't have to work to be--it's just the way it goes.  It's how theater people do.  And I really, truly wouldn't have it any other way.  And you can say it's called show-business for a reason.  If it were meant for making friends, they'd call it "show-friends."  But with certain people, the connection is pretty unavoidable and I'm not sorry about it.

Day after tomorrow, I move to Japan.

JUH-PAN, y'all.

A place I've ever had a hankering to visit?  Not particularly.  I'm going to perform at Disneyland.  As a country western singer.  (Singer.  Not dancer.  A singer.  What?)

Let me count the ways I find this positively frightening:
1. I'm employed in an Eastern country.
2.  I don't speak the language of said country.
3. I'm going to live in a place for 7 months I've never visited.
4. I will be doing the same show 3-4 times a day, 5 days a week, for 7 months.
5. I won't be dancing.
6. I will be singing.
7. I'm employed as a singer.
8. I'm missing Christmas with my family entirely.
9. Northpark isn't in Toyko.
10. Neither is White Rock Coffee and uptown yoga and my silks classes nor my dance classes nor the classes I teach.

But I will find this new world and make a small piece of it my own.  I will pretend to be confident and sure of myself.  I won't have to pretend to be excited.  I'm thrilled already.  Some of my lovely theater people stateside have friends working at TDL (Tokyo Disneyland) and have set me up with them on Facebook.  The kindness they've shown me even online has been comforting and made the whole anticipation that much better.

Now, let me count the ways I find this thrilling:
1. I'm frightened.
2. None of this is in my comfort zone.
3. I have no choice but to learn.
4. And learn more.
5. Learn about my craft, learn about stamina, endurance, living and working with the same people, self-sufficiency, learn about another country, learn some of a new language, learn to be 23.
6. Tokyo seems like the coolest.
7. Mount Fuji.
8. Adventures. Paid-for adventures.
9. Disney.  Living next door to Prince Charming and Cinderella.
10. Independence.

I'm nervous. I'm excited.  I'm scared.  I can't wait.  I'm exhausted and I'm going to be even moreso. I'm going to be an Asian Disney princess. I'm practically Mulan.

I'm an adult.  I have the best job ever.  I have the best life ever.  Let's be scared.  Let's do this.  Let's go.


“When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability... To be alive is to be vulnerable.” 
― Madeleine L'Engle

"Talk About Your Experience in the Arts at Hockaday." Go.

It's alumnae week at Hockaday.  I got asked to speak to some other wonderful Hocka-alums.  Here's what I had to say:

Hello!  My name is Katharine Gentsch (though my Hockaday peers and teachers know me as “Katie Beth”) and I graduated from Hockaday in 2007.  I have to tell you--when Beth Wortley asked me to speak to you all about how the arts at Hockaday have shaped my adult life, two questions immediately arose in my mind:

-- The first: have I reached the pinnacle of my career?  Because I distinctly remember telling my best friend in this very conference room during a HAARTS assembly that I hoped Hockaday would some day deem me fabulous enough to return and speak to people.  Now, I should probably mention that in that assembly we were listening to hyper-famous and successful Tony and Grammy award winning Hocka-alums speak about how Hockaday had influenced their careers and I should probably confess that I have not won any Tonys or Grammys...but in case this is my singular opportunity to stand at the Hicks podium, I will relish every second with you!

and the second question was:

--I graduated from college less than a year ago, so do I have enough of a history as an adult artist to merit speaking about it?

However, Beth Wortley is one of my favorite people and someone who along with the rest of the Hocka-Arts faculty has shaped my life trajectory in a very big way so I was not about to tell her ‘no.’  Furthermore, and more importantly, no one from the Hockaday performing arts faculty has never told me ‘no,’ which is really what I want to talk to you about today.

From the time I entered Hockaday in 7th grade, the arts here provided a playground, a haven, and a means of navigating a tumultuous and exciting adolescence and young adulthood.  After a rocky and overwhelming transition into Hockaday during my 7th grade year, the 8th grade musical provided me with not only an opportunity to really find my first Hockaday friends, but also an exhilarating artistic outlet and my first real taste of performing.  By the time high school rolled around, my interest in the performing arts had blossomed into a full-blown love affair--and the Hockaday Arts Department was more than happy to fuel the fire.  

Like most Dallasites, I spend much of my time in the car, and like most Hockadaisies, I am fundamentally and proudly a nerd.  In the majority of the many hours I spent in the car with my mother driving to and from school, I conducted the radio.  I would turn on Classical 101.1 and conduct the car stereo.  At the time, I was taking the rightfully infamous and beloved class: History of Art and Music with Mr. Long, and my mother suggested I mention to him my interest in conducting.  So I did.  I stopped him in the hall one day and asked him how I might learn a little more about orchestral conducting.  Rather than guiding me to books or a website or even live symphonies, he offered to stay after school for an hour a week and mentor me in conducting.  These lessons culminated in the opportunity for me to conduct “Stars and Stripes Forever” for the Hockaday Orchestra.  This wouldn’t have happened anywhere else.

My junior year of high school, I had an interest in directing a one-act.  This wasn’t terribly uncommon, but I really wanted to direct a musical.  I asked if I could direct Jason Robert Brown’s one-act, two person musical about adults going through a divorce, and Hockaday said yes.  So I music directed, staged, helped light, and costume The Last Five Years.

By this point, I was fully invested in choir, show choir, playing in the orchestra, assistant directing plays, dancing and choreographing for the Hockaday dance company, and performing in the yearly musicals.  May I choreograph with strobe lights and have girls rising onto the stage from the trap door in the orchestra pit? Yes.  Can I choreograph a musical number from Legally Blonde, the musical?  Yes.  Can I choreograph a tap number with the other tappers in the dance company? Yes.  Hockaday still hadn’t said ‘no’ and the Last Five Years had gone well, so my senior year I thought it was perfectly manageable to do another musical.  I decided I should personally direct, choreograph, light, sound design, costume, and music direct Rodgers and Hammersteins’ The Sound of Music.  In Clements Science Hall.  And you know what?  They said ‘yes.’  They guided me through auditions for 60 students, helped me cast the show, and shepherded me through the entire process of putting up a huge musical. 

I’m sure you all have these moments, but the further I get from being a Hockadaisy, the more I comprehend how radically unique and incredible so many of my experiences here were.  I’m so grateful to be able to do what I love for a living--a career grown from a seed sown here; I’ve performed in theatres locally, just finished a theatre tour, and in July I start a contract as a singer at Tokyo Disneyland.  It would be easy to say that I’ve just been lucky, but the fact is that I have been prepared--and more importantly--encouraged.  And the majority of that preparation and encouragement is from my experience with the incredible people in the Arts department at Hockaday.  The difference between the arts programs here and elsewhere is that other schools have teachers; Hockaday has mentors.  Every single faculty member in the arts department happily makes a personal investment in any student that expresses a need or passion or curiosity. Girls here have big ambitions and big dreams.  I was very much an average Hockadaisy in this way.  Because the faculty and arts department here never set a limitation on my dreams, I didn’t either.  I still don’t.  And that’s what’s so unique and amazing about what the Arts foster here at Hockaday.

On Fellowship, Reflection, and What's to Come

Virginia Woolf once said, "One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them."


Consider this point in my life that sign.


The more I experience, the more people I encounter and admire, and the more I grow, the more I comprehensively understand that I am part of something greater.  Human beings are innately selfish; actors are moreso.  And 20-somethings are the worst.  We've just been liberated from the watchful shepherding by our parents and get our first tastes (and abuse) of complete independence.  We're unleashed.


I often find myself struggling with the sort of life I am leading.  Not that I think I'm making bad decisions or not living life fully...but--knowing and understanding that there's so much beyond my personal little 22 year old world--is it wrong to be so self-focused?  I'm incredibly ambitious and critical and driven.  I'm judgmental.  I dream big.  I have goals.  I, I, I.  


I know there's so much of this world beyond me.  And I really do think--not just superficially--that I'm married to this business because I wish to be part of its brigade or team or fellowship of artists.  And subsequently I feel a duty among those artists to share beauty and to entertain.


So in the meantime is it selfish to desire a certain level of art-making?  To always want to be a student?  To be yearning for all these great big things?


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In 10 days, I complete my 7.5 month contract with Prather Entertainment Group.  I've done 2 productions  and over 200 performances. I've lived and worked with the same group of people for over half of my 22nd year.  I've lived in 3 new states--and lived in cities I didn't know existed.  I've visited the Appalachian trail, seen ghost towns, visited canyons and waterfalls and mountains, seen two oceans, visited New York and Philadelphia, gone to Disney World, lived in Phoenix, spent time on the beach, and visited islands.  


I've learned that I love living in the Northeast just as much as I always expected I would.  I love trees and hills and quaint Northeastern towns.  I love the perfect fall in Lancaster and tomato pie in Lititz.  I love feeling like I'm in Stars Hollow or Little Women.


I love living on the beach and I love skipping winter while living in Florida.  I love fried shrimp and key west and bananas foster.  I love sunbathing in January.  I love having a gym membership wherever I go.


I love mountains and hiking.  I do not like cacti and I do not like the desert.  I do not like flatness.  I love the monastery and grilling my own chicken sandwich and hanging out watching people play beach volleyball while the sun is setting over mountains.


I love falling in love with a whole new group of wonderful, wonderful people from all over the place.  I love creating a new little family.  I love proving to myself that you can find something new in a show even 150 performances in.  I adore dancing every day.  I cherish traveling,


I am shocked that I haven't been homesick (only family-sick--which is a different matter.)  Not even a bit.  I am shocked that I can handle this.  And not only that I can handle it, but I love it.


I love this beautiful, wonderful business.  I've even loved doing dinner theater.  And I can't tell you how grateful I am that my world has broadened and my knowledge has expanded and my heart has filled from this incredible journey.  I don't know if this has been some glorious fluke or if I'm bound for some long-term success with this lifestyle, but I am immeasurably grateful.


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Two weeks ago, just for experience's sake, I went to my first out-of-Dallas audition.  Ever.  I wanted the Disney experience and I wanted to experience the A Chorus Line dance call, so a couple friends and I hauled our booties overnight (after a night show) from Phoenix all the way to Los Angeles for a couple auditions.  After minimal sleep and a full night of driving, we arrived at Screenland Studios in LA.  There was no dancer or character call for Disney that Monday, but there was a singer call for Tokyo Disneyland.  I sang 16 bars, was asked for a call back, taught myself four songs (nearly walked out of the audition because I thought--"who are you kidding? you can't do/sing this!"), learned a movement combination, and got measured.  Two nights ago, I received an email from casting in Tokyo offering me a 7 month contract in Tokyo beginning in July.


Guys, I promise it is ten times more baffling to me than it is to you, but I'm moving to Tokyo.


My luck in this business so far has been stupid.  So much that has happened to me has just been unfathomable.  Three years ago, I didn't even know I could do musical theater professionally.  Two years ago, I found myself in theater school.  Last year, I graduated and did a couple shows that changed my life (namely Cabaret--but I learned immense amounts from Sanders, Flora, the Wiz, and Gypsy all in very specific and unpredicted ways).  This year, I've traveled the country touring a show.  This coming year, I'll be performing internationally.


It is all mind boggling and thrilling and terrifying.  I love being scared like this.  I feel like it's a good sign.


I promise to be a better and more consistent blogger while I'm in Tokyo.  I'm getting a FlipCam and everything so I can video blog.  I'm totally going to climb Mount Fuji.  And learn Japanese.  And learn to like sushi.  I'm so excited.


I also kind of feel like I'm pursuing the most roundabout way of moving to New York.  But I'm sure it'll happen at some point.  It's inevitable, right?


In the meantime, I get to enjoy a couple of glorious months with my wonderful, wonderful family in Dallas.  I'll get to love on people and Whole Foods and Half Price books and the arboretum and White Rock Lake and Northpark.  And Village Burger Bar and its perfect sweet potato fries.  And avocado fries from Comissary.  And White Rock Coffee.  It'll be good to spend some time at home.  And work.  And enjoy.  And reflect.


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I'm not sure why I've neglected this blog.  Either I'm so overwhelmed by learning and experiencing so much that I'm unsure of how to compartmentalize and identify what's going on, or I'm so satisfied and confident in where I'm going that I don't need this blog as what-am-I-doing-therapy.  Or maybe it's neither and I don't know the answer yet.


At any rate, I promise to get better.  And update more.  And share more.


In the meantime, know this: I am incredibly excited about my life pretty much all the time.  And I think that's kinda great.


Pratherites, you rock.  Thank you for this adventure.  Family, I can't wait to be back with you.  Life, keep it comin'.  Bring it on.  I'm ready:)

Ira Glass' Advice That I am Living By (And Grateful For)

“What nobody tells people who are beginners — and I really wish someone had told this to me . . . is that all of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, and it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not.

But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase. They quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story.

It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

Like Mary Tyler Moore Taught Me...

I started a new workout a couple of weeks ago.  Despite the fact that I've been a regular gym-goer (and even arguably a "gym rat"--although that still sounds more hardcore than what I do) since Cabaret last spring, this is the first time I've really followed a strict regimen.  I found it online, and it is kicking my sad little tushie.  As a goal-oriented person, it's challenging and immensely rewarding.  Today is the first day in two weeks that my entire body does not ache from soreness.  This implies two things: I can more easily do my job of performing two shows today and I obviously didn't work out hard enough yesterday.

I love stretching and growing.  In many ways, I love/hate being a student.  Actually, school and I have always had a love/hate relationship.  In retrospect (what little of it there is), I loved learning so immensely that I resented having to waste any hours on subjects I knew wouldn't further develop me in the long run.  While meteorology was entertaining (since my professor, while knowledgeable, was more inclined to tell jokes in class than teach), I'd rather be in the studio or at a lesson or watching endless videos of hyper-skilled artists.

Part of stretching and growing means hurt and failure.  I have literally felt my muscles tear and wobble in agonizing pain.  On the other side of this, however, is re-growth.  Only two weeks later, I'm healed and feeling stronger than ever.

It's amazing how the body can do that.

This week, I got rejected.  There was a show I was looking forward to possibly being considered for, and they didn't want me.  Did I have a moment of soul-crushing sadness?  Of course.  No one wants to be unwanted.  There are a million reasons why I didn't get it, but the most likely is: I'm not good enough.  Or, I haven't proven to them that I am, in fact, good enough. For the first time in my career, this fact did not induce creativity and life paralysis.  A year ago (or even a few months ago?), I would've pined and been miserable and wallowed and endlessly over-examined every tiny possible reason why I wasn't good enough or why I was unwanted.  Bizarrely and beautifully, this time, I accepted it.  I see reasons why I didn't get the job.  Better yet, I haven't auditioned for this company in a year and I know for a fact that I'm better than I was a year ago.  In a million ways.  I'm savvier about the business, I'm less desperate, I'm stronger, I'm fitter, and I'm more skilled.  Am I utterly fabulous and Broadway-ready?  HA!  Don't make me laugh.  But, do I know that I have worked my butt off for a reason and I'm beginning to see those reasons materialize? Yes sir.  Furthermore, the gift of working out-of-town has shown me a taste of just how enormous this glorious theatre world is.  There are endless possibilities.  There are thousands of jobs.  Granted, the pool of people going after said jobs is devastatingly huge, but there's room for quite a lot of people in there to do what they love.

The term "thicker skin" has never really resonated with me.  I'm definitely tougher than I was (and perhaps more confident?), but my skin is still pale and freckly and distinctively "me."  Thanks to the fish oil and biotin I've been taking, it seems healthier.  But is it thicker? Don't think so.  However, my heart is tougher.  I can take it now.  Or better, at least.  And, as soon as I came to this revelation, my euphoric happiness and new-found pride in my recognized growth immediately trumped any petty sadness over the loss of one potential job.

A dear, dear friend of mine (only your closest friends can say things like this) once said "Katharine, you know you can do it.  You just need your confidence to catch up to your ego."  Harsh?  Um, yes.  True?  Sure is.  As I age, tear, hurt, and rebuild,  I think I'm moving in the right direction: ego decreasing, humility and confidence increasing.

Thank you, rejection theater, for this opportunity for growth.  And thanks, KB, for handling it like a champ.

There have been times in my brief little career where I've wondered if I was strong enough to hack it, but this week has shown me:

I'm gonna make it after all.

Life Resoluton: More Projects

I have a stupidly busy, hyperactive mind. Most of the time, I'm planning or dreaming or creating. The sad reality is that only a TINY percentage of this in-the-brain creaction actually manifests itself into a physical result or product. I'm wary of New Year's Resolutions singularly because I have never kept them, but I do generally abide by new goals personally. Thus, my new life resolution is to stop fearing imperfection, allow mylf to fail and fail again, and create. Despite the fact that I have never considered myself a dancer (my best friend in high school was a LEGIT stunning modern dancer and I therefore felt like a silly hobbyist) but I have always loved choreographing. I choreograph constantly in my head. I also love films...and though I've never attempted a film project, I also plan thos in my head constantly. Therefore, I'm going to make a dance video. It probably won't be good. In any regard. But I'm going to try not to care--chalk it up to a learning experience and progress from there. Here's a tiny, messy clip from my first day of brainstorming (for the female track) of a dance film I've decided to create.

Behold my delicious failure:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=it9rKA_jiLc&feature=youtube_gdata_player

To be continued..

And to All a Good Night

I haven't stopped crying for the past thirty minutes.  Not only is it unattractive, but it's also disgusting since I forgot to bring (or didn't think I needed to bring) tissues on the plane and I can't stop sniffling (much to the chagrin of the flyer next to me.)  My face is leaking.  This is what happens when you cry.  Which I rarely do in any capacity and I NEVER do in public.  For the first time in my life, Christmas only lasted 48 hours.  I know this seems like a ridiculous reason to cry.  Christmas lasting "only" 48 hours may also seem peculiar to the average plebian.  

Christmas lasts two days for most of the world: Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  In my big, uber-Christian, fabulous big-hearted Texan family, the Christmas season begins November 26th and ends January 1st.  Hardcore Christmas lasts approximately two weeks.  It is a marathon event.  In fact, it is almost like camp. Camp Christmas.  The day after Thanksgiving, tree, lights and snow village go up.  The Old-lady-geared "Neath the Wreath" Christmas craft bazaar is attended.  In the week preceding Christmas, we generally have 2 extended family Christmases. The week of Christmas, we do the following: make blankets on my late Grandmother's birthday for people in need (a tradition we began while she was still living because that's the kind of woman she was--one who would rather make gifts for others on her own birthday...if that isn't the Christmas spirit, I don't know what is), attend the Christmas Eve service, watch Muppet Christmas Carol and It's A Wonderful Life (these are the only two mandantory Christmas films), have "little Christmas" of present exchange between me, my mother, and my sister the night of Christmas Eve, have both sides of the family over for Christmas morning brunch made by mom, attend Christmas on my dad's side all day (snacks, stockings, dinner, program/talent show, gifts, games), spend all day at my other Grandmother's for Christmas there (similar regimen), go to Holiday in the Park at Six Flags with my Deaton cousins, take the train down to Spaghetti Warehouse downtown and then Starbucks at Mockingbird Station, and spend several days just hangin' with the fam. We hang, we play games, we go see movies, we eat endlessly, sometimes we venture out, we may visit Northpark Mall (my mothership), but mostly we just enjoy each others' company. It is blissful.  Christmas has always been far and away my favorite time of year and I would say if there were a Christmas happiness pie chart, it would contain 80% Grandmama magic, 5% that i wasnt in school (which is now every day...meaning I get a little Christmas every stinkin' day), and 15% my whole family is made of awesome and we do Christmas right. 

This year, I was blessed with the burden of adulthood. I was further 'burdened' by immediately finding a job.  My job suits me to a 'T'. I love the gypsy lfe.  I love traveling.  I love performing.  For the last 14 weeks, I have lived in beautiful Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  Now, if you had told me senior year of high school that in four years I'd be performing for a living in the Northeast, beach, and desert I would have a) laughed in your face and b) kissed you.  If I had it my way (and gosh I hope I do), I'd maintain this kind of lifestyle for at least the next five years.  The only real detriment is that you don't necessarily get vacations (because, well, your life is like one fabulous vacation...performing and traveling and exploring). This really wouldn't bother me any time besides Christmas.  Despite the love of my current life, I can't really think of the last time I was as sad as I was entering DFW airport today having been with my family for just a couple of days and knowing the fun of Camp Christmas was far from over.  I briskly instructed my sister and mother not to cry (knowing the second either of them showed any emotion I'd be a goner) and naturally started weeping the second I entered the airport.  It was truly awful.  And I know it's stupid. To make matters worse, I elected to "borrow" my mother's 5 lb weights (because I stupidly assumed she wouldn't miss them as I have them every time I'm home and she doesn't seem to miss them then) and pack them in a carry-on.  Of course, the scanner picks them up in security. I get patted down.  My shoes are patted. My bun is patted (this is not the first tme this has happened...what exactly do they think I am hiding in there??). My bag is searched. I am instructed to check a second bag (more money wasted) and go through security again.  While sobbing like a stupid mess.  It was exhausting and miserable and would probably be a hilarious reality tv show in some schadenfreude kind of way.  Anyway, some money and tears and security trips later, I made it in time to board my flight.  Still crying like a goon.

And frankly, between seeing old friends from Me and My Girl (the first show I did in Lancaster) and being in 84 degree weather on the beach, I know I will soon be happy as a clam (see? I made an ocean pun.  Sad people can be funny).  And more frankly, I already kinda miss my beloved Northeast. And it will all be okay.

I welcome this kind of challenge.  In the grand scheme of things, I still really couldn't be happier.  I can't wait to experience new shows and new theatres and new cities.  And if my sister and mother feel led to compulsively visit me (and/or the rest of my big wonderful family...nudge, nudge, wink, wink) that would just be grand.  We'll just list this as a slightly painful stretch mark from my seemingly skyrocketing theatrical growth spurt. (Not like my career is skyrocketing--just that I am continuing to learn tons in a stupid amount of time.)

These are good things. Being an adult is a good thing.  It can just kinda hurt sometimes.

To my family: I hate to be redundant, but I really do wish I had more time with you. I love you all so much and hope you continue to have a wonderful holiday season!

To my co-workers: how blessed are we to do what we do? I'm so thrilled to continue spreading my wings with you as company.

To my readers: I can't believe you read this. But bless you.

To the rest of you: Merry Christmas!

And to all: a good night.