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.

Blue Christmas

There's nothing terribly magical about Christmas in Dallas. Living in the Northeast over the past few months has taught me a number of things--most notably, perhaps, that we Texans are pretty aesthetically deprived when it comes to scenery. We effectively only have two "seasons": summer, and ugly not-summer. And yet, my favorite time of year since I was very young has been Christmastime. I loved the music and baked goods and presents (of course). I loved Christmas at Northpark mall with the 12 days of Christmas and Scrooge and children's choirs singing holiday music. I loved Advent time because it has the prettiest hymns in the Episcopalian hymnal. I loved Advent Family Sunday. I loved it when Lola Dill (my wonderful piano teacher) let me start playing Christmas music and not just Baroque and Classical. I loved stuffing my face with sand tarts and Grandmother's tea cakes (they are NOT sugar cookies, just so you know.) But most of all I loved the time spent with family. I grew up with (and still have) the best family in the world. There are lots of us (on both sides) and we all enjoy the following: time together, games (especially cards and Monopoly on my mom's side and fun holiday games on my dad's), the Muppet Christmas Carol, (A Christmas Story on my mom's side--though I don't share this love) and food. Lots and lots of food. I love my family's Christmas traditions: the beautiful brass service Christmas Eve at the church, Brunch at our house Christmas morning, and days spent in food-comas from every variety of home-cooked goodness, casseroles, and most importantly mashed potatoes. In later years, I loved the tradition of bringing my best friends from high school (both of whom happened to be Jewish) to family Christmas. Which brings me to the very best part of Christmases past: Grandmama. She pretty much embodied everything wonderful about the holidays. Selflessness, love, charity, and a kind of purity that is unparalleled and I suspect singular to her. She LOVED Christmas--every aspect of it. What it represents, the music, the way it brings people together, and the time spent with family. And she always strove (and succeeded) to make it perfect. So it was. And maybe I was so determined last year to be strong at Christmas without her and simultaneously distracted by having a boyfriend and juggling his Christmas with my own that I couldn't be upset or really let myself miss her. Maybe I felt the need to put on a happy face for the rest of the family. In fact, I'm sure we all did. But this year much more than last year at this time, I find myself thinking about her and wishing I could share with her what I'm doing with my life and how happy I am and how well my sister and I get along now that we're a little older and establishing our own lives (but she knew that would happen) and how I can't wait to be home with her for the holidays and hug her wonderful self and smell perfume from her Christmas vests and go to Northpark for an epic Christmas shopping spree that lasts the whole day. Because the truth is: it will never be the same. I still have the same wonderful family and we all love each other very much and we all share such wonderful memories, but we have to establish a new normal. Which we're capable of. And we will do. And I know Grandmama's daughters will continue the traditions and the magic (after all, she raised them and it's in their blood). And I know that my two newest cousins, Henry and Heidi, are helping heal the hurt and fill in some of that magic that left with Grandmama. And I know I will still have a wonderful Christmas and I can't wait to be home with my family.

And I know that the new normal will be okay.

We will make it so.

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.

Cultivate a Little Grin, and Smile

The reason I haven't posted in months:

I am happy.

And it's a wonderful thing.  I'm living in Lancaster, Pennsylvania performing a quaint 1930's musical with the loveliest company of people and I'm frankly enamored of every single day.  Am I still constantly anticipating what I will do after this contract? Of course.  Do I still lie awake at night (nights like tonight) restless and anxious planning the future?  Sure do.  But such is the life of the actor. And  indeed--the actor's life is the life for me!

I wish I had something remarkably profound and clever to say, but the sad fact is that I am exhausted from working and playing too hard and the best I can do is offer some snapshots of the last month.  Bless you if you actually read this after my weeks of neglect and hope everyone is having an equally magical autumn 2011!

What Would Little KB Think?

I think I was a relatively remarkable little kid.  I was a total weirdo, not terribly charming or attractive, but smart enough.  And creative enough.  For instance: I played a game in second grade called "Boy of the Day" where I would line the boys up against the cafeteria wall, spin in a circle with my eyes closed, and whoever I landed on got to eat lunch with me.  For an unattractive kid, creating a competition gameshow out of lunch was a pretty swell idea.  Another instance: my friend Roseanne and I used to host a talk show in the ladies lounge (code for fancy useless sitting area of the bathroom) in Parrish Hall in elementary school.  We discussed all sorts of issues, but most of what I recall had to do with art and boys.

Not much has changed.

Okay, maybe a lot has.  But in so many ways, the trajectory of my life is completely predictable and totally unsurprising.

For those of you who don't know (and I haven't the foggiest idea why I am sharing this with you) I went by the nickname "Katie Beth" for the first eighteen years of my life.  I utterly abhor this name.  Though my mother will argue otherwise, I have loathed this name for as long as I can remember, and started going by my legitimate full name (...Katharine) as soon as humanly possible (college.)

Katie Beth was far more precocious than Katharine.  She was also more ambitious.  Katie Beth would be utterly depressed by the state 22 year old Katharine has.  First of all, being 22 never really occurred to Katie Beth.  KB (as she was and is still known by some closest and oldest friends/family) desperately yearned to be older and fabulous, but exceeding 21 wasn't necessarily a part of that plan.  KB also would have written a book by now and had way more money than 22 year old Katharine has.

Let's take an inventory of what little KB would think of my current life status, shall we?

Katharine joined a sorority. #kbfail

Katharine left an arts admin scholarship #kbfail

Katharine currently lives at home #kbfail

Katharine is not famous, nor is especially good at any singular thing #kbfail

Katharine thought college was disappointing #kbfail

Katharine tried acting #mediocre

Katharine tried her hand at theater in Dallas #chorusgirlwin

Katharine is still a chorus girl #kbfail

Katharine isn't ballsy enough to move to New York, even though that's been a dream for over a decade #kbfail

Katharine has met amazing people #kbwin

Katharine is single, focused, and driven #kbwin

Katharine leaves Wednesday to do a show in the Northeast #kbwin

Katharine no longer plays boy of the day #growingup

Katharine is doing the best she can #reality

Joseph L. Mankiewicz Knew a Thing or Two

I was saying that the Theater is nine -tenths hard work. Work done the hard way - by sweat, application and craftsmanship. I’ll agree to this - that to be a good actor, actress, or anything else in the Theater, means wanting to be that more than anything else in the world…

It means concentration of ambition, desire, and sacrifice such as no other profession demands… And I’ll agree that the man or woman who accepts those terms can’t be ordinary, can’t be - just someone. To give so much for almost always so little…”

“So little. So little, did you say? Why, if there’s nothing else - there’s applause. It’s like - like waves of love coming over the footlights and wrapping you up. Imagine…To know, every night, that
different hundreds of people love you… they smile, their eyes shine - you’ve pleased them, they want you, you belong. Just that alone is worth anything…”

All I Need is One Good Break

It's not that I don't enjoy being a chorus girl.  I do, really.  In fact, in some shows there's really nothing I'd rather be.

It's just that I'm ready to try something new.  Be more integral in the story of a show.  To not just perform.  To sing.  To act.  To communicate outside of a smiling ensemble. (To step out of my comfort zone.  To be afraid.  To be challenged.)  I have a theatre degree; why not use it?

What is it that releases you from the duty of paying your dues?  Working long hours for minimal/no pay?  For schlepping scenery?  That gets you out of the chorus?  That entitles you to at least a shot?

Is it grad school?  Is it more training in general?  Is it a better body?  Is it ballsiness? Is it getting out of Dallas?  Is it hopeless?  (If so, I think my chorus girl years..with some exceptions..may be limited.)  I'm growing restless.  Not turning into a diva.  Just feel like I'm kinda stuck in a hamster wheel, you know?

As always, any applicable advice is appreciated.  And thanks for continuing to muddy through this angsty, soul-searchy, career-growth-spurt with me.

Dallas Theater Center's Cabaret is on the New York Times website!

This cramazing article about Dallas Theater Center was on the New York Times website tonight and it just so happens that the attached photo contains my face (and body.) Im the blonde on the right.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/28/us/28ttkelly.html&ct=ga&cad=CAcQARgAIAAoATAAOABArPjl8gRIAVAAWABiBWVuLVVT&cd=LgQSmVNNQ_E&usg=AFQjCNGRl5cLEIgFv-2wi3QBB4BzMcIejA

Kind of awesome!

On Restlessness

"Restlessness is discontent and discontent is the first necessity of progress. Show me a thoroughly satisfied man and I will show you a failure." - Thomas Edison

I'm grateful Edison has a good track record because I am in dire need of advice from someone. Even a dead someone who wasn't directing advice towards me. Someone legit. Edison seems legit.

I'm hopeful that this period of angst and soul searching will find its solution and direction soon so that I may stop pestering you all with my feelings and be productive/successful already. Even my mother told me I've overburdened you with angst.

Me: "So people keep telling me they read my blog but nobody comments. Except for my sister who takes pity on me and the occasional other people."
Mom: "Well it's so burdensome having to log in to comment. And people just don't know what to say anymore. You just keep being so angsty."

Mom is accurate, but this isn't a helpful or revelatory piece of information. (Love you, mom.)

Oh hey, mom? Where did I come from? (Oh gracious. PLEASE spare me the birds and the bees conversation. I'm pretty sure we successfully avoided that conversation in my pre-adolescence (because I was a relatively self sufficient child and probably googled it. or was given a book. And if we did have that conversation I have succeeded in blocking it from my memory and would like to keep it that way. Please and thank you!) ANYWAY, that is not the topic of conversation. I mean "where did I come from" in a more (yes, angsty), broader, philosophical kind of way. Were you this angsty? How about driven? Was dad? Is my supernatural undirected quotient of drive FROM either of you? (Read: Who do I have to blame for this ambition condition?)

I keep having evenings of not wanting to go to sleep because I feel like I haven't produced anything substantial in the day. Or learned anything. Or done anything significant. I think I have the guts and the energy to hardcore pursue something but I need Dumbledore to drop down from the sky and say "HermiKatharGinnyMuggle, pursue it this way" and I will.

Where is Dumbledore when I need him? Furthermore, why am I not a wizard? Actually, I saw the last Harry Potter film again today and determined it really wouldn't be all that great to be a wizard seeing as they have to deal with Voldemort and death eaters and betrayal and such. Then again, we have to deal with Michelle Bachmann and Kim Kardashian so maybe muggles aren't so well off either.

At any rate, I have managed to dicuss wizardry more thoroughly than I have hashed out the beast of energy/drive/ambition combusting in my chest and therefore am no closer to directing/channeling it and therefore no closer to breakthrough/product.

Sorry for being angsty again, mom. Sorry to everyone else, too. By the way, you can comment anonymously and just sign it. Or not. If you're feeling all cowardly and such. Or lazy. Or don't care enough to comment (in which case I don't blame you.)

Hope you sane normal people are all sleeping tight and have a wonderful start to the week tomorrow (today.) Goodnight and good morning.

On playing it safe

On my lack of accurate self evaluation

On whether or not I can do it

On Cabaret

On luck

On being less talented than teenagers

On maybe not being talented at all, just smart

On not being all that smart

On being a nerd

On how being a nerd only gets you so far

On being nice

On how being nice only gets you so far

On taking advantage

On what if

On what next

On self value

On food. On lack of food. On dance. On working out.

On getting lazy

On lacking a specific goal

On unemployment

On old dudes with girlfriends

On irresponsible girlfriends

On angering people

On burning bridges

On trust

On altruism

On being twenty two and how i don't want to be

On wearing makeup on a daily basis for the first time ever

On having attended an all girls school

On feeling stupid and incompetent

On feeling bored and alone

On feeling inspired and motivated, mostly due to competition

On how that's probably not right

On how it wouldn't be an issue if I had won in the first place

On success as revenge

On feeling unimportant and insignificant

On narcissism

On quarter life crises

On a current need for advice. From smart, successful people who genuinely care. Irresponsible, delusional, or hateful people need not apply. Nor strangers. Nor the estranged. Goodnight.

Growing Pains

I have become complacent, lazy, and mediocre.
I am boring myself.

I am tired of being a jack of all trades, master of none.

I think the unfortunate time has come to make a choice.  I hate making choices.  Choices frighten me.

***

My mother likes to say that the world has yet to see what I could do if I singularly channeled all my drive and energy and passion into something.  She's probably right.  I am a chronic half-asser.  I do what it takes to get by.  In doing so, I am constantly disappointed in myself, which isn't the best place to be.

I know I'm capable of crazy things.  My problem (like every artist) is that I have an gargantuan fear of failure.  It terrifies me to the point of paralysis.  The scenario has happened repeatedly where I work myself to a position where I could really launch and be brave and work my butt off and either catastrophically fail or gloriously succeed; I have never allowed myself to leave the launch pad.  Instead, I take the backseat, amble along, and get by.

I'm tired of being underwhelming.  I'm tired of being consumed by my fears.

One of my safeguards from failure is that I over-occupy myself and over-commit myself.  I engross myself in ten tasks or projects at once and placate my frustrations with a failure by success in another realm.  I have to maintain balance.  I fear what shape I would be in if I fully engrossed myself in a project and it flopped.  This has happened on smaller scales, and my skin is still so thin that I have to hermit myself away from everything, grieve, and re-emerge afterwards pretending it's all kosher, when really I'm just building frustration and callouses on my heart.

The unfortunate truth of the matter is that I am adult.  And as such, it is time to start behaving like one.  I have known how to behave as an adult for a long, long time but have allowed myself to use my youth and age as an excuse.  I am not permitted these allowances anymore.

The time has come for some self-evaluation, growth, and intense struggle.

What do I want to be when I grow up?

This is a question I cannot and should not avoid any longer.  If I could be anything in the universe in the short(ish) term, what would I pursue?  The ultimate short term dream would be to be in the ensemble of a Broadway show or national tour.

That just doesn't seem realistic.

I'm not trying to garner pity or "oh no, don't say that"s but I just want to stay honest.  I'm a decent dancer, a decent singer, and a decent actor.  But I feel a little bit like Harold Hill in this regard--I've just tricked everyone into thinking I'm good enough when really it's all a faux facade and I'm not especially great at any of the three.

This leads to the next quandary/conundrum: do I want this badly enough that I kick my butt into some serious, serious training and set myself up for repeated heartbreak and really give this a go?  I mean get my body into crazy shape, take endless lessons, fail, fail, and fail some more and hope that I'm not wasting time?

This is usually the point where my brain says, "Wait! You are moderately successful at so many other things!  Why don't you become a writer?  Why don't you pursue some business endeavor?  Why don't you become an entrepeneur?  Why don't you find some stable job that you know you could maintain?"  Here is where trouble enters.  But these same cyclical issues would probably occur in these other fields as well.  I also can't tolerate wasting time.  What if I do say, "let's do this. 100% guns a-blazing" and three or five years later I haven't made it?

If I'm being really painfully honest with myself (which is never fun), none of the alternatives could ever satisfy me as wholly as performing. Creating on the other side of the table/teaching and writing serve as close, close seconds (and I am convinced that I could be satisfied enough doing them for a living) but performing is my one true love.  It's unfortunate that it's so damn hard.

I haven't found the answer just yet, but I am not procrastinating the search any longer.  At least the questions and honest perseptive is out there as well as I know how at the moment.

I apologize to my family for having two swear words in this article.  This isn't the kind of language you enjoy and I hope you'll forgive me for being ineloquent.  I apologize to my readers for being boring as of late, and for being self-deprecating (albeit more honest than I have been lately) in this post.  Lastly, I apologize to myself.  Step it up, Gentsch.  I know you can.