All Things Different, All Things the Same

I can't believe that it's been exactly one year since I've written on this blog. To the day.

I've spent the last year on a self-imposed hiatus from singing. I didn't tell anyone (other than my family and closest of friends) because of the cacophony of people who would try to stop me: Oh, but you're so talented! You've worked so hard and for so long. You've gotten so far, why would stop now? You shouldn't stop auditioning. If you stop, your career will die. But you want to know the truth? It's all bullshit.

Talent doesn't mean a thing if you don't have the drive; if you don't want to get up every morning to go audition and spend hours researching, sending out copies of your head shot and resume. Working hard is all well and good, unless it drives you to madness, putting your health in jeopardy. And just because you've gotten far doesn't mean that you'll go further, or that your career will wither away and die if you stop trying.

Everyone needs a break sometimes. Most people get that in form of a "vacation" from their 9-5 day jobs. As a singer, no one really teaches you how to take care of yourself in that way. When are you supposed to stop and assess? There is no time. You are constantly looking for the next audition, the next job, the next way to pay rent for next month.

And I had worn myself to the ground. I wasn't able to function after those last 8 months on the road. Think about that for a second. When most people travel, they're exhausted afterwards just from the simple act of it. And I traveled for 8 months straight. Even on the one week that I had off, I traveled to Texas so I could spend time with my best friend. But it was still travel. There are no words for the exhaustion that followed when I finally stopped. I couldn't bring myself to sing another note or look at another audition listing. So I made up my mind. I would take a break. I would try to be a normal person. I would try to find a full-time job and an apartment that I could call my own. I would try to date. I would (struggle to) pay my rent like every single other New Yorker.

So I tried. I found an amazing apartment in the neighborhood that I love to call home, where I peacefully live with two insanely talented painters. I found two temp jobs that both talked to me about coming on full-time, but neither of them actually happened. I dated. One started to look promising, but then small annoyances turned into big issues that I could no longer overlook. I deserved to be in a relationship with someone who actually wanted to be in one, and not just going through the motions because I was an option. I'm not an option. I'm amazing.

And then the inevitable happened. I got an email when I wasn't looking. Was I available and interested in singing in a production of In the Heights? My dream role. With one of my favorite directors.

A year and 2 days ago I sent the original email asking to be considered, but it looked like it wouldn't happen due to local casting decisions. So I filed it away in the back of my brain as another lost opportunity. I made the decision to stop after that. I started to try to settle down into normal life. One temp job let me go. The other sat on my application for months. So when the email came, I gave in.

And yet, I feel like a failure.

That's the fucked up part of all of this. I couldn't find a full-time job. I couldn't find a decent relationship. Those were my two goals this year. It is absolutely ridiculous to think about all this in these terms. Yet here I am, feeling utterly lost and lonely. When other people see me, they see someone who gets hired all the time, who gets paid to do what they love. They see someone who is sociable and outgoing, who dates easily and in no short supply. But it's not reality.

The only truth I know though is that I'm supposed to be singing. There is no place where I am happier. It's the only place I know that I can truly excel. And now I get to do it again. And my heart is full. Full but scared. And I've never been scared to take a contract before.

I left a decent job. They tried to give me an interview for the full-time position after I had put in my notice. I had already signed the contract. I had already made my mind up. But that doesn't mean it was an easy decision.

I'm leaving behind people that I love. I'm leaving the comfort and security of a steady paycheck. But to be honest, I suck at being an adult. I don't budget well. I spend too much. And that's even when I have a regular day job. So why not get paid to do what I love if the problems haven't changed? There will always be other temp jobs. There will not always be another production of Heights.

And so I'm spending this week packing my bags. And painting my walls before my sublettor takes over my room. I'm spending as much time with friends as I can. And in exactly one week, I'll be heading out of town again for another 2 months. But at least I'm back at it. Doing what I love. And in this, I will find peace. In this, I will find love. In this, I will find myself again.

And I can't wait.

Here.

One of the absolute worst things you could ever say to writer is "You used to write...". Someone said this exact thing to me in the last five months. I know it wasn't meant in a bad way, but the truth of it stung. I haven't been able to write. I haven't been able to work on anything; no real progress on my poetry or screenplays, and my blog has been silent for far too long. But that's what happens when you're abused; you shut down in order to save yourself. And now, after finally finding my way out, I'm sitting here in a Starbucks in Texas, trying to think of all the things I need to say and how to say them all without getting in trouble.

That's the hard part though - staying out of trouble. I'm too good at bringing a mess, at burning a bridge completely to the ground when I find myself in a place that is abusive. And I've been in abusive places since November. First, an abusive living arrangement. Then an abusive job. Then an abusive tour.

There's only one common thread in all of these: me.

I've been going over every step, every decision, every word and email. How did I get to this place? Fear. Desperation. Not listening to my intuition. Following the path of things I know I shouldn't do, but doing them anyways because it looked like I had no other choice. But hindsight is 20/20, correct?

I wish I could have been a better person on this last tour. But honestly, none of us were our real selves. We were in constant survival mode; fighting to find decent food, energy to somehow push through a show (or even two) after traveling on a bus for 8 - 10 hours, and trying to somehow keep the physical pain at bay. Four months of that as daily routine makes a person completely insane.

So we fought. Within and without. A few people quit or got fired. I tried to make a difference, but pretty much failed. There were three times where I spoke the words out loud, I can't do this anymore. I have to quit. But I didn't. That's not what I do. I stay until the bitter end, until I cannot take it anymore and then set fire to everything and everyone around me. It's not pretty. I've done it to relationships. I've done it to employers. And now I've had to do it to a theater company. I never in my life thought I'd have to write those words.

Theater is what I love. It is my entire life. It is the only place where I'm truly happy. I've sung on three national tours now, traveling the country for months at a time, getting paid to do nothing but sing. You'd think it would be the perfect match for me. But it wasn't this time around. The struggle was too much. And my mind has permanently been changed on one issue: the social media campaign that AEA (Actor's Equity Association) began in the fall of 2014, "Ask if it's Equity".

When I first heard of the campaign, I found it to be horrible. It was an affront to my own working circumstances. I'm a non-union singer, but that doesn't mean that I'm not Equity quality. I heard it numerous times at auditions, "You're non-equity? How is that possible?" And so the campaign struck a nerve. I hated every mention and found it completely distasteful. I had already sung on two tours and had decent experiences on them. The only meaning I could find from it was that non-union singers were somehow unworthy of audiences. And that was simply not true in my world.

I've come to realize however, that it was not the intent of the campaign. No singer should have to get up for a 4 AM bus call only to drive for 8 hours straight to a theater into a two show day. Yet it happened. No singer should have to fight for clean, safe accommodations. Yet we had to. No singer should be so pushed to their limits that they need therapy, both physical and mental, after a production. Yet here I am, needing both.

As I've been spending this week off in Texas, I've noticed new patterns in my life; I'm shoveling food down too quickly because that's what I had gotten used to, having only 15-30 minutes to eat or shop. I am in a constant flight or fight state of mind, my nerves always on edge. My muscles do not remember how to relax. I spent five hours at a spa, but was only able to let go and enjoy it after a couple of hours had passed. It's exhausting, being this distraught and frayed all the time. And it will take months of work to undo.

But I am one of the lucky ones. My next contract is in a place I love, where I feel safe and completely supported. And at the end of that contract, I'll be joining AEA. I will have protections in place. I had always been so scared about joining the union. The only things I've heard were that jobs were harder to get and all the tours were going non-union. And that's partially true. I'm moving up in the ranks. I'm going to be auditioning against the people who are on Broadway now. But I also realized that I have been auditioning against them already. I found a role that I had submitted for went to a woman that I idolize. So in reality, not that much is actually changing for me. Except that I'll have someone on my side when things go wrong. That I won't have to fight as hard to make sure that I'm taken care of. And my sanity - well, hopefully that will return in the weeks to come, as I spend another six weeks in Missouri.

My mind however, keeps going back and thinking about those people I am leaving behind, the ones who aren't as lucky as me. The friends who are still non-union, desperate for work and taking whatever comes. How are they supposed to survive? How can I help? Is there anything that I can actually do?

I will do what I know: I will write. I will speak up. I will speak out. I will teach others how to stand up in a way that might make a difference. And I will not be afraid. I will be here.

Art Above All

Months have gone by and I've been trying to force myself to sit down and write to you all. But I haven't been able to. My life has been tumultuous and messy. And for the first time ever, I did not include everyone in the drama that unfolded. I kept my mouth shut. I was lucky enough to have friends who have taken care of me. But it's not been easy to ask for this help. Or to speak about the damage that's been done to me mentally and emotionally. When I feel this threatened, I shut down. I rally the wagon trains in a circle around myself and let only a select few in. I now realize however, that I have closed off everyone. I had stopped speaking to my mother, my sister, and my best friends. Facebook had basically become a non-existent entity. I have needed space.

I've moved to Brooklyn for the month, taking a sublet from one of the wonderful friends I made in Missouri (Roll Tide!) I had taken a job in a very stressful real estate attorney's office, and after a month, got a promotion to a paralegal position that is better-suited to my skills and ability. I have been lucky to have been so supported through this insanity. However, there has been one very big question mark that nagged me. Where was my art? My singing was non-existent; my writing so far away from my fingers.

I consulted with three people whom I consider mentors and friends; administrators in their chosen artistic fields and lives. I trusted them to see past my talent-level, yet keep in mind that I'm capable of artistry that many people would give up a limb for; a blessing and a curse. I knew that if I wasn't performing, perhaps finding a job in a theater would keep my happy. I started applying for artistic administrative positions. And then, as a fluke, sent in for two other national tours. And then booked one of them. And a decision had to be made. Give up the stability to be where I am happiest? Or stay in one place, be a financially responsible adult, and be completely miserable.

All I kept thinking was Art above all.

Is this statement supposed to be the one thing that defines my life? How am I supposed to be a stable adult, and still be happy as an artist? Am I capable of being an artist and an adult? (Kinda.)

When I first moved to New York, I told myself it would only be for a year - just to see what would happen. I promised myself that I would not fall into the 'working a full-time job' trap. The last time I did that in Chicago, I didn't sing for two years. I told myself that, as long as I was living in New York, I would not give up on my singing career. That I would push myself beyond what I knew I was capable of. And push I have. It's been three years of auditions and tours, unfamiliar cities, and the lulls in between shows that make life difficult.

As I spoke with my mother one afternoon, I said something out loud that I've never been able to admit before. I don't do this for the money. I never will. My life does not revolve around money as it does for many other people in this world. My world is my art. My singing. My writing. And that is frustrating to the people who care about me.

When I began to slowly make the announcement that I would again be hitting the road, I was not met with the usual excited and supportive comments from some family and friends. They want me to be stable. They want me to have a job and an apartment like most normal people do. They don't want to see my life in constant upheaval. And I understand their apprehension.

However, their negativity struck me. Hard. It's not as if I make any decision in my life lightly. I have been one step away from being homeless. I haven't had a real relationship in ten years (plenty of dating though). I haven't had a stable apartment...well, pretty much ever. But much of that is changing.

So I made the decision. I have taken another tour. Even though my resume doesn't necessarily need it. Even though I will be leaving many dear people behind. People that I don't want to leave. But I must. And I will return again in five months. And it will feel as though it's flown by. And the reunions will be all the more sweeter bc I will be exhausted and happy. I will be doing the one thing that fulfills me like no other. And that is all I want in life. Art above all. 

Finding Missouri. Finding Myself.

I fall in love easily. Chicago. New York. Missouri. South Pacific. Les Mis. La Mancha. Cast after cast after cast. But my heart usually heals after each break, after each show closes and casts part ways. We all move on to other projects, to new casts, and new auditions. This time however, has been different.

I think my heart has permanently moved to Arrow Rock, Missouri. Who would have ever thought I'd say that? The middle of nowhere, where the closest Wal-mart is a twenty minute drive away. This summer I spent six weeks with the single-most loving and talented group of people I've ever had the chance to work with in my life. I don't know or understand how I could ever have been this lucky; what kind of stars aligned to bring me to this place at just the right time that I needed it. Every single person there impacted me in ways that are inexplicable, and none of them even know.

The last year brought me immense pain and loss. A year ago, I sat in an airport having just finished another South Pacific; this time in West Virginia, where I met another terrific group of singers and actors who became fast and steady friends. But that day, one year ago, I sat in a terminal just minutes before boarding, with my cellphone in hand, having just gotten the news that we had lost Goog, one of my most steadfast friends of all.

An hour later, I touched down in New York a different person. I had no idea what to do. I had no next contract, no group of people to get lost in. I laid in bed and stared at the wall for days, weeks even. My mind could not wrap around the fact that she was just gone. And so, I did nothing.

I finally found solace in an unexpected place, Trader Joe's. I found a group of people who were just like me; who worked hard and took pride in what they did, who laughed as much as they could, and supported each other to the best of their ability. I lost myself in the wet-pro case where the vegetables are kept, and in the freezing temperatures of the dairy box. But I was faltering. My auditions were a mess. I sang like shit from the physical exhaustion; but in my mind, I thought I was happy. How couldn't I be? I was surrounded by people that I loved at a job that I adored.

So I kept trying, working till two or three in the morning and then heading to audition after audition just a few hours later. I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong, why I wasn't getting another singing gig. I got to the final callback of the Ragtime national tour. And I completely bombed it. Twice. I felt as though I couldn't show my face after that. We all make mistakes as singers. But that isn't something that I had been used to in a very long time. Auditions had become second nature to me and I could sing my music cuts in my sleep. But I faltered. My nerves got the best of me. The usual self-confidence was nowhere to be found.

But then everything changed as I walked into an audition room where the faces that stared back at me were filled with warmth and smiles, where we were able to laugh when I winked at the pianist to start my cue for Bali Ha'i, and someone in the room whispered I love her. It's a moment I'll never forget.

And then I got a contract. And then I left Trader Joe's. And then I finally found myself.

I came to Arrow Rock, and was surrounded by the most caring group of people I've ever worked with. Every single person was committed 100% to telling the story we needed to on that stage. Every single person was an equal. There was no weak link. And for the first time ever in my life, there was zero drama in huge cast of people. I was able to fully be myself without any kind of judgement from anyone. And when things became stressful, we supported each other even more than I thought could be possible. We watched out for each other, and in turn, formed a bond that will never break.

But just a few short weeks ago, I sat in an airport alone at the end of that contract. And I was again terrified that I would have the same type of phone call just before boarding. I stared at my phone while waiting for my flight to Chicago, and luckily, no call came. But it was all I could think about. The fact that Goog has been gone for a year numbs me. And it's been one exact year, to the day, that I was first able to write about it, on her birthday.

And now, here I am, in the same place again, but such a completely different person.

I think of Arrow Rock daily; the small town of 58 people, the corn fields that surrounded us like some kind of protective wall from the outside world, the cows I never got to pet. We, as a cast, are still posting to each other on a constant basis on Facebook. Pictures float around like candy I can't taste. I have texted and messaged my love and adoration to a few. And we are still wishing the casts who came after us happy openings/closings. The love we have for each other is palpable. And I am so grateful.

I have never in my life been more happy or more depressed at the same time.

I am now living in Chicago for two months, singing another South Pacific with yet another fantastic group of people, at the same place with some of the same people where I had my first run of Bloody Mary nine years ago. And I keep trying to figure out just what I'm supposed to do next. Do I return to New York? Do I stay in Chicago for a little while longer? I have nothing keeping me in any one city, but love each for so many different reasons.

So I have some decisions to make. A plan is forming in my head and to be honest, there will be some people who will be unhappy. But the fact is that I'm not a person who stays in one place for long. I never have been. So maybe the only way that I will be happy is to spend the time in the places I love in whatever way I can. No more planting roots. I'm giving away most of the things I own. I don't need them anyway. I've lived without them for almost three years. I will spend time in Chicago during the off-peak audition seasons. I will spend winters in New York. And my summers are for singing. And for Arrow Rock whenever they will have me.

And some day, I will retire, as all singers eventually do. And that's when I'll gladly plant myself firmly in the Missouri soil to finish off my days. I'll open a writer's retreat and help those who are just like me, who need the wide-open spaces to clear their heads in order to be able to return to the big city and to the work that calls. And to give back as much love and support as I've gotten these last few months. It is immeasurable. And I am so lucky.

Thank you to all of you. You know who you are.

Tangerines and Telling

Hello my Dearest of Friends,

It's been almost four months since I've sat down to write to you all. And there's good reason for it. I had decided to take a break. There was no grand announcement, no sighing and wringing of hands...ok, maybe a little wringing, but it was just something I knew I needed. I had to take a step back and have a long, hard look at my life...by myself.

The one thing about being so public is that you are always swayed by the opinions of everyone around you. I know that everyone means well and wants the best for me. But earning less than minimum wage for working on a couple of super famous tv shows isn't really what's best for me. Neither was killing myself getting to auditions, and singing without being able to actually connect. So I finally found a (somewhat regular) job, but not one that anyone expected me to find.

I've been working at Trader Joe's for the last three months and couldn't be happier. I'm surrounded by people who are genuinely kind, who will help without a second thought. It's just always yes there. We work hard, we get our jobs done, and we try to have a good time doing it. I haven't felt like this, more like myself, since Goog's death.

To be surrounded by such caring and compassionate people has reminded me that I am not the hardened New Yorker that I was turning into; that Midwestern sweetness is still a part of me. And it's finally brought me around. I'm smiling more. I've been slowly losing weight, and working on a healthier way of life. I've been getting out of the house. I've gone out on dates with a few different guys. Some good. Some bad. But at least I'm trying. My confidence is slowly returning. I can genuinely say I'm happy. And that is terrifying.

The last time I was this happy, I was in West Virginia singing another South Pacific, surrounded by the same type of people that now surround me in TJ's; caring, supportive, and kind. The day I finished that contract, my entire life changed. Goog was gone and I was left looking at this pile of smoldering rubble that was supposed to somehow resemble my heart. Losing one of your closest friends at that young an age just isn't supposed to happen. It makes you realize that life is truly too short and it can be taken from us at any moment. And that is scary as fuck.

So I retreated. I stopped talking and posting about what was going on. I had to figure out what was most important to me in my life. And that has always been balance; finding that sweet spot where happiness exists without being dependent on other things or other people, being able to work hard and achieving some kind of small goal whether that's putting up an entire shelving unit full of tangerines quickly and beautifully, or nailing an audition for a theater that I truly wanted to work with.

And I have.
(You should have seen the tangerines last night. They were perfection.)

Giving Up, Letting Go, Holding On

My brain is full. It's been almost two months since I've written anything here so grab a drink and settle in my friends. There's a lot to go through...

To be honest, I've had a very hard time functioning these past three weeks due to a contract negotiation that I had to do on my own. It was the first time, as a professional singer, that I felt I finally had something worthwhile to offer; that all my prior experiences and my years of paying dues were finally good enough to bring to the bargaining table. But that's also a very scary place to be, especially when you are A) not an Equity member and B) have no one else, like a manager or agent, in your corner, doing the heavy lifting. There is a very fine line between standing up for what you believe you are worth, and shooting yourself in the foot by asking for too much.

This time though, it worked. I negotiated and tried to stand my ground as best I could. While I couldn't get what I originally asked for (Equity membership), I was able to negotiate for better pay. This is the first time in my LIFE that I've been successful. Even after two national tours, people still just say no. Take our offer or we'll find someone else who will do it for cheaper. So I am grateful to this theater. While it may not seem like much to them, the small bump in pay means a lot to me. It is expensive to live in New York...and that's where I'm staying.

The contract wasn't exactly what I expected. I had originally thought that I would be flying down south to Florida for the next two months. Not true. I'm staying here and essentially am "on call" for their production. If the woman I'm understudying gets sick, they'll fly me down on 8-12 hours of notice. So technically, they can call me at 8 AM and I could potentially be in Florida, singing at 8 PM the same night. This is the kind of stuff that I am made for; having sung the role so many times now and traveling on such short notice. It doesn't phase me one bit.

Having my life on hold, however, does.

And that's what it's been the past three weeks. This holding pattern of waiting and praying that they were actually serious when they contacted me. The initial inquiry came in while the show was already in rehearsals. I had no clue whether they would be flying me down the next day or the next week. I still don't know. And I am still waiting on the final paperwork that I need to sign. But as of last Friday, the offer had been completely ironed out, and I confirmed the dates with the theater. We are all now waiting on two signatures, one from them and one from me.

And the stress won't leave my body until I have that piece of paper in my hand. And it's scary. So I'm going to write about the fear and frustration to some degree. It's the only way I know how to cope. But this doesn't always please people. I've had some interesting, and other times discouraging, interactions with people over the past few weeks. Even just last night, as I was surrounded by "friends", one mentioned that I post too much, that "no one cares that you're going to an audition. We all are."

On some small level, he is right. I do tend to post a lot about what I'm doing. It's the only way that I will actually do it. It's been a struggle to get out of bed every morning for the past god knows how many months. So yes, when I actually get out of the apartment to do something, I'm going to talk about it. But there's also a part of him that is very wrong. I have people who care. I have people who like to cheer me on. I have many friends who are not in this business and don't have the faintest idea of what it is really like on a day to day basis. So I share for them as well. For me, it's the whole point of life on this earth; to share our experiences and learn from them in some way. To give love and have patience. To be supportive and kind.

When people aren't quite on the same wavelength, I move them to my "acquaintances" list on Facebook. They generally don't see the day to day minutiae of my life. I've realized however, that my posts as of late haven't been as discerning. I've needed more support than ever before so I've been speaking about it and asking for it from everyone. Which is generally not an easy thing for me to do. I grew up having to be self-sufficient, mentally and emotionally. It was expected of me. I was taught that you don't speak and you don't ask. Being the black sheep I am, I did the exact opposite. And this is where it has landed me today; slightly too open with my thoughts, and constantly terrified of saying and doing the wrong thing.

But I am also very lucky in that respect. I have the most amazing group of people behind me; the ones who are there with a simple "like" to show support or a few small words of encouragement. I am so grateful to each and every one of them. It may sound trite to say, but it truly makes a difference in my life. Sometimes, those little comments are the only thing that get me out of bed in the afternoon.

My birthday this past week was not something that I wanted to celebrate in any big way. Turning 35 last year was hard. What came after was worse; the loss of people. Some passed away. Some disappeared from my life without a word. Some I've tried to let go. We are constantly making connections all over this world. Sometimes we make right friends with wrong people. Sometimes we sleep with wrong people at the right time. Sometimes things were just meant to be. Or not.

And somehow, we just keep going.

As the Beatles song says, "I get by with a little help from my friends." And I'm learning how to ask for it. I may not do it in the exact way I should. I may ask a little too loudly. But at least I am asking. I am not cowering alone in the corner, unable to move. I am not so without hope that I take my own life. I am struggling and trying to deal like every other human being on this planet.

But I still worry that I say too much, that I come off as needy and full of myself. So every time I sit down to this keyboard, I temper myself. How much can I actually say? Who should I actually let into my world? How will my words affect everyone else? Because I know they do. Everyone we come into contact with is impacted in some small way, even if they are not aware of it.

I spent my actual birth day alone for the most part this year. I did things I wanted to do without interruption or other influences; visited my favorite French pastry shop and gorged on the best macarons I've ever had in my life. Spent hours in my favorite bookstore finding books that spoke to me. Had a dinner that only *I* would want on this day (of course it was southern barbecue). Then I did the one thing that truly makes me happy in this city, I listened to my extremely talented friends play at Rockwood Music Hall. It is the only place where I am free to enjoy life, where I can let go of all my worries and be surrounded by a greatness that is indescribable.

After the set finished, we congregated in another part of the bar. I had my time to catch up with everyone. I could finally talk about the details of everything that had been happening in the past few weeks. It was a huge relief. I was finally in my happy place. But as I was leaving, one friend mentioned that I was now his "project"; that he would do what he could to help me make my way. My posts had been so stress-filled in the past few weeks that it was further inducing stress onto him. That is the last thing that I want to do, cause people to worry or complicate their lives in any way, especially people who I hold in such high esteem.

So I am back at the awkward crossroad that is my life; asking for help and dealing with the consequences, forever questioning how far should I let people in. Who to keep and who to let go. And how to hold on to those who are worth holding onto.

So when people leave, I've learned the secret: let them. Because, most of the time, they have to. Let them walk away and go places. Let them have adventures in the wild without you. Let them travel the world and explore life beyond a horizon that you exist in. And know, deep down, that heroes aren’t qualified by their capacity to stay but by their decision to return.

—The Staying Philosophy, Isa Garcia

So, in closing for tonight my friends, thank you for holding onto me. For taking time. For dealing with my messy self. I know it's a lot to handle at times. But in the end, I promise you, it'll have been worth it.

It's Not You, It's Me...or Maybe It's You

I have two voice mails on my phone that I cannot bring myself to listen to.

One is from a very nice Jimmy John's manager back in Morgantown. I had complained on their website about an extremely shitty meal that had been delivered to my hotel room a few days earlier. I had just gotten off the plane back in New York when my phone simultaneously beeped with a voice mail and another call coming in. Same manager, calling again. While he was extremely nice and apologetic, I just couldn't bring myself to care at that moment. Before the plane had taken off, I got the news that my friend would more than likely be dead by the next morning. I thanked him profusely for calling and trying to set things straight, explaining that I couldn't come back since I had just landed at JFK. A few weeks later, I received a Jimmy John's gift card in the mail. So I know what the voice mail says. I'm so sorry. Can you please come back? We'll make things right.

The second unheard message is from a friend. She had called late at night, as I was crossing the middle of a busy intersection in the Lower East Side, right after a night of music at Rockwood Music Hall, one of the few places in NY where I am completely stress-free and relaxed. I quickly pushed the voice mail button with every intention to listen to it the next day. It's now been ten days. I still haven't listened. It is not that I don't care. I do. I want all my friends to feel supported and happy. But I'm at a point in my life where I have to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else right now. And she is a person who needs tending. Her Facebook wall that night held proof.

This is not something I'm proud of, not being able to be there for my friends. and not being able to reach out and simply tell people that I'm still not able to fully deal with them yet. But I've told this friend more than a few times that when I'm ready to be sociable again, I will reach out. She has ignored every instance, which makes me want to listen to that voice mail even less. I know she means well, but I also just can't. She's not the only one that I've had to put off however.

My patience is at an all-time low. I've stopped replying to people: on the phone, on social media, on email. I didn't even make it a week before I disabled my OkCupid account. One man had messaged me saying he'd like to get to know me. I looked at his profile and how he answered a few questions. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to reply to him or not. I needed some time to think it over. (He was open about owning guns. Plural.) Within two minutes, he emailed again with just a question mark. It was infuriating. I responded saying, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but you have no patience. I hadn't decided whether I was interested. Now, I definitely am NOT. Then I clicked the block button before he even had the chance to reply.

I miss the days of rotary phones and no voice mail. When someone would call, you'd have to speak to a person to leave a message. If you weren't home, then you weren't home. Plain and simple. I remember when my best friend Misti would call trying to find me. My grandmother had learned a few sentence in English for her. Yvonne no home. Yvonne go Publix (pronounced pooblix) or Yvonne go school. It always made us giggle. When I had returned from wherever I had been, my grandmother would tell me in Polish that Misti had called. There wasn't this immediate need for response. People had to be patient. There was no choice.

I've stopped carrying my cellphone with me everywhere I go. I leave it in my bedroom if I'm in the kitchen cooking. Sometimes, I turn it off completely at night. There are only three people that I will (almost always) immediately respond to: my mother, and my best friends Erich and Hillary. But even with them, there are times when I simply can't. The constant rejection of being a singer, writer and trying to find a job have taken their toll. Even Chipotle won't hire me to serve rice and beans.

So it's hard to admit that I'm feeling like a failure, and not capable of human interaction sometimes; Me, the outgoing, friendly, will-do-anything-for-anyone girl who only wants the best for people. But that's where I am in my life right now. Part of me wants to apologize to every human being on the planet for being unavailable; part of me wants to scream just to be left alone. Instead, I take time and pray that people will have the same patience for me that I'm not capable of giving.

That's Why

I've had a ridiculously difficult time getting myself to do anything this week, let alone sit down and write. Yet here I am in Starbucks, surrounded on all sides by other caffeinated typers and tippers; not quite alone, but most definitely not connecting with anyone either, unless you count my favorite barista, whose friendliness is unflappable. But the niceties only continue for as long as it takes me to answer the question Would you like whip cream on that? (Yes. Always.)

Connection has become a foreign language to me, as if I've forgotten subject-verb agreement, and conjugations leave me wondering whether I've become too self-indulgent when I speak. Trust has become a thing of the past; trust in myself, trust in other people. Will I say too much or too little? Am I allowed to speak up and out? We are responsible for every moment of our lives; every thought, every action has intention behind it. And that's a powerful thing.

And that's exactly what's bothering me...the age-old question of What am I doing with my life?

It's easier to answer this when I'm away singing. I have purpose. I go to rehearsal. I sing. I learn my part and perform. It's the down-times, like now, that lead me to insanely (and repetitively) question my entire existence. That and the sheer amount of shitty auditions I've had in the past few months.

I keep telling myself that I'll take a break, that I won't look at what auditions are coming up or send another email to the theater casting another South Pacific or Les Mis. But I can't help myself. It's a sick, desperate cycle. I haven't had a real contract since July. I keep sending out my resume and going to audition appointments, but I'm not performing well. The singing is fine. My training kicks in and my voice automatically reacts. But the honest intention behind the acting is a sham. So the audition is a bust and I don't get hired. Which puts me back to square one, without a contract and depression wearing me thin. But to get a contract I need to go to auditions so I keep sending out my resume and booking audition appointments...and on and on and on. It just doesn't stop. So the depression gets worse, to the point where I'm left lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I am doing with my life? over and over.

I keep seeing my friends all moving forward, getting multiple gigs, their AEA and SAG cards, other national tours. I'm truly happy and excited for them. But I just keep wondering what I'm doing wrong.

The answer is nothing.
The answer is everything.

I know my time will come. I just have to be patient and persistent. But I also know I need to be better prepared. I didn't even bother trying to memorize a monologue this past week until the very last minute, which ended up being too damn late. I just couldn't bring myself to care enough. So I went in to the audition and read it straight from the paper. Needless to say, I didn't get a callback. I expected that. And so the cycle continues...

But I'm the only one who has any power to make the changes that need to take place.

I keep telling myself that this is all happening for a reason, that I'm supposed to be focusing on something else right now. Writing? Dating? Self-improvement? Finding a day job? Most of it has been blowing up in my face. I was exercising regularly for one week, then nothing the next. One guy that I was going to be set up with went back to his ex, another has just been too unreliable. Being blown off (again) made me so upset that I actually went back and opened up my OkCupid account. Another bad idea.

That leaves me with my writing; here in Starbucks with the rest of the lonely others, all typing our lives away.

When I talk to other people about my writing, I always get compliments and the invariable question of Why don't you write a book? I am thankful for the friends who have this kind of faith in me. But writing an entire book is not an easy task, even for someone who has a masters degree in it. I've tried to focus on my screen play. I've considered going back to my poetry thesis and getting it into actual publishable shape. It's not anywhere close. I've thought about submitting to websites that publish my style of writing, but why would they publish me when then have writers who have been published in the New York Times and HuffPo? 

So I keep coming back to this little corner of the internet that is my own, where there is less pressure and I can almost fully be myself. I've considered starting up a YouTube channel, taking this blog another step forward. But in order to make any decent amount of money you must have thousands, if not millions, of views. And it's not about what you say there. It's all about clicking and commercialization. Which I hate.

So I will stay here in my own little corner of Starbucks, and keep on keepin' on. Something will eventually click and make sense. I will get another gig. I will find a job. I will start dating again. And it will all fall into place, and I will be able to look back and say that's why.

All in the Timing

I have stopped counting - for the most part. I no longer know how many years it's been since my last relationship, or how many years since the assault. I no longer count the days till I will see someone again, or how many months it's been since I've gotten laid. The things I track now are more than any man can give me.

Each year on August 31st, I return to the Staten Island Ferry; one of the first things I did when I moved here to New York two years ago. It's become my own small tradition of being. The water brings me peace; the Hudson River's waves are gentler than you'd imagine. I love seeing the outline of the city as we pull away from the dock, and Lady Liberty's facade as we skirt by her. Barges and helicopters. Buildings and bridges. All fusing together on this small corner of the world that is somehow filled with so much.


All my friends who consider themselves New Yorkers have told me that if you can get through the first two years, you'll be fine. Well, I've made it. But fine isn't quite the word I would use. This year's trip to the ferry wasn't a happy one. I expected it be. Maybe I was wrong for that.

I usually find happiness in small things; ferry trips and walking around a part of New York I hadn't yet explored. I couldn't force it today. The clouds hung low over the boat, and the rain came pouring fast. There was one moment though, as I sat on the train where I felt a real smile on my face. I began flipping through the photos on my phone. Two years worth of friendships and traveling; singing and struggle. I have accomplished so much.

Yet I am so on edge. I can feel a constant thrumming in my bones as I walk the lower Manhattan streets. I am on the verge of change. In Company, Larry says to Bobby: "Come on, you're on to something, Bobby. You're on to something." just before his huge epiphany. I'm almost there. I know it. I just don't know what form it's going to come in.



I've come so close so many times this past year. One theater talked about offering me my Equity card. They ended up going with someone else, but that in turn, put me in West Virginia, where I ended up getting exactly what I needed; working with an amazing group of people and being able to play Mary just the way I've always wanted to. I can't tell you how many times I've sent out my headshot and resume to agents over the past month, but one finally bit, and I'll be meeting with her in a few weeks. I've also got a friend here in the city setting me up with someone, and I'm almost, dare I say it, feeling...hopeful? He's tall, cute, and has a decent job. If he ends up being nice, then I'll be sold. I've also got tentative plans for another theater next summer which I'm so out-of-my-mind excited about, but can't discuss yet as the rights haven't been acquired.

I've never been so Bobby baby in all my damn life.

But it's all timing. Everything has to fit in it's own little magical way in order to work. And I must be patient.Which is all I've ever been. I can't tell you how many times I've been told that I still need a few more years before I start getting hired for a certain role. Even at 35, I'm still too young for some of them; Abuela Claudia in In the Heights, Mother Superior in The Sound of Music and my favorite...Joanne in Company. Her cynicism, sexuality, and humor is what I gravitate toward. I can't wait to dig my claws into this someday:



But the cynicism hurts. My hearts been a little too close for comfort these days. The wall I leave up helps get past each disappointment that pops up. And there have been many. But I'm ready in that Bobby, You're on to something kind of way; waiting for my sleep to be ruined by something other than my writing.

...And another hundred people just got off of the train.

Another Day. Another Audition.

If there is one thing that is most important in my life, it is the pursuit for honesty. Honesty in my singing. Honestly in my writing. Honesty in the way I interact with people on a daily basis.

Sometimes though, the person I'm least honest to is myself.

There is one thing I know for sure: I haven't been myself for a while. I caught a glimpse of her while I was in West Virginia, singing in another production of South Pacific; the unadulterated laughter, the nonjudgmental voice telling me that everything was going to be ok, not worrying about whether my silliness would look immature to the people that surrounded me. I danced all night, and didn't care whether my hair looked like a sloppy, sweaty mess as I walked back to the hotel.

There is an undercurrent of common fear I carry on a constant basis now. Did I over-dress for this audition? Everyone else in jeans. Did I choose the wrong song? Yes. I can tell by the look on the casting director's face. Did I say something stupid to the boy in that bar? Maybe I shouldn't have said that one thing. God, do you even remember how to flirt anymore? You need to clean your room. You need to find a job. You need to research. You need to keep auditioning. You need to get off your ass and exercise. You need. You need. You need.

That. Running through my head on a constant loop. It's exhausting.

Looking back, I've realized a pattern in my life. When I'm pushing this hard for the career I want, I usually burn out after two years. Take a wild guess what anniversary is coming up in 9 days. 2 years of living in New York. Wait. Not living. Surviving. Because that's what you do in New York. You survive.

But I want more than that. I want to enjoy my life in this city that wears you down. I want to be able to let loose. I haven't been able to - and that tension is showing up in my auditions now too. My singing is fine, but I haven't been able to connect to my body, my character. I am stiff. I am not able to let go of what is going on in the audition room. And I'm getting the same reaction over and over before I leave: "Beautiful. Thank you so much for coming." Which really means Thanks, but no thanks.

I should be nailing these auditions. A few have been for South Pacific - the one show I know every note of, every nuance of. I tell myself that even at my worst, I'm still better than 90% of everyone else's best. But that's not being honest any more. I am 100% burnt out. And yet I keep pushing myself to keep going.

I told myself I wouldn't give up when I moved here. But now I don't know what to do. I can't keep doing what I am doing right now. It's affecting everything. This month has been especially harsh what with the loss of my friend...but then out of nowhere, there are these small moments - where I've felt something close to happiness for a second or two. I am trying to grasp onto them with both hands, but they just keep slipping away.

But it's in these moments that I remember what it is to be myself; to laugh freely again, to speak with another human being without the pressure of expectation, to actually enjoy music for what simple beauty it brings me. And this is what I need.

I had every intention of telling everyone that I would be taking a hiatus from singing in this post. But I also know that is not true. I can't give up. I am a survivor. I will keep going. But I will definitely be taking a step away for a bit. The stress of the last few months have been a bit much for me to bear. But that's another post for another day. And you know what another day brings...another audition.

Gone Girl

I've begun this post in my head about ten different ways. None of them are right. None of them make any sense. My friend is gone and that's all there is to it.

To be honest, Ariana was difficult; stubborn as the day is long, fierce when she thought she was right (which was often). Outspoken is an understatement. She didn't care what other people thought and she wasn't afraid to let them know it too. And we loved her for it. She was our Goog.

No matter how insane an idea I would have, Goog was always right there, telling me that it wasn't crazy. This, coming from a girl who wore two different colored socks every day of her life.

Margarita Mondays. You Suck Mondays. These were the types of things that Goog did. Her art was beautiful; Her soul a bit tortured, as is any artists, though she never quite would admit to being one. Or at least a good one. But so many of us cherish the presents she made. The Suzi Blu faces. The myriad notebooks. The sketches and paintings. The blankets.

She would have been 34 today.

How is it possible that she is gone? The wave of not-understanding is still hitting me every few hours. I've holed myself up in my room, playing computer games all day. It's the only thing that keeps my mind away from the fact that I will never see her again. That she will never yell at me for doing something stupid. Or cheer me on when I'm being awesome. The last time I messaged her on Facebook, I was drunk on vodka and she had drawn a picture saying there wasn't enough.

I've finally started to be able to control my crying. I can let loose in the shower, where no one will hear. My room is a mess; clothes left on my chair and floor, still not put away from unpacking after my gig in West Virginia. It feels like months have passed by. Yet, it's only been five days; three of them without her.

My family waited to tell me about what had happened. My last performance was on Sunday afternoon. That night my sister told me of the aneurysm. The next morning, as I waited to board my plane back to New York, I got the message that she wasn't going to make it. By the next evening, she was gone.

I began the process of letting people know, making the phone calls to everyone who had asked throughout the day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to say She's gone. Goog died. ten times in the span of an hour? I hate being the one who always knows what's going on, the one that people come to for information. I didn't choose it. You'd think that after all that though, it would be real to me by now. But it's still not.

I looked up the five stages of grief today, to try to figure out where I am in the process. I'm stuck in number one: denial. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to write about it.

Yet here I am.

People are looking to me for some kind of wisdom, some kind of insight into this shit-tastic event that we're living through. I got nada. This is now the sixth member of our band family that is gone. I always thought that I would be the first of our group to go. I'm the one who lives life on the edge all the time, the one who gets up and goes when opportunity calls. The one without children, and no relationship to tie me down to one place.

So why Goog? She has Liam. He's 7. So smart and understanding. Inquisitive. Creative and sensitive. How is it possible that he's going to have to live the rest of his life without his mom? I cannot comprehend this.

The anger only comes at night (stage two). It is after 3 AM as I write this. My head has begun hurting again. NyQuil will be my savior. It's the only way I can get to sleep. Half an hour and I'm out. But when the morning comes, I'm back to square one. Laying in bed, wondering what am I going to do?

Goog would have told me to suck it up; to get over myself and get going. But for once, I want to tell her she is wrong. I don't want to get over this. I want wake up and this be some bad dream. It won't happen though.

So I have to listen to her. Goog is right. I will need to figure out a way for this to make sense so I can get my life in order. Just like she was doing. I will need to look at life and say fuck you when things aren't going my way, or laugh and enjoy it when they are. And I will need to stay true to myself and my path. No one is living this life for me except me. I will need to make decisions.

Is this the life that I really want? I'm not really happy in New York. But I don't have a choice as to where I'm going to live if I want to make it in my career. And for me, career is everything. That's the one choice I've already made. Being engaged twice and never making it down the aisle took its toll. Maybe I'm just meant to be alone. And this is when I hear Goog gently scold me, her voice in my head.

Someday though, I will forget her voice; how she draws out the vowels in my nickname Yv when consoling me, or clipping them short when upset. Some people have voice mails saved. Goog and I weren't really ones to talk on the phone. I do have a recording somewhere though. We were walking around a mall in Minnesota with Shanti. Liam was a little over 2 years old I think, in a stroller and playing with my phone. He hit the record button without us knowing. Faintly in the background you can hear us talking and a janky middle-school clarinet playing Christmas music out in front of the store.

This will have to be enough. There is no other choice; no go back and redo's, no just one more minute. Goog never did have the patience for that anyway.

One Way or Another

I leave for Morgantown in two days. If you had asked me five months ago, whether I thought I would ever return there, I would have answered probably not. But there's a theater there and I'm getting paid to do what I love. So off I go.

We actually stopped there twice on the last tour. I fell slightly in love with the city, its small town feel. The hotel had the best french onion soup I'd ever eaten. The bars we crawled in and out of were some of the most fun I had in that three months on the road; in one, a night of mountain song - a huge jamboree of men and women sitting in the round, making loud music on whatever instruments they could find. Banjos, violins, guitars, mandolins. Even spoons from the kitchen served as percussion to the rally. The other bar held beer. So much beer. And boys. One particular boy.

The karaoke was loud and all the cast were taking their turns. For the first time in my life, I sang something other than Build Me Up Buttercup, my usual song of choice. I wanted to try something new. To be unafraid. Karaoke unnerves me. It's unrehearsed. You never know what key you're going to be in, what your voice might do. I've never been sure of myself singing in that way, and it reads on stage, even in front of a bunch of drunk college kids and cast mates. So I picked something low, something I could growl into, One Way or Another by Blondie. I didn't think this would be much of a gamble, but just badass enough for passing.

One way or another I'm gonna find ya 
I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha

The later it got, the deeper into pitchers we ran. And this was good beer, made right there at the bar; gleaming bronze tanks towering next to us as we drank the cold night away. We made friends with the locals who took their turn screaming songs above the loudspeakers. And I met this boy. I can't remember his name, but he was at the university studying Poli-sci; very much the nerdy type that I tend to go for. A few cast mates who saw what was going on tried encouraging me. This young blondie was an easy target, and he just kept getting closer into my space, but never pushing me.

It was closing time and one of our own was puking in the bathroom. There was no better time for me to escape with an excuse. I don't know why I didn't bring him back with me. He was cute. I would have had fun. But he was definitely beyond inebriated and no man is ever that good. And honestly, I wasn't in the mood to be a teacher that night. And those kinds of boys need to be lead.

The thought did cross my mind though. What if? What if I did bring him back with me? It wouldn't hurt anyone. My tour roomie was gone for those few days so I had my room to myself. But what if I ever came back through this town again? It would be awkward. So I stopped. I didn't even let him kiss me.

And here we are five months later, and I'm actually returning.
And you can bet I'll be going back to those same two bars.

But here's the thing: If I run into him, I might make the same decision I made back in February.

The friends who have known me for a long time would be shocked. To them, I am still the boy-crazy, loud, flirty woman that I was in college. They see me look at a handsome man across the room and assume that I will jump straight for him with all the desperation and pent-up sexual frustration I can muster. But that's not me anymore.

A few weekends ago, I hit it off with a guy. We spent so many hours talking at the bar that my friends had to pull me away. You know you don't have to be like that. You're such an amazing person. I didn't understand. I wasn't doing anything wrong. I wasn't hung up on this guy. Sure, I enjoyed his company, but I wasn't flirting with him incessantly like I used to. Actually, I don't think I flirted with him at all. It was just nice to finally connect with someone without all the awkwardness that usually applies.

Then came the little pin prick: We don't know where you get your confidence from. She meant it in a positive way, that people admire that side of me. But in honesty, a small part of me was crushed. Of course I'm confident. Why wouldn't I be? I'm awesome! Smart, funny, talented. Pretty in my own way. But the underlying thought that I shouldn't naturally feel this way hurt. I may be a fat girl, but that doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing as a woman. I mean, I'm 35 for god's sake. I've been through things that no woman should have to endure.

So I went home alone that night. The old me would have tried harder, would have felt depressed that nothing happened. The person I am now knows better, that I deserve someone who's as interested in me as I am in them. Over the years, I have learned to let go. And quickly too. I'm not one for wasting time or energy. There is so much to do and experience in this life. I will not waste a second. But I will waste a lifetime with the right one when he comes along.

Because I'm Happy...Or Not.

This video has been making the rounds on social media over the last few weeks.



I've had such a very mixed reaction, especially after learning how Facebook manipulated almost 700,000 people in their own little social experiment. But there is a big fat truth in what we see above.

I look at my own FB feed - posts of funny animal videos, updates of what is going on in my career or personal life - and think that I'm not quite as far gone as the guy in the video. I'm not making things up. My life actually is pretty interesting. I tend to focus on the positive because that is what I choose to do. Negativity only breeds more discontent. But does this mean that I'm embellishing since deep down, I'm not all that happy?

This has been a tough week. My grandmother is dying. My family is in Florida while I am here in New York, about to leave for another singing gig in West Virginia. My close friends have been helping me deal with the emotional helplessness that I feel. Still, others have completely forgotten to even ask.

In 5 days, I'll be traveling to Morgantown. I will make a new set of friends for a couple of weeks and then it will all be over before it even begins. This is one of the pitfalls of being a singer, the constant shifting of friendships and families that you build. But you learn to move on and let go. You just have to keep going. There is no other choice.

I keep thinking of the mountains; how much I miss seeing them from the tour bus windows. Someday I will leave New York. I will not return to Florida. Nor Chicago. I will find a small, quaint city surrounded on all sides with fresh air and rivers. I will breathe my last breaths there, content with whatever life I end up leading, whether I make it or not.

I have begun to despise the word famous. People like to say/joke that I am since I'm working on one of the most popular tv shows of the year. In reality however, I'm a nobody. Yes, I've made it out of Vero. Yes, I'm working as a singer. I'm doing what I love and getting paid for it. I am so very lucky. But the truth is in the video; I'm beyond broke. I am single. I am unhappy.

There are days where I would give anything to switch with one of you; to have a steady income, someone to come home to. Maybe even have a family of my own. But that is not my reality. My reality is the squalor of  a big city, being inspired every day that I step outside, surrounded by stink and electricity; living for each moment that brings me something new, one step closer to what I'm dreaming.

And this is why I keep going. Because someday, I'll get out.

The Comfort Question

Yesterday morning, I was asked a question that I never thought I would have to answer: Are you comfortable doing nude scenes?

My first reaction was shock. The women on set with me had been talking about the casting call notice during our lunch break. A few of them submitted. I know of at least one who actually got a call back. Most of these women are small. I however, am not. And this is one of the beautiful things about working on a show like Orange is the New Black. They use all body types, all skin types, all sexual types, all women types. I could not be more proud to be doing my small part as an extra on this show.

I posted my funny little experience on Facebook. I love sharing my life with people, but sometimes it comes at a cost. Most people just press like and go on about their day. A handful usually leave supportive comments of their pride in me or a joke about the situation. One of my favorite responses this time around was my friend Carl who wrote, If you want to desensitize yourself to the prospect by sending out selfies, I would be willing to assist you in the furtherance of your art. LOL. His wife, Andi (who I've known since high school), promptly followed with Always the helpful one, Carl! Lol! I have the most amazing group of supportive friends that I could ever ask for.

But then came a few responses of support that jarred me, the ones that pushed me to do it. Go for it! Do it for the art! You are a beautiful woman who shouldn't be ashamed of her body. It could lead to something! And that's where the truth started to hit me in the face and I wished that I hadn't said anything. I understand that these people are only wanting me to succeed, what they think is best for me. But getting naked for a few million people isn't going to do any of that.

To be honest, if I were 50 pounds lighter, I would have considered it. If I were 100 pounds lighter, I would have submitted before the email could even finish downloading to my phone inbox. But I'm not. I am the size I am right now. And I am the only one who has to live my life with my body.

It isn't a question of art. It isn't a question of my beauty. It isn't a question of pay or experience. It's a question of my comfort level. Mine. My own.

I rarely let anyone see me naked. Not my roommates. Not my theater friends. Not even my lovers. Not anyone. I am a lights-off-in-the-bedroom kind of girl. But don't get me wrong. I have confidence. Otherwise, I couldn't succeed in this business (or get laid). There are, however, some very strong points that lead me to the decision I made (that I am more than happy to film scenes in a towel, but that would the extent of my nakey time on screen).

You'd think in this day and age that people would be more sensitive and have manners. It's not true however. At least once or twice a week, I am harassed in some way about my weight. From the pedi-cab driver telling me to lose some weight fatty! to the anonymous Twitter asshole telling me I won't have a problem when I tweeted about being afraid to date using the YesAllWomen hashtag. Have you ever had a cast mate of the opposite sex look at you in complete disgust when you talk about having a sex life? I have. And it weighs on you...even now, months later.

But here's the thing: I'm confident. I have parts of my body that I love. I have two mini skirts that actually turned a man's head. My tits are big and my waist, a nice hour-glass shape. I have jeans that make me look like I have an ass that won't quit. When I have a night out in Harlem, I get stopped by strange men on the street asking for my number.
But Harlem isn't Hollywood.

Do you know the cruelest thing you can say to a single fat girl? That she isn't fat. That she is beautiful. There was an entire Louis C.K. episode about dating a fat girl with an amazing monologue at the end that pretty much sums up what my life is like:



There are women on the internet who are proud of their bodies, just the way they are. Denise Jolly is a writer and poet that I truly admire. Her work with body issues and fat shaming is something that I do not have the courage to do. But I am extremely grateful that she does. Maybe someday, society will change and I won't be seen as something to be mocked or to be disgusted with. But that day isn't today.

None of this however, changes the fact that my comfort level just isn't as open. I would love to be able to say that I'm not afraid of being judged. But I am. Every day of my life. So while the chance to have more on screen time would be amazing, the extra $50 or $100 just isn't worth it to me. Like my friend Paul said, that's not even dinner and a movie.

Dating With Yv...

It's almost 2 in the morning and I can't sleep. I spent the evening emailing back and forth with a few men on a dating website tonight. My frustration level is pretty much at a ten right now.

Guy A: Seems pretty cool. Lives in NYC (different borough), but has major anxiety issues with traveling.
Guy B: Is everything that I could ever want. Is interested in me. Live about half an hour away in NJ and simply won't even start with me because he has issues with getting to the city.
Guy C: Can barely write a grammatically correct sentence in English. But is sweet.

Dating in New York pretty much sucks.
Dating in New York when all you do is travel for your job? Ten times worse.

I feel as though I'm going to end up on Broadway and alone.
I guess things could be worse, right?

Right.

Whatever happened to men going above and beyond to find the right girl? If you want to find someone amazing (like me) to share your life with, it takes effort, dammit. Has the internet made us so lazy? But can I blame them? Who wants to date someone who isn't around for more than half the year (or whole year)?

Just because I understand doesn't make it any easier.

And just like that, it's over.

After every show/tour is over, there is usually a time of sadness. The little family you've spent every minute of your life with the past three months has now dissipated. Everyone has gone their own ways. Some to other shows. Some to other cities to resume a normal life. Some are even in the same city as you, but there is no time to see anyone. To be honest though, I am more than happy to leave a few behind.

The sadness hasn't quite sunk into me yet. Maybe it won't this time. I've set myself up for the softest landing that I could. I'm currently living with my favorite person from the tour. I've got another contract coming up in July. I'm surrounding myself with (non musical theater) people who inspire me both musically and mentally/emotionally. I am getting organized. I am continuing the work I began before (and during) tour to make myself a happier and healthier person. I am walking. I am doing yoga. I am writing.

But at the back of my mind is the daily grind. Which audition do I need to try to get into today? What new music do I need to learn? Who can I contact that might get my foot in the door somewhere? If there is one thing that I learned while I was out on the road this time, it's that connection is everything.

I connected with old friends who reminded me of my self-worth.

I connected with directors who saw something in me that was worth working with.

I connected with new friends who have helped me grow both as a person and as a professional.

And I am so thankful.

Moving Back, Moving Forward

Reality is beginning to set in. This tour will be over in three short weeks. They will be a blur, I'm sure of it. So what happens after? As of right now, I have no clue.

I don't have a home to go back to in New York. I've emailed with my previous sublet and I'll be able to return there, but not until the middle of June. So I'm on the hunt again for a place to live. There are a few options already floating around so I'm excited about that, but I hate that I'll be jumping from place to place, month after month. But honestly, after living out of suitcases for over two years now, this is nothing new to me. And finding a sublet in New York isn't all that hard to be honest. In my industry, there are people coming and going constantly so there is always a supply of apartments that need to be rented out for the short term. The only thing that worries me is cost.

I've saved up a little on this tour, but not enough to get me in the worry-free zone.So I'll also have to be on the lookout for a job. I've emailed my last office (which was like family to me.) I'm hoping they'll have a little work for me, but that's never a sure thing. I've thought about trying to get administrative work - maybe on a cruise ship or another tour - but I also know that there's a good chance that I'll have singing work in June/July so everything is kind of in the air right now. And that's when I am most nervous. I like having plans. I like having stability.

I've thought about going home for a bit, just so I could relax, be with my friends/family and save a little money that way, but that also means I'd be missing out on auditions - which I simply can't do at this point in my career.

So back to square one in New York City.
Find an apartment.
Find a job (for now).
Try not to be afraid.

Patterns and Pushing

As the miles pass beneath our bus wheels, I usually have one song playing on loop. This morning (as it has been the past few days) I've been listening to Bastille's Pompeii.

It's a catchy song; the beat isn't very hard, but it just keeps you going like a relentless march. Like the miles. So many of them. 21,915 so far to be exact.

We've visited 29 states, played  29 venues with  57 shows total. Sung to 51,886 people. In just two months. And we've still got one more to go...Did I mention that we've extended another week?

This past week we traveled from upstate New York all the way down to south Florida, and now we're headed all the way back up to Baltimore. Sometimes it feels like our booker just wants to torture us. How could we be making enough money on ONE performance to justify 4 days of travel up and down the entire east coast of the United States? Needless to say, the days have been weary.

But something keeps me going. I love being out on the road. I've been so fortunate to travel as I do for a living. On our way down to Florida, we actually got to stop in my hometown for an hour for our lunch break. Needless to say, I hopped on the phone and Facebook as soon as I found out. My mother, sister, and an old friend from high school were able to meet me at the Indian River Mall. Even though it was a short time, it was worth every minute. I've seen my mother three times in the past year. It's more than I've seen her in the last nine. I don't travel home often - for many reasons - so being able to see my family this many times has been one of the best things about this tour.

And my friends. So many of them. Coming out just to see me. It still shocks me that people will actually spend money on a night of theater to see me perform, driving so many miles themselves. People who I haven't seen in 10-15 years, but who I consider my family as well; my "band family" from high school, my SAI sisters and other friends from college. It seems like such a big deal to them, but really, it's not. It's just another day in the office for me. I am not famous. I am still a nobody in this business. Especially in this business. I still have so far to go before I reach my goals. But I'm getting there, one small step at a time.

We left our hotel in Sumter, South Carolina at six this morning. We've just begun hitting the DC traffic now at 3 pm. I think I just passed my best friend's apartment. Soon we'll be at the hotel in Baltimore. We leave there at 5:30 to make it to our 6 pm sound check. We have a show at 7:30 pm and then a bunch of us are performing a cabaret show around 10:30 pm, after our La Mancha performance. What were we thinking? Then a two show day tomorrow. I've got friends coming all weekend. Which means another song on repeat for this afternoon. I'm learning something new for the cabaret tonight. I'm so thankful that I have an amazing coach in New York who gave this song to me. It's perfection.

So I've got some business to finish up. Music to learn. An application for the Amtrak Residency to complete. Poetry to keep writing. And somewhere in all of this I need to find time to rest. But that can come later...in a month or so. Because as soon as I'm back in New York, I'll be hitting the audition circuit again. And the hours we put into that are just as hard. It's a never-ending wheel. And I'm not getting off any time soon.

It's surprising the things I find myself missing;
there isn't as much as you'd think.
Maybe the things that disappeared
are the ones that I wanted to sink.
Strange losing everything,
and leaving my home by boat.
But one thing I've found in this world without ground,
it's amazing the things that float.

The Update

It's just after 2:00 in the morning, and we're spending the night in Atlanta tonight on the way to Gainesville for a performance tomorrow. To say that it has been a rough few weeks for us here in La Mancha land is an understatement. We've gone through some of our toughest scheduling, and had a few unexpected emergencies along the way as well. I've been trying to finish this blog post for weeks now. But things just keep happening and time is moving too quickly. So I'm going to apologize for A) this is going to be long and B) it's going to be a bit disjointed. Just bear with me...

About two weeks ago (or is it three now?), during a lunch stop in AZ, one of our boys got hit by a truck while crossing the road. He had the right of way, and the truck was speeding trying to make the light in the turning lane. The only person with him at the time was our conductor. So the two of them went off to the hospital in the ambulance, and the rest of us had to keep going on to the next city because there was a performance that night.

We spent the next hour and a half on the bus reconfiguring the show, trying to cover his track, and going over musical cues/tempos with our trombone player who would be conducting that night. We pulled together, and the performance actually felt pretty good, even with all the changes that had to be made. It's circumstances like these that show how much you have to truly trust the people around you, both on stage and off, and just how much like family we have all become over the past few months. 

When we arrived back in the hotel that night, we went to check in with our fallen cast mate. There were no major injuries, but a lot of bruising and pain. The hospital said that he was lucky to be alive. So the next morning, he flew back to New York to begin recuperating with his family. In the meantime, we also picked up a new cast mate in California - a "swing" - which is the term used for someone who learns all the different tracks in a show and can step in at a moments notice in any of the ensemble roles.

This past weekend in Saint Louis, our original cast mate returned to us...just in time for a company meeting. One of our producers flew down from New York to announce a few changes that were happening in personnel of our tour and to get a better sense of what was actually happening with us all out on the road. Of course, I can't go into details, but it was something that was sorely needed. I only hope that things will get better from here on out.

We also got extremely lucky in Saint Louis. There were THREE different touring productions in the city at the same time; Mamma Mia, Seussical, and our tour of La Mancha. We got all three casts together in a bar after our performances on Saturday. Old friends were seen (one of my South Pacific cast mates is on Mamma Mia now), new friends were made, and debauchery was the word of the night. A bunch of musical theater people dancing and singing to Whitney at the top of our lungs in the middle of a bar we took over? It doesn't get any better than that.

But, in the middle of all this chaos, I also had a small personal breakdown that I only made known to a few people. Luckily I had a few really good friends who saw me through it, and were able to show me some light at the end of the tunnel. Below is what I went though (but hadn't posted yet):

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When most New Yorkers leave New York City, they long to return. No matter where they are, they are always thinking about what they are missing out on back home. This is how I know that I am not a true New Yorker.

I'm having a hard time with this today. Have you ever tried to have a quiet break down on a bus full of people? Not easy. I tend to fold into myself and hide my face in my bear. (He has many purposes. Pillow. Safety net. Muffler of tears.) I'd been staring out the window looking at the Colorado Rockies, texting with one of my best friends. Then it all just kind of hit me at once. I need nature. And space. I do not want to be in New York anymore.

But I can't have the career that I want without being there. I am at the biggest crossroads of my life.

I know that something big is going to happen this year. I can feel it. My career is on the trajectory is needs to be. I'm in the right place. Meeting the right people. Singing the right roles. But this city is killing my soul. And I have no idea what to do.

I know some of you will automatically think that I should return to Chicago, but I don't think I can do that either. It was my home for so long. I do miss it. But I know that it's not the right place for me anymore. I feel as though I no longer have the choice. And maybe that's the thing that's killing me the most. I don't like not having choices. I always tell myself that no matter the situation, I will always have options. But I just don't feel like I do anymore. If I want this career, to be one of the best, then I have to stay. Otherwise, if I leave, I will be giving up. And I can't do that. I have worked too hard for too long to leave it all behind.

Maybe I just need to stay on the road for a bit longer. Find another tour to join after this one. It is a life I know and love. A hard one. But at least I know that it fits me.

-----

So, after all that, I got some really great advice from one friend that I will try to make happen when I return to New York again in a few months. I need to set up a real "home" for me rather than subletting and moving constantly. I need get my things from Chicago and have them with me rather than thousands of miles away. I also need to spend more time outdoors.

With that last thought, I also made a huge new goal for myself. I'm going to climb a mountain. A real one. I'm thinking somewhere in upstate New York. Nothing massive. Just a good hike up and down that will change my perspective of the world. As I was texting with one of my best friends, I told her of my ridiculous thought and she agreed to go with me. And then her mom and her sister also wanted in. And then MY sister joined. So we're all going to go climb a fucking mountain. Nuts. But totally doable. I've started researching a bit. I've got a lot of training to do. But I'm pretty determined. And you know what happens when I get determined...

I get shit DONE, son.


And so, now I bid you all adieu. It's seriously time for bed. The alarm is going off in just 5 short hours to take us to Gainesville. And there will be Sonny's. And I will be happy.

Habits

I'm starting to fall back into that comfortable place for me where my days consist of the same thing: performing and drinking/eating. I promised myself that this tour would be different. That I wouldn't waste my time like I did last tour. I have three months where I can actually focus and make a change in my life. But the old trappings are here again.

I've stopped doing yoga, and making time for the gym. The first week was easy; everything was new. We were all getting used to what makes up the daily tour life routine: wake up for bus call, travel for the day, get to hotel for an hour, head to theater for sound check/show, go out for dinner/drinks around 11, and finally bed around 2...just to wake up the next day to do it all over again. Our bodies weren't quite used to the multiple time zones we crossed. I tended to wake up at 3 am. And again at 5 am. By 6 am, I was ready to go to the gym. But I've adjusted to the typical routine again. I wake up later, now around 9 am. I skip the gym because I'm hungover. I go do my show, and then I drink without thinking. A good time for all, right?

Right.

But it hasn't been all bad though. I've made some progress in other areas that I hadn't before. I've been researching auditions like mad and sending out my "package" to as many people as possible. I didn't do that at all last tour. I've come to realize that if you want to work, you've got to keep pushing. You have to keep putting yourself out there, even though you're not where the auditions are. As soon as I left New York, the season picked up. In the span of about two weeks, there were 19 auditions that I was actually viable for (and countless others that I wasn't.) Little Mermaid. Mary Poppins. Les Mis. Everyone is doing them. And luckily, I am perfect for all three. So I've been spending hours at a time, sitting in front of a computer in various hotel lobbies, praying that one of these emails I send will pay off. 

And I'm happy to report that one has! Yesterday, I heard back from a director that he's considering me for a production of Mary Poppins - a show that I've been very interested in doing for the last year and half. It was the first show I saw on Broadway when I moved to New York City this past year. And this production lines up perfectly with the end of our tour schedule. I would only have a few weeks without work before having to move to another city again. And I've heard very good things about the theater as well, so I'm crossing my fingers.

In some ways, focusing on tour is easy. I don't have much to distract me from the important things I need to get accomplished. But I also know that I need to get past those old habits that are so hard to break. Having a fun time out on the road is all well and good, but it can't impede my goals. I must remember that. I must keep going. I must focus.

Ready, Set....watch me go.