Closing A Chapter As We Close On Our House

I’ve procrastinated writing this post for weeks. And before that, I had been thinking about it for months. But now as we enter the closing phase of buying our house, it makes sense to reflect and muse on what I’m leaving behind. A few (very well-meaning), family members and friends have asked me how I could possibly leave NYC when my career is here. I’ll admit I’ve wondered that myself and then wondered why I haven’t had even a moment’s doubt about it.

I was one of those always-knew-what-they-wanted-to-be kids. Probably somewhat annoying to my friends who didn’t want to hear about my auditions. And definitely frustrating for my teachers who had to work around my absences for those auditions or acting jobs. But it was never annoying or frustrating to me. It was as second nature to me as breathing. In fact, when my parents finally asked me point blank at age 14 if I wanted to continue making all of these trips into the city, I was shocked that it was even a question. I WAS an artist. Why should there be any doubts about the time I spent doing it?

Fortunately, I was raised by the most supportive parents you could imagine; especially since they themselves were artists. My mother is a church organist, choir director, pianist, local theater director, and music arranger. My father was a true renaissance man and painted, wrote poems and books, preached beautiful sermons in the Presbyterian church, and even surprised me by one day revealing his skills as a jazz pianist. My sisters both sang and acted from a very young age and the 3 of us sang as a trio throughout the neighboring towns (and at many family weddings).

My childhood was filled with art. Trips to museums, the opera, Broadway musicals and plays, local theater. Not to mention all of the creativity that was going on inside our own home. The hours spent around the piano learning new Howard Sisters songs. The Broadway CDs we played on repeat until we could recite every word and inflection. The summers spent without TV and learning to build and play with our own toys. I loved every single bit of it. So it was a natural progression to begin imagining my future on the stage and pursue that goal (I say “goal” because it felt more like a given than a pipe dream.) And then at age 8 I won the hypothetical lottery and was “discovered” by a casting director at a children’s theater on Long Island and then sent on the road for 2 years with “Les Miserables.” Which confirmed my theory that this was what I was supposed to be doing and it would be smooth sailing from here on out.

It’s hard to describe the experience of coming back to Long Island after those 2 truly astonishing years on tour. To this day I’m struck by how formative that time was and how exceptionally lucky I was to have had it. Learning the responsibility of being professional, reliable, and adaptable has guided me through much of my life since. And the joy of being onstage every night in front of thousands of people was validating and affirming in a way that I don’t know I can articulate. I learned so much from the other actors and observed their pre-show routines, how they interacted with the backstage crew, and how they worked through their personal drama while maintaining a consistent, professional onstage presence.

The hard part came went it was over and I literally outgrew my role as waif-ish child. I missed my mother and sisters on LI so deeply and wanted to be reunited with them. But once back at home, I didn’t know how to deal with the sudden termination of my daily artistic outlet. Or the sadness of leaving my tour family behind. Yes, I started going on auditions again but it was hard to stomach the rejection when someone else got a role that I knew I could play. (Remember, there was a precedent set by my first professional audition that if I came prepared to showcase what I could do, then I would be rewarded with the chance to do it for real!) At age 10 I was trying to develop that elusive blend of emotional openness and immunity to rejection. (I’m still working on that, by the way.)

Fast forward 10 or 11 years. I finished up my college education at The University of Maryland where I studied acting and singing. I loved them equally and loved the possibility of spending my life doing a combination of the two. My father had recently passed away in the middle of my senior year at school, and I was more determined than ever to follow the path he had encouraged all those years. I moved to NYC thinking, as I had when I ended the tour as a kid, that if I showed up prepared and confident, the rest would follow…

I had an agent to help find me auditions (an enormous life raft in the swimming pool of performers in NYC), and also went on as many open calls as I could fit into my schedule. This was my first time living in a city and having to pay city rent, so my day jobs were as demanding as they were varied. (Restaurant hostess, office temp, USO entertainer, personal assistant, dog walker, church choir section leader…sometimes a few overlapping each other.) I have to admit, it sometimes took all of my energy just to work and to commute through a noisy city, and there were plenty of auditions I couldn’t show up for. Or could, and couldn’t quite deliver.

I won’t now go through my resume of the 15 years since moving here. Suffice it to say I’m often humbled and amazed when I look back at the interesting work I’ve been able to do. And the fascinating people I’ve met. There are roles I’ve played that I’m very proud of. There were times when I felt I was actually “making it” in the way I’d dreamed of as a kid. Costume fittings, opening nights, signing autographs at the stage door. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t extremely complicated and at times pretty unhealthy; this pursuit of a career in the arts. There were times when I extended my funds and my hope well beyond their limits. Opportunities to travel that I turned down on the off chance that I’d miss a great audition. I was even afraid to cut my hair or change my appearance too much, which in retrospect kept me feeling like I lived in the same old box of my own making for over a decade. I’ve also learned as I’ve gotten older that I thrive in quiet environments with lots of green, which is not exactly what comes to mind when thinking about NYC.

I want to pause for a moment and clarify something that may not be completely clear: my awakening to the complications of the career of an artist didn’t make me love the art any less. When I found the opportunities to sing, act, paint, play, I relished them. It was the commodification of that art that confused and often times eluded me. Which leads me to the crossroads where I now stand. During Covid quarantine I was exercising my creative muscle nearly every day. Singing songs to post on Facebook, making music videos with The Buttery Barmaids from our separate bedrooms, knitting up a storm, writing poetry… I was happy (the horrors of the global pandemic aside). And I wasn’t doing it with the constraints of an actor auditioning for a job, looking for an agent, looking for validation. I was doing it because it was the most natural thing in the world and made my soul feel good. Somehow I felt closer to that experience of being a kid when I just WAS the artist, no questions asked or doubts raised.

So when people now ask me if I’m afraid of leaving my career behind (whatever that means), I can honestly say I’m not. The life that’s waiting for us in our new home will have not only our love for each other and space for my creativity. It will also have room for me to live in a way I haven’t allowed myself yet. To attempt and explore new interests, hidden sides of myself. There are moments when I’m a little afraid to step out of the norm of the past 15 years, sure. But if an artist stays only in what’s comfortable, can they really hope to create something remarkable?