Thespian Theories...

I've been REALLY quiet on here over the last few weeks...silent in fact. Apologies! As those who know anything about me will know, Friday night is the opening of the Tamworth Musical Society's production of Phantom of the Opera.



When I began this journey about 5 months ago I was massively excited to be a part of an AMAZING opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream. It's been one of the hardest, most painful, yet most satisfying things I've done with my music to date. I won't lie, the people in TMS are amazing, and talented, and sometimes REALLY difficult to deal with. I've been disheartened, and hurt, and offended, yet at this moment I'm on the cusp of it all being worth it.

Reflecting back on this experience got me thinking....why is it that we, as musical theatre actors, singers, stage management, producers, directors, musical directors, conductors, musicians, etc etc do this CRAZY thing that we do? What is it that drives us to pour ourselves out on to a stage that in the cold light of day is nothing but fake sets, smoke and lights??

The obvious answer is because we all have massive egos - and I'll be the first to admit that on one level that's true!!! We like the applause, we get a rush out of having people say how great we are. I think anyone whose honest will admit that they like being praised - we all do. I would also definitely say that as a kid and as a teen this was my drug of choice - the rush that came with being recognised for something that is unique, something that other people cannot do, something people WISH they could do - it was the only thing I had. I was an average student, I hated sport with a passion and I was about as uncoordinated as you can possibly get! I hung on to two weeks of the year when the Eisteddfod afforded me a decent degree of notoriety at school - I would bring in the certificates I'd gotten and feel special. I certainly didn't feel special at home that's for sure.

But I'm not at school anymore. There's no one I need to prove myself to. I'm in a job where I'm being recognised for the work that I do, for my organisation skills and for my efficiency. I am generally accepted in my workplace, and in my social circles, and if I never did another show no one would think any less of me. So the ego thing isn't entirely my motivation anymore.

So what is?

And for that matter, what is ANYONE'S motivation? The reality is that there are a LOT of people who don't get to take a bow at the end of the show - stage crew, lighting crew, pyro technicians, runners, costume people, the orchestra - all these people who remain just names in a programme. Even for me, in six months time its highly unlikely that anyone in this town will even remember I was ever in the show in the first place. I've hung in there despite the difficulties, despite even my own husband telling me to quit, despite even a torn ligament in my ankle that makes the 70 odd stairs between the dressing room and the stage incredibly frustrating and painful. I'm literally putting my physical self, my sweat, my energy, my time, my rec leave - everything - on the line.

I think the truth goes deeper than public approval. I look around at this mad, looney, exhausted, spent group of people who turn up every night during this gruelling week of tech rehearsals, their fatigued faces and bodies reflecting my own, and the truth dawned on me that perhaps the reason we do it is because we respect it. We all hold the belief that we can suspend the cruel, cold reality of this world for a couple of hours and create something out of nothing. We believe that what we do matters. We believe in beauty, in truth, in honesty, and we believe in the material so much that we'll pour ourselves out to make that material come alive for someone else.

And most of all, we want to make someone else believe in it too.

I'll never forget September 11, 2001. On that day I was at college, studying music at USQ and had rehearsals for an opera we were doing. We all turned up for rehearals our minds thousands of miles away in New York, when our director, the incomparable Harry Coghill, stood up and made an amazing speech about how what we were doing in the four walls of the theatre would resonate and radiate out into a world that desperately needs escape, and beauty, and purity. That speech has never left me and it reminds me in that moment when I'm standing backstage, listening to the overture, my heart soaring at the familiar music, that what I do on that stage over the next few weeks matters for no other reason than because it's who I am.

Until next time!

Time for an Identity Crisis....

Well hello....if you're reading this you're either one of my friends who has stumbled upon my new corner of the universe, or alternatively its at least 12 months on from when I started this and I've begun telling people about it.

So, here's the deal. 355 days from now I will be eligible to do the biggest thing I've ever done in my life - I'll qualify to have gastric sleeve surgery (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleeve_gastrectomy) This is not a decision I've made lightly - in fact I agonized over the idea for quite a while before I even mentioned it to my husband. His reaction? He would have piled me in the car and shipped me off to Sydney then and there. The only problem is that my health insurance wasn't sufficient, thus the 12 month waiting period before I can have it done.

I only found out after I made the decision that my psychologist who I've been seeing for about 6 months actually had the surgery done years ago by the same clinic I'm going to. That I guess was a kind of confirmation to me that I'm in the right place and that this is the right thing. In addition my best and dearest friend and her mother are both considering having the surgery also, so there's certainly plenty of people in my life receptive to the idea. The only problem is, I really haven't told many people about it. There's like, two people at work who know, my GP, my husband and his dad, and two of my best friends. That's about it really. And that's probably the way it will stay for quite some time. I don't really want anyone to know because it's such a massive thing to have to go through, and its kinda private - intensely personal and very daunting. I just dont want the scrutiny that always comes with this kind of thing....people at work knowing why I'm taking time off work to go get it done, and then watching every little thing I eat afterwards like a hawk. Looking at my waistline to see how much weight I've lost, swapping war stories with those who've had it done, or knows someone whose had it done, or has a friend of a friend of a friend whose had it done.....I just dont want to go through all the comments, suggestions, etc. If I get a compliment, awesome - i'm all for that - but I'm just not too keen on being under the microscope after I get it done.

So, for now this blog remains between me and whoever stumbles upon it. I do have a burning desire to document the 12 month lead up to the surgery, because it is such a big thing - and it might help someone else considering the same. I also want to start being more aware of what I eat, and how it makes me feel because I know this will be really important post surgery. I also want to start looking at my relationship with food, how it has developed to where we are now, and how it's going to change when food is no longer a major element of my life.

So, to begin, I've been thinking lately about my identity. I've always been a very chubby kid. My grandparents used to pinch my cheeks and my chubby little arms and legs and it was cute for a while - then I grew to primary school and my chubbiness was no longer cute. I've been on a diet since before I can remember because my father was also a fat kid and had a lot of issues with food and fat. So, I have vivid memories as a child being restricted in my food - we'd be at a tennis tournament and my parents would be watching every morsel I put in my mouth at the pot luck lunch. I'd get in trouble if I drank too much milk (I LOOOVEEED milk) and I learnt very early on that it was pretty easy to steal cheese slices from my grandmother's fridge when no one was looking as these would not be easily missed. By the time I was a teenager my dysfunctional love affair with food - ANY food - was well and truly cemented.

It wasn't junk food either - it was milk, bread, leftovers, cheese, anything I could get my hands on that wasn't fruit or veg. I don't really know where the food ends and I begin. The only time I was a healthy weight in my whole life was when I was 14-15 years old - I lost my baby fat and was on weight watchers with my step mother (not officially since I was too young but I was following it along with her). I remember squeeeeeeezing myself into size 13 jeans and being REALLY excited. That was the last time I was a healthy weight - and I was MISERABLE. The mental and emotional abuse I suffered as a child was at its peak around that time. When I turned 16 I went to boarding school and scoffed food like there was no tomorrow. Bread made any boarding school meal edible, and croissants on a Sunday morning were a genuinely thrilling experience.  By the time I came home from boarding school the weight was well and truly creeping back on, and boy did I hear about it from my parents. My grade 12 year was by far the worst year of my life, and not because of my weight but because of the way things were at home. I was back on weight watchers, and I looked AMAZING in my size 14 dress for formal - but from then on things were never the same. University, really crappy college food, lots of study and very little activity meant that by the time I dropped out of my first uni stint with depression I was a shadow of my former self. You can say I've been recovering ever since.

The reason I tell you all this is to point out that my whole life has revolved around my weight and food - I dont really have an identity without dieting, calories, fat, scales and binge eating. It's really hard for me to imagine not being a big eater, and only eating a cup of food at a time. And it has to be energy rich food, so gone will be my days of pigging out at Christmas time, or having a big dinner with friends, or indulging for family events. My life will no longer be coloured by smells, sounds, textures and tastes of a good roast dinner, or my favourite chicken casserole, or a big ol steak.

So who am I without food? What will I do when eating a very small meal takes an hour to eat because I have to chew really slowly? I guess I need to find out now, because soon that will be my reality, and at that point, there will be no going back.

So stay tuned - hopefully in the next 355 days I'll figure it out - and before the end I'll be prepared for the new life that lies before me!