The Intro – Growing Up a Performer (Part 2 of 4)

Back to my new acquaintance. I have met so many new and lovely people. I have, however, been asked many questions that seem strange to me. It’s not that I’m offended- I’m sure I also accidentally say things that could offend someone else, so I do my best to be understanding. And honestly, I love explaining my life choices, because it gives me a chance to share my beliefs with other people. It’s just that I have a different perspective than they do, so some of the questions I get confuse me. Here are a few of them:

• You’re letting him do this?
• How long will you give this (before you need to come back to reality)?
• Why would you choose that kind of life?
• Aren’t you afraid that you’ll lose him to that world (because actors are as famous for what they do off-screen as for what they do on-screen)?
• Is he getting any jobs?
• What do you think about it?

Well… I hope by giving you a glimpse into our lives you’ll be able to answer those questions on your own.

I think, to help you understand better, you’ll have to let me backup… to elementary school. No worries… I’m just going to summarize my whole life in one blog post. 😉

In fourth grade, they had auditions for the school choir. The choir teacher went to every classroom and had each class sing “Happy Birthday.” She would listen to everyone sing, and walk back and forth down the rows of children. If she tapped you on the shoulder, you were invited to be in the choir. If she did not, then you weren’t. I wanted so desperately to be picked. The day the choir director came to my class, I was not tapped.

“I know you didn’t pick me, but

can I please be in the choir?”

I was devastated. The whole rest of the day, I felt sick to my stomach. Then, seeing the choir director walking across the playground after school, I determined to do something about it. I marched my timid nine-year-old self over to her and asked, with a depth of feeling that can only come from childlike passion and desire, if I could please be in the choir. That sweet choir teacher said the only acceptable answer: “Yes! Of course!” I guess that’s when it really took hold of me… this passion for something that I loved. Something that made an unassertive girl find her courage enough to approach an adult and “change her stars.”

From then on, music was my life. I was in choir throughout elementary school and junior high. I started singing in vocal competitions. In eighth grade I auditioned for my first musical and was instantly hooked. And, of course, I joined the high school choir. Throughout high school, musical theater and choir were my entire world. I was talented, and passionate, and my teachers noticed. I started getting lead roles my sophomore year, well ahead of traditional expectations. I’m not saying this to brag, but to show how much I loved it. I passed up joining sports or any clubs that could possibly make it hard for me to be at every rehearsal and performance. I was wholly devoted to the art.

As a graduating senior, I decided that what I wanted to be, more than anything else, was a professional Broadway actress. I wanted to be on stage and feel the thrill of performing. The details on why that didn’t happen is a story for a different post. But my formative years as a performer are important to the story. To keep it short, let’s just say, God wanted me somewhere else. And I’m proud of the choices that led me to my darling husband and eternal best friend. By the time I met him, I had shifted focus, and was studying music therapy at Utah State University.

At the time, Ben was a vocal performance major. He had been singing and performing since he was young, as well. He had been the lead in a few musicals, been in the high school all-state choir, and been the youngest general ensemble member in the history of a professional opera and musical theater company. He wanted to be the next Josh Groban. I believed he would be. I had always wanted to marry a tenor. My dream had come true; he was everything I ever hoped he’d be, and more.

But life has a way of busting our fairy tales. As soon as we announced our engagement, he heard it all from the realists:

“What kind of a life would you be able to provide?”

“That’s not really a stable career…”

“What will you do in the meantime? You should probably get a real job first.”

“You and thousands more.”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up.”

“What’s your backup plan?”

My newlywed hubby made a very tough and selfless choice. He decided to give it up, for us and our future family. They were right. The realists were right. To pursue a career in performing was asking for a hard life. He would have had to travel frequently. He would have had to fight for jobs. He would have less opportunities because of our high moral standards. He might go weeks or months without sufficient income to provide for a family. He’d probably need to have another full time job on top of performing to make it work. He’d likely see me infrequently. If we had children, he’d see them sporadically. And who’s to say it would be worth much of anything in the end? What if, after every sacrifice, he didn’t succeed? The cost was too high. The benefits too few. So he left it behind.

He changed his major to something more “practical,” business. He hated it. He changed majors again. And again. And again. He had more jobs than majors. He worked as a bank teller and then a banker, a football coach, an elementary school teacher’s aide, a youth counselor, a journalist, a financial consultant, and eventually found himself as the director of a non-profit.

During this time, our income was often unstable, and usually limited. Because of our situation, we were forced to learn some valuable skills and habits. I learned to sew clothes. We started helping a dear friend on his acre-plus size garden, where I learned how to grow things. I learned to make a lot of homemade snacks. I learned how to preserve foods. Sometimes we had to wait until we got home at 7 or 8 pm (or later) to have dinner. We learned how to make money stretch. I learned the difference between needs and wants.

One of my favorite books is Peter Pan,  by J.M. Barrie. It begins by saying, “All children, except one, grow up.” I guess this was our growing up time. And real life quickly teaches you that growing up means leaving behind the fantasies and dreams.

The Intro – Take It Away (Part 3 of 4)