A new chapter
Saying goodbye to make space for something new
Those of you who don’t know me well might see me as a writer, opera singer, or stressed-out, sensitive human; that is the majority of what I talk about here. But I have a day job, as many artists do. Does that mean I’m a failure? Depending on the day you ask me, I might say yes, but those are usually the days when I’m unkind and lying to myself (none of you relate to this, I’m sure.) My day job was arts adjacent, so I was often in the same room with lot of creativity. I even contributed to the process in a problem-solving way. And “day job” is a bit of a misnomer since I rarely see daylight when I’m working a contract. Ok, ok, enough of the twenty questions; I was a production stage manager. Not much of a reveal since many vital people in my life still don’t understand what that is.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with what a stage manager does, it’s basically being a ring leader in a circus. Instead of a fabulous outfit, you’re dressed in all black, covered in dust, and if you’re lucky, you get a cute little radio. When you go to a Broadway musical, you see lights, costumes, sound design, projections, set pieces, orchestra, actors, singers, and dancers, all of which require weeks of rehearsal, scheduling, and meticulous planning. From the moment the lights go out in the theater, EVERYTHING is in the hands of the stage manager. To sum it all up, no stress is involved.
I saw myself as an artist for most of my life. If anyone fell into a line of work by accident, I’m a masterclass in that. I started off as an intern and a few years later, I’m working at the Kennedy Center. I’m still confused about how it all happened. I continued to find more people popping up in my inbox asking for me to join their team. It was nice to be recognized and valued. Still, it was also frustrating to develop a reputation in my industry that veered more toward production rather than as a performing artist. My identity was wrapped up in creation, expression, and storytelling, not organization and leadership. Stage management paid the bills, it never bored me, and there was a constantly steep learning curve always challenging me in a way that I craved. It was incredible to watch a show come together before my eyes.
As exhilarating as this work was, the chapter is coming to a close.
On Friday night, I closed my final show as a stage manager. As the cast danced around the stage during the finale, I reflected on all of the artists, projects, and venues I had encountered through stage management. It was a rolodex of memories rushing back to me over a span of minutes. Because of this path, a plethora of phenomenal people are now in my life. I’ve been in the same room with creative geniuses and I don’t use that term lightly. As much as it was time to say goodbye, I became emotional to the point that I delayed turning on the work lights. I needed to compose myself before those nasty LEDs turned back on.
I’ve also been cursed out and deeply disrespected. Some of my calls for safety measures have been ignored. I’ve been sexually harassed, and many boundaries have been crossed to the point of no return. People have gone looking for the person in charge when they wanted to go around me, ending up disappointed to discover that I was the bitch in charge. I’ve experienced sexism and ageism in this field in a way that manifests differently than with my experience as a performing artist.
With all that, the negative doesn’t negate the positive. But one has to ask what they’re willing to put up with and for what cause. I’ve been leaving bread crumbs, hinting at my transition out of this job, but sometimes you just have to chuck the entire loaf to make that commitment. It’s time for a new chapter and for me to take the daunting plunge into writing and singing.
Much of my identity is wrapped up in making others happy, and stage management almost functioned as a drug that enabled the people pleaser in me. I saw it as my responsibility to make everyone happy, whether or not I had the support needed to get the task done, whether or not anyone in those environments even cared about me. I felt a vicious level of protection towards the performers I worked with. I knew what it was like to be mistreated and disrespected, and I would not allow that under my watch. I admire this trait in myself, but it came at a personal cost of exhaustion, physically and emotionally. I made dreams come true, and there is an irreplaceable joy in being a part of that process, even if I’m not the one on stage.
But it’s time.
I made many dreams come true and now it’s time for me to make space for my own.
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