This April I opened my first Broadway show: The Outsiders. It was a whirlwind, an adventure, and it was incredible: working on Broadway, on a show of my very own! This was something I’d dreamed of doing since I was a twelve-year-old middle schooler who stumbled headfirst into theatre and decided it was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
The highs were breathtaking: parties to celebrate our milestones, press events for morning and late-night shows, getting 12 Tony nominations when we had no idea what to expect with this jam-packed season, a Tony watch party where we celebrated as we won for Best Lighting, Best Sound (!!!), Best Direction, and practically cheered ourselves hoarse when they announced that The Outsiders won Best Musical.
Even better, my parents were there to support me for some of those moments. Having them there on Opening Night made me appreciate my own milestone in a way I would have missed without them there. They were my reminder that this was something special, that not everyone gets to do this kind of thing. Not only working on Broadway but achieving a childhood dream.
Some so many people knew that little girl with dreams of Broadway and when they found out I was mixing Outsiders, the grown-up me received a steady stream of congratulations and “Aren’t you just thrilled?!” as I was going into shop prep, then load in, followed by tech, and previews.
Most of the time my reactions were less than excited. Those old friends were thinking of the glamour of a dream come true as I stared down the reality of months of long days, endless stress, and fatigue of every kind. There were countless mornings when I groaned as my alarm went off before there was even a hint of light on the horizon. Load in days where I looked around the room with a sigh as I realized that I was once again the only woman on the crew, or that there were so few of us that you could count it on one hand.
One of our tech/preview days I had food poisoning and decided to suffer in silence instead of telling anyone, giving myself the excuse that no one else knew how to mix the show. So I spent any downtime during that morning work call and afternoon rehearsal with my head on the console or heading to the mercifully empty women’s bathroom in the downstairs lobby, hoping I could get to a state where I wouldn’t feel the need to mix with a trash can next to me. (Thankfully, I was functional for the show.) That was smack in the middle of six weeks working six 14-16 hour works days (80+ hour work weeks for those of you doing the math at home) before we made it to Opening.
It wasn’t easy or glamorous. But was it worth it?
Absolutely.
Maybe not the food poisoning. That I definitely should have called in sick for.
But the rest of it? 100% worth it.
There’s this thought in our culture that the highest goal we should aspire to is one where we don’t actually do anything, we’re always having a good time, and nothing is difficult. The adage that “if you do what you love you’ll never work a day in your life.”
The irony is that the exact opposite is true. But this thought lingers, so when things get hard, it causes so many people to doubt themselves until they give up. It’s not easy to slog through long days at work and come home in sweat-stained shirts with dirt ingrained in the creases of your palms.
It is easy to let doubt creep in when we’re confronted with things we don’t know or people who’ve been doing this so much longer that they make it look effortless.
When we’re starting to learn, we fall into the trap of thinking that obviously we aren’t doing something we actually love, because if we really loved it it wouldn’t feel like work, it wouldn’t feel difficult. We wouldn’t be banging our heads in frustration as we tried to solve problems because if this was actually our passion it would be effortless.
The reality is when you enjoy your job when you’re passionate about your work, and you love what you do, you’ll work harder than you ever have in your life. You’ll throw a project in the trash because you’ve tried absolutely everything, then come back and pull it out because you’ve thought of one more way you might be able to make it work. You’ll go the extra mile to organize your workflow, clean up the cable runs, double double-check everything because you’re proud of what you’re working on.
There’s an energy around a show when people are excited to be there. Where everyone wants to be a little more ambitious because they know that the whole can be so much better than the sum of its parts.
I was incredibly lucky that The Outsiders was one of those projects. From the first day, you could tell that everyone was ready to make some magic with this show. That drive and dedication to say “I have an idea” or try a hundred different solutions to scenes that “weren’t quite right” until we found the one that fit (or realized we’d had the best one along) made our show something special. It’s likely one of the reasons we won Best Musical, even with amazing contenders where so many people thought that Hell’s Kitchen had it locked, Illinoise would break the mold, Suffs would have its rallying cry or Water for Elephants would wow with its incredible acrobatics. Our passion shone through every corner of the production and people have responded to that in amazing ways, which is really what you hope for. The nominations and the awards are incredible recognition, but nothing makes the long hours and the stresses of tech worth it like hearing an entire audience gasp or seeing people leap to their feet night after night, knowing we got it right.
The jobs like that where you can point to something tangible and say “This is amazing, this is why I’m here” make it easy to justify why we chose this career, but what happens when you’re not there because you love the show? Not all pieces are “art.” Sometimes you just have to pay the bills.
When that’s the case, look to the intangibles that will help you in the future. Does this job give you more experience, better connections, or open up other opportunities? If the answer is no, it may be time to look for something else. If it’s yes, remind yourself of that when you feel exhausted and frustrated. You can’t see it now, you can’t hold onto it, but this temporary moment becomes an essential building block for a stronger foundation down the road.
Dirty Dancing was one of those shows for me. I was there to learn how to be an A1 because I wanted the Les Mis tour going out the next year. Dirty Dancing is entertainment: you’re going to have a good time, but it’s not going to change your life. I worked with wonderful people who are lifelong friends, but I had no illusions that I was going to be artistically fulfilled on that tour.
What that show did do for me was pack a massive amount of learning into a very short time. I’d had the option to stay on Phantom, potentially move up when the A1 left, and then learn as we moved the show every 2 weeks. Instead, I encountered a lot of raised eyebrows as I took a smaller tour that moved multiple times a week. It was the harder, more labor-intensive option, but it was the right one. In one year I moved Dirty Dancing more times than I would have in three or four years on Phantom and got better that much faster at being an A1. Anytime I felt confused or ready to call it quits, I reminded myself that this was working towards a goal, this was a stepping stone and a temporary situation as I learned and improved.
When you don’t have a concrete goal in front of you (or forget that you do), you have a tendency to fall into the trap of self-doubt and wonder what all the hard work is actually for.
I’ve run into some new stagehands who’ve looked at me, already dejected when they’ve barely even started, and said “I don’t think I can do this.” To those people, I tell them to give it time and we’ll talk again in a few weeks. To give themselves the space to learn how to do the job and how to ask questions. So far I’ve yet to have anyone come back to me and still feel like they’re floundering.
This has also come up in troubleshooting. Now, I’ve reached a point where I can troubleshoot most problems over the phone without having to look at the gear. When I remotely pinpoint the problem I usually get a frustrated sigh of, “How do you know that?!” I try to remind them that I have over ten years of experience. Ten. Years. Over a decade of yelling and grumbling at gear while I searched through menus or looked up user manuals. I’ve learned the most likely fails and the best questions to ask to narrow down the possibilities, but that took time. A lot of it.
Those who aren’t plagued with self-doubt tend to veer in the opposite direction and just want to skip to the “easy” part. They want to go on tour, but not one-nighters. They want to be a designer, not an assistant. They want to work on Broadway, not the smaller Off and Off-Off Broadway shows. These are the people who forget that cheat codes are best left in video games. The jobs that get your foot in the door will prepare you one hundred times better for that future dream job than getting dropped in the middle of that amazing gig with little experience and no network to act as a safety net.
Shows don’t get easier, they just get bigger. Bigger budgets, higher stakes, less margin for error. Yes, on The Outsiders I don’t have to move from theatre to theatre, so the physical labor is less, but the shows where there hasn’t been a producer, director, choreographer, composer, or other creative in the house are few and far between. There is a microscope constantly on this show and it never lets up.
Even now, some people hear that I moved to the city last year and think it’s a Cinderella story that I already have my own Broadway show. I remind them of the time I spent on tour. Ten years that gave me the skills to stay calm under pressure, to develop systems that make me efficient, and a habit of responsibility so my designers and creatives know that I will take good care of my show. I wouldn’t be able to handle this show if I hadn’t had all the practice over the years on smaller ones.
The jobs that seem overly difficult or thankless are usually the ones that do the best job of preparing you for your future. The days that you question if you can do this are the days you start figuring it out. It’s not always easy or fun, but it’s necessary. Dream jobs require a lot of work not only to get to them, but to be in them, and that’s what makes them worth the journey. Let’s be honest, most of us who end up in this industry would be terribly bored without a good challenge anyway.
