Over the course of my first week at The Theatre School, I heard a similar speech from every single one of my professors. It went something like this: “The Great Wall of Theatre has crumbled to the ground, and it’s up to you all to rebuild it from scratch. You inspire us. You are the reason we [seasoned professionals] are still doing this. You are the change.”
Do any of us know how to say, “Actually, I don’t really know how to do that?”
I just got here. I used my newfound freedom to buy Cool Whip at Target. Give me a minute.
The pressure was daunting in and of itself (What do you mean the thing I’m spending thousands of dollars to study has unfortunately passed away? Funeral on Wednesday in the Skylight Lounge?), but hearing it after being violently hurled out of a one-and-a-half-year life hiatus was terrifying. I’m trying to learn how to be a person, and now my peers and I are tasked with reinventing the American theatre.
I went into quarantine when I was 16. Honestly, I’m not sure if that stunted or accelerated my development. I dealt with difficult experiences and had to reframe my life. I became best friends with my mom. I am now an adult. There was no gradual letting go and easing into “real life” (if it can be called that, considering I go to theatre school). I shifted from being a teenager to complete and total independence, and now the unpredictable field I chose to study is somehow even more unsteady.
It seems like we’re always “grappling with something” at TTS. Right now I am grappling with living in a new place on my own after primarily existing within the same two-mile radius for so long, and I am grappling with how much of myself I should put into building the foundation of the next 60 years of theatre. I always say that I “didn’t use my brain for a year.” Shockingly, it’s been easier to acclimate to the heavy workload than being around people—all new people at that—again. I’ve forgotten how to do small talk and pleasantries.
Hi, I’m Molly, any pronouns, I’m from Santa Cruz, California, Theatre Arts Directing, and my greatest fear is letting people down. We are now best friends. I will never speak to you again, but I will wave to you in the dining hall. When I am with others, I want to be alone; when I am alone, I want to be with others. What is the standard for communication?
Relearning how to exist with a whole new set of people has been different than I thought it would be. It’s helping that everyone is in the same place. We are all starting from ground zero, decoding the baseline expectations for existing in a new and tumultuous world. I am glad I get to transform theatrical structures and uncover what it means to be an artist today and ask “where do we go from here?” and engage with other buzzwords and overused phrases with the people around me.
Everyone is incredibly kind and well-intentioned, and it’s inspiring to see people who care so much about what they do. I come from a scrappy public high school theatre program, where stage managers were just actors taking a break because the drama during Mamma Mia was just too much. At TTS, we all acknowledge what doing theatre here, now, means. We acknowledge each other.
I’m still trying to fathom what my experience is as a BFA1 at TTS right now. At least I can fathom it in person, instead of over Zoom.