The Parting of the Ways

I did at least one musical a year for eight years straight. Then I quit. I was graduating high school, and I wanted to focus on my degree.

For years, I did no theatre. I missed it, but I didn't have the time or the energy to devote to frequent rehearsals and weeks or performances. Then, one Sunday, I saw Goldfinger at a fireside.

I really didn't know Goldfinger. I'd seen him perform with the local improv troupe for years. In fact, one night he irritated me by trying to talk to me after the show while I was waiting for one of my parents to pick me up. If I recall correctly, he was trying to inform me that the theatre would be turning off its lights soon and/or making sure that I would be able to get home okay, but I usually don't like it when people I don't know approach me, even when they're trying to be helpful. I was not very responsive. A year and a half later, I saw him at Older Sister's mission farewell, where we were formally introduced. He kept listening to my conversation with Little Sister and laughing.

When I saw Goldfinger at the fireside, he remembered me. He asked about Older Sister and then blurted out, "The troupe is having open auditions on Tuesday. You should come."

I was taken aback, because although I had a lot of musical theatre experience, I didn't think he knew that. Plus I knew nothing about improv theatre. So I politely declined.

Now I tell you what, up to this point I'd only had one audition experience that I would call "spiritual." It was when I auditioned for Anne of Green Gables. At that age I'd been in three theatrical productions and was working on a fourth, but I'd never ever had any lines or been featured in any way. All of my productions had been through a children's theatre program where you paid a fee to participate, so I'd never even had a real audition. I don't think anyone thought I actually had any aptitude for theatre. I was a body to fill up the space in the chorus, and that's all. So when I saw the poster for Anne of Green Gables, I shouldn't have felt as strongly about auditioning as I did. Later in life, I realized that feeling as a prompting.

The last thing that I expected was to feel a prompting about auditioning for an improv troupe. Sure, I loved improv...as an audience member! I admired the skills Goldfinger and his colleagues possessed, but I didn't think I had them. Besides, some of the things I loved most about being in structured theatre were a) getting to be someone else rather than presenting myself to the audience as Awkward Mormon Girl Obnoxious, b) knowing exactly what I was supposed to say or supposed to do (unlike in real life, where maneuvering unexpected social situations was completely beyond me), and c) getting the chance to do the same thing over and over again; if I messed up one time, I could always do better the next. Improv had none of those things. Improv was the exact opposite of those things.

In spite of all this, though, I felt like I should go to the audition. I mean, yes, how awesome would it be if I did well at the audition and I got to work with this troupe that I'd been a fan of for years? I did consider that. The greater part of the feeling, though, was that this was something that God wanted me to do. So I decided that, what the hey, I would go to the audition.

This was back in the day when I didn't drive much, and when I headed to the audition after institute, I couldn't remember how to get to the theatre! I showed up rather late, which was extremely unprofessional and embarrassing and, for most theatrical opportunities, would have automatically disqualified me. Yet in this instance, I was still allowed to audition.

Like I said, I knew next to nothing about improv, so throughout the audition I just had to follow my basic knowledge of theatre, my own instincts, and what I'd gleaned from watching many improv comedy shows. At the end of the audition, I was surprised to realize that I'd done all right. In fact, if the comments a few of the troupe members gave me afterward were any indication, I'd done pretty darn well. And, now that I'd dipped my toes back into theatre, I not only hoped the troupe would invite me back...I knew that if they did, I probably wouldn't be able stay away.

Happily, they offered me a chance to workshop with them and learn some actual improv skills. I worked hard and had fun, and at the end of the workshop, they invited me to join the troupe.

I came to appreciate the "throwaway genius" of improv. Lack of repetition, I realized, could be a gift. Instead of trying to replicate my own performance night after night, each show was a do-over, a completely fresh opportunity.

There were some improv things that I learned to do really well. There were some things I never quite grasped, and there were some things I naturally excelled at in the beginning but which I lost under the weight of the knowledge of improv theory. All in all, though, it was a great experience with great people.

After four years, I got another prompting. This time, the prompting was not to audition, but to leave. So I left.

It was hard, because a lot of people wanted me to stay. I questioned my decision multiple times, especially as my last show loomed closer and closer. But I felt like it was the right thing to do. I felt (and still feel) like Heavenly Father wanted something else for me. Although the commitment to an improv troupe doesn't require the almost nightly commitment of a musical, musicals end. I found improv troupes require a greater commitment, just spread out over a longer period of time. That was all right with me...until suddenly, it wasn't. I know that's not a super rational explanation, but I feel like all will be made clear to me in time.

My last show was sad but also happy. A lot of kind friends and family came to see me. My troupe saw me off in a grand style, with flowers and a card.

I don't know what, exactly, lies in my future that will replace improv. I do know that someday, when I look back, I'll know why I left when I did. Sometimes, a guarantee on the future is all we can hope for.