On Endings

If you've asked about my dating life, you've likely heard, "Theatre is my boyfriend." Theatre takes up most of my free time, energy, and love. Each show feels like a relationship. Most of the time this is great. I get to be committed and happy and involved without actually dating anyone, and sometimes it makes it easier to forget that I am very, very single. But every show closes. Every cast dissolves. And each closing night inevitably feels like a breakup. It's not fun.

The cast of Pirates of Penzance have become some of my best friends. The Valley Center Playhouse has become like a second home to me, as the theatres always do. I don't want it to end. I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want these "breakup" feelings.

I'm a passionate person and know emotional extremes. When I'm pleased, I'm thrilled. When I love, I adore. And when I miss something, I miss it utterly and intensely. I get so attached to people-- more than normal, I think. Others may say, "I miss you" after a separation, but it's more than that. I think about people all the time that have affected my life and probably not even known it. I miss people that I don't even have a right to miss. Imagine what this means when I'm involved with a tight-knit cast like Pirates. I am going to cry at night because of these people, and that's not an exaggeration.

Caring hurts. It's easy to be happy when I'm around them, but I don't live in Provo or Orem (although I am practically in the same neighborhood as one cast member), and the odds that I will see many of these wonderful people again after our cast party aren't really that great. It breaks my heart.

I'm always glad for the memories that come with a show-- the joy, the feeling of belonging, the way I have something to do with my spare time. The end isn't bittersweet, it's difficult and sad and DO NOT WANT. During the rehearsal process it feels like performances will never come. Then during the ecstasy of performing I pretend that it will never end. If only that were the case.