Thanksgiving for my Profession

A 1972 Crew at the University of Montevallo Theatre

“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.” Jacques in William Shakespeare’s As You Like It

In November, many people think about giving thanks for aspects of their lives. Of course, I am grateful for my zany family and several groups of thoughtful friends, a house to house me and a car to drive, and numerous other material and intangible things that fill my days. But, I am especially wonder-filled and indebted to my career in theatre.

I looked up a FlashPoint Leadership survey, and found that of all the pieces of their lives, people are less likely to be grateful for their jobs than any other part. In fact, this study found that only sixty percent of us ever feel gratitude at or for our work. 

I didn’t go to college at the University of Montevallo to major in theatre. My calling at the time was painting and writing, and I double majored in Art and English, hoping really to go into illustration and journalism, or studio art and writing. Some really intriguing, stimulating friends I made early that September of 1968 drew me into darkened auditoriums where play rehearsals were unfolding, and into bespattered and chaotic scene shops where students painted huge canvases, and up into lighting crannies where even Freshmen were allowed to focus lekos and frenels (new words for me — they are lighting instruments!).

Theatre intrigued me. I was used to creating art, and writing words. I knew that artists took their medium and bent, squeezed, cajoled, spun, and loved their works into life. I had taken ballet and piano, and I understood the effort, sacrifice, focus, study, and drills needed to improve and even exceed expectations in the arts.

But I had never worked in that collaborative sphere where actors employed their bodies; scene designers used visual art; costumiers manipulated fabrics; lighting designers wielded rays; tech crews operated ropes and ladders, levers and hammers; and directors brought all of that work, skill, and talent together to bring a script to life! Just six weeks before the curtains rose on opening night, nothing was there.

Well, the boards of the stage, the velvet drapes, the batons — those were in place. But there was nothing. And then there was an ephemeral life brimming with movement, sounds, and visions on the stage. A story was told. An audience watched in amazement, feeling never-before sentiments, thinking new thoughts, appreciating different characters. All of this was done with a couple of faculty members and a few dozen students. It was brilliant. Creating life onstage was god-like. Powerful. Impactful. Meaningful. And then it was gone.

That ephemeral aspect of the experience was intoxicating. But there was more! The time — I discovered — in between casting a show with its first read-through until the bows for the closing curtain were filled with magical times.

I experienced student actors grow from wondering how to deliver a line and stumbling over blocking (learning positions onstage) to becoming life-like characters very different from their own selves. Friends working on lighting learned how to use gels correctly to add certain moods to scenes. Those of us painting scenery quickly found how to wash colors onto huge canvases and how to spatter them to soften the look. The costume assistants honed skills of sewing and draping and creating their own patterns.

Okay, sometimes there were rough stretches, too. Long rehearsals and extended shop hours forced me to balance my studies with the pressure of showing up and doing an excellent  job with my technical responsibilities. I remember running follow spot on a show and wearing my hard contacts so long during extended rehearsals that my eyes still can’t tolerate wearing even soft lenses. But in the end, motivation and commitment pushed me through.

And, it was here that I learned teamwork and collaboration, delivering a quality show in a very short time period, adjusting with aplomb when something went awry, producing something bigger than myself with other people, contributing to a huge project that gave so many of us creative fulfillment and immense reward.

When I think that if I had become a writer or studio artist, I would have gravitated toward my reclusive tendencies, I thank the Universe for inviting me into the theatre where I was required to concoct projects with other people. In the meantime, I discovered a petri dish to grow self-disciple and self-confidence, alongside respect for my fellow workers and those in authority. I found leadership skills and a healthy self image, goal-oriented work and the skill to work under pressure, failure and bouncing back, dedication and concentration, and so much more.

So, this Thanksgiving, I am giving thanks for my profession. Do you give thanks for yours? Do you want to join the theatre?