Personal Heroes and Leaving This Place

Today is a day off. I couldn't sleep the night before and spent several hours on the phone with John, watching the light begin to appear between the slats of the blinds. By consequence, I woke up really late today (we're talkin' after noon here) and it'll take me a few days to get back to my normal sleep schedule.

This is a strange transitionary time in my life. I'm about to leave Miami, which has been my home for six months. It's odd. I am so excited to be out of here, but feeling a little bittersweet about leaving these people I've worked with since October. I've made friends here, started interesting relationships that won't continue on a smooth path once I'm gone. I didn't think I'd be sad to leave at all but I guess I am.

This run has not turned out as smoothly as it appeared it would. Good in a way because it allowed me the opportunity to prove myself as an adaptable and calm director a little bit more. Our Rigoletto got sick last week and cancelled for Tuesday night's show. At the last minute, we flew in Grant Youngblood, who is scheduled to sing the role at Broward County, but wasn't prepared to do it this early - a whole two weeks is a whole lot of prep time that didn't get to happen.

I was kind of a basketcase when I first heard that I was going to have to stage Grant in at the last minute, but we all came through the flying colors. He arrived at the theater at 6pm, I followed him around with my score and led him through the paces of the first act as soon as he'd been fit into his costume. He was nervous, sweaty-palmed, constantly mumbling through his lines as he wrote down frantic notes about blocking and exits.

We placed prompters on both sides of the stage and I planted myself on book behind the first wing on stage right, where most of his entrances were. He jumped in with gusto and made a great impression on the truly giving and wonderful audience. I was hopping around backstage, willing him to cross at the proper time and exit in the proper wing. Andrew, our assistant conductor, was equally pumped, prompting Grant through the hard spots and going through all of the musical tripping spots before each scene. We worked through the show an act at a time, music staff and myself invading his dressing room at intermission to get him prepped for the next act. Each intermission ended up being about ten minutes too long so that we could get him completely staged in.

Grant was an absolute rock star. He ran out on stage and handled the role with such aplomb, I was gritting my teeth and smiling broadly through the adrenalin. Every time he hit his mark and dropped to his knees at the appropriate time I would jump up and down with glee. I was so proud of how well received his performance was. I thought he did a terrific job! This kind of night is what makes live theater an amazing experience. The adrenalin floating from singers to staging staff and back was such that made the whole energy of the show prickly and fabulous. There's no way the audience didn't pick up on the electricity.

I finished the show off pumping my fists in the air, everyone around us congratulating each other and smiling. I was ecstatic and amazed at the experience. What's so funny about these types of nights is that this is what we all train for - this is the scenario we all make sure we're ready for. This is why I work in this hard, sometimes horribly raw and unhappy vocation, yet I hope I never have to deal with that type of last-minute nervousness ever again. What a strange dichotomy. I loved it and hated it all at the same time.

Grant Youngblood was my personal hero Tuesday night. It took a lot of courage to do what he did. I can't wait to see what he does with the role in Broward County, when he actually has rehearsal time to prepare.

And so we are continuing to prepare for the possibility that sickness could remain an issue to contend with. I cross my fingers that everything falls back into that healthy place but breathe a little sigh of relief knowing that I can take care of it if worse comes to worse.

And the bittersweet moment of leaving this company looms closer and larger with every bonding experience. Thank god the opera world is small . . . I am constantly running into lovely people I've worked with before. The web doesn't break just because I get on a plane.