I find it extremely annoying when people try to fabricate lessons out of regular life events. I once went on a date where my escort took me to a dance concert. On the way there, he said "Wouldn't it be fun to look for all of the lessons you can learn from this activity and then discuss them afterward?" I laughed, because I thought -- hoped really -- that he was kidding. He wasn't. So, I had to make up a bunch of stuff I learned by watching a dance concert. It was a weird date. I just don't think that absolutely
everything that everybody does during the day has quite that much significance. Can't we just sit back and enjoy life once in awhile? Or even twice in awhile? Am I allowed to just watch a ballroom dance concert without having to think about things like, "Wow, when you work really hard together, you can accomplish things waaaay more impressive than you could do on your own" or "when even one person is out of sync, it throws the entire family out of whack until you can all adjust."
And now that I have that rant out of the way, I'm going to break my own arrogant rule, because I've been thinking about this particular metaphor a lot lately and I think it's pretty profound. It's profound to me, anyway. As I dissect that period in my life and apply it to now, I'm learning quite a bit about the way I approach events...and how much I still don't have figured out.
(Actually, this is more of a parable -- or maybe even a rime -- than a metaphor (as in "
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" which is a super-long poem that I managed to slog through in a college poetry class, and now see references to everywhere in literature -- most notably, the "albatross around the neck" imagery). The following story is too long to be a metaphor, but since I love my blog title, I'm leaving it as is.)
**WARNING -- this post is very long**
The Story
I was first exposed to the Madrigals during an assembly at my Junior high school. I remember sitting audience left, and watching the singers closest to me as they sang in perfect sync with the rest of the 24-person group. I still remember who some of them were. Six singers sang each choral part, and when they broke into 8 part harmony, my music-loving heart was overwhelmed. The most amazing part? They didn't need a director. One person in the front blew into a pitch-pipe, another subtly nodded her head so they could all keep the beat, and everyone knew their parts and sang with intensity and a smile. They were amazing.
I knew then that I wanted to be a Madrigal someday.
I had a voice that most of my acquaintances agreed was very pretty, so I went about finding out what I needed to do to become one of "The Mads." At the high school, you needed to take at least a year of one of the other choirs, you needed to audition (of course), and when called back you had to pass a "sight-singing" test, meaning, I had to be able to read music.
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| Choir girls! |
I enrolled and participated in one of the choirs for my Sophomore year, and when in the Spring it came time to audition for Mads the next year I decided against it. Very few Juniors were ever selected, and I wanted a bit more practice with sight-reading. I realized I was putting all of my eggs in one basket -- one shot to make it or break it -- but I knew that I fit all of the requirements, so I enrolled and participated in A'Cappella the next year.
The next spring, just before auditions for Madrigals for my Senior year, we had auditions for the Fall musical, which was
My Fair Lady. I auditioned and was called back with three other girls for Eliza Doolittle. I didn't get the part. I was very disappointed because she was the only lead female who sings, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I'd be in Madrigals, so it would even out. I wouldn't be a complete unknown.
When it came time for the auditions, I was ready. I sang a song that I knew I rocked, and everyone who was listening (consisting of everyone else auditioning and a ton of interested observers) said that I did really well. When I filled out my audition form, there was a section that said, "What priority would you give Madrigals, if selected?" I love to sing more than any other activity in the world. I remember thinking "It would be my first priority -- even before theatre." At that time I had a reputation as a true theatre-junkie who not only did as many school plays as she could, but was also active in community theatre. I did seven different plays each during my Sophomore and Junior years. But I decided that the last part of my thought was overkill, and wrote simply, "Madrigals would be my first priority."
I was called back. So far so good. My sight-singing went okay; I hit all the notes but got muddled with the timing. But as I looked around at all of my friends my confidence was high. I was going to be a Madrigal. I just
knew it. I couldn't wait to see my name on the list outside of the choir room.
Unfortunately, I
had to wait. It seemed like forever but was probably only a week. For some reason, I didn't remember it taking so long the year before, but that was probably because I didn't have so much invested that time.
Finally,
finallyThis was it! I was going to see my name and my dream was going to come true! I pushed my way to the list and stood in front of my friend Michelle (who was almost six foot and had no trouble seeing over my head) and gleefully scanned the names.
My name was not on the list.
I went numb, and it took a few seconds for it to register.
When I could finally accept that I was not a first or second soprano, or a first or second alto, and I realized I had to get out of the way so that others could see the list, I turned to Michelle -- who WAS on the list -- said, "Congratulations" and burst into tears. All of my best friends in choir had made the cut, and I hadn't. Instead, I was the nobody who everyone felt sorry for. I learned that day there's no such thing as a "sure thing"; I've never been able to take an audition for granted since.
The last few weeks of school were awful. It was bad enough that my dreams had been dashed, but then I started hearing rumors from reputable sources stating things like the reason why it took the choir director, Mr. Lee, so long to decide was because he was back and forth whether to choose me or so-and-so. So, then every time I saw that girl for the next year I thought, "If it hadn't been for you, I would have been in Madrigals." And Mr. Lee even pulled me aside one day, said that he was sorry that I didn't make it, but "at least you still have theatre, right?" I could have died. For the rest of my life I'll wish I put "It would be my first priority -- even before theatre" on that audition form. He was so kind, and obviously trying to make me feel better, so I agreed and found a private place to start crying all over again.
I decided to sign up for A'Cappella my Senior year, knowing that all of the Madrigals would be in the class, and hoping that it wouldn't hurt to see them every other day and be reminded of what I had lost. After all, I still loved to sing, I loved the choir, and I loved my friends. But that first day was torture. Mr. Lee took all of the sopranos into another room to determine if we were first or second sopranos. If we didn't know, he'd have us run a few scales. Well, each of my friends responded with a "Well, I'm a first soprano in Mads" or "I'm a second soprano in Mads." I hated them. I was filled with jealousy and raw pain so acute that I wanted to scream and hit them.
I had decided to quit the class, until I heard Mr. Lee say my name. Shocked, I listened as he explained he wanted me to be one of the two secretaries for the choir, to take roll and help organize selecting a dress and so forth. I was surprised to hear that the other girl wasn't in Madrigals either -- usually one of the secretaries was. I said, "Yes" and made it my goal to work hard and not let myself regret it. I stayed true to that goal.
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The Fantastic Mr. Santa Claus --
how I wish the Children's Theater
would do it again! |
I stayed in A'Cappella and most days it wasn't too painful. The Madrigals practiced outside of school, and I just kept doing what I had been doing -- namely, as many plays as I could. Since I wasn't in Madrigals, my Christmas season wasn't terribly busy I even did a play in December, which I hadn't done the previous years. This turned out to be a good decision, because during the Christmas Choir concert, I became so upset when the Madrigals sang that I had to leave the auditorium. It was too hideous to see them sing those songs when I had wanted for so long to belong. I cried in the lobby for their entire set list.
Somehow, it seemed like I
just missed being the star in every play that year. I played a lot of small parts, and my drama teacher told the entire
My Fair Lady cast one day that I had the BEST cockney accent, and I had a lot of fun, but my fragile 18 year old ego rankled that I always seemed to be the girl people were entertained by but didn't remember afterwards. Even when it came to drama competitions, I always came in fourth, which meant that I didn't get to advance to the next level.
We came again to the end of the year: time for the annual "Disneyland Choir Tour." Basically, you sign up, pay for the trip, go to extra rehearsals to learn the songs and dances, and then get a on a bus with all your friends to perform and play in Las Vegas and Disneyland (we also visited Universal Studios, but didn't perform there). The Madrigals were all pretty much required to go, and the rest of us could sign up until the bus was full (assuming the guy/girl ratio wasn't too off... you need male voices in a choir). This year was a bit different, because instead of going after the school year had ended, we went the week before Memorial Day, so we had a few weeks left of school when we returned.
The trip was a blast! What better than fifty or so teen-aged friends crammed onto a bus for days on end, then running around in the southern California sun? I'd gone on the choir trip the year before, but somehow I only remember performing at Disneyland during my Senior year. We took a billion photos to commemorate our awesomeness. The best part was that we knew we'd still have two weeks back in school to solidify new friendships made on the trip... that was the hard part about scheduling the trip at the end of the year.
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Universal Studios
My fanny pack is awesome |
On the one Sunday we were on the tour, we visited the
Los Angeles Temple. This was cool for me, because my parents were married there, and to my knowledge I had never seen it in person. I imagined my parents as newlyweds and wondered what the future would hold for me. I had a crush on one of the guys in the choir and hoped we'd get to spend more time together after the tour.
I don't remember if the whole choir got to perform in the Visitor's Center, but I know the Madrigals did. I'd managed to watch their performance during the Spring concert, but just like at Christmas, I couldn't do it this time. It just crashed in on me that they had all had a year to bond with each other, and had amazing experiences, and I had not been a part of it.
Again, I left the room to find a place to cry. My friend Laura S. found me and comforted me until she could ask what was wrong. I told her. I felt sorry for myself that I didn't get to be in Madrigals. I had wanted it for years, did everything I thought I could to make it happen, and I'd spent the whole year watching all my other friends grow closer through an experience that I couldn't share. My Senior year hadn't been anything like I had wanted it to be. I felt so small and empty and pathetic.
She said, "Megan, would you have been able to do City Rep if you hadn't been in Mads?"
That brought me up short.
I've painted a doom-and-gloom picture, but really my overall Senior year was a positive experience. It just wasn't the one I had always hoped for. I had thought being in Madrigals would make me important. I'd wanted to belong to the elite singing group so that I could know that I was one of the very special, talented ones. When that didn't happen, I didn't know where I belonged. So, I just kinda did what I'd always done, tried to be happy for my friends, tried to not think "what if" too often. What else could I do? I'd given it my best and it hadn't worked out. I still had to live my life, so I did it the only way I knew how.
An Observation
I happened to hang out with a group of Madrigals a few years ago, and they all started reminiscing about the good times they spent together and talking about how they should do a Mads reunion. I apologetically interrupted and said, "Um, guys. I wasn't in Mads. I'm not a part of that group." To my surprise, none of them remembered this seemingly significant fact. Short of my actually sharing the Mads experiences with them, they considered me part of the group. The amazing singer divide had been all in my head; they had never looked at themselves as better than I was. They didn't treat me any differently than they were because in their opinion I belonged there. It was quite an eye-opener to me. I may have felt left out, but it wasn't because they purposely excluded me. My friends were, and still are, awesome.
How does the story apply to me now?
I wonder if you're thinking "How in the world is that freakishly long story a metaphor?"
Well, I've decided that I haven't changed much since high school. I still approach things the same way.
My life has totally NOT turned out the way I thought it would. I thought that I would marry somewhat young (like, my last year of college), have kids pretty soon, and never had to work or support myself. I NEVER would have imagined that I'd be thirty-three, a career-ish woman, and on my own.
My mom got married when she was twenty-one, so I took for granted that I'd get married at twenty-one, too. But when I was twenty-one, I went on a mission instead. During my mission, some of my companions (I had two at the time) and I made up futures for each other (that was the companionship I where I compared our personalities with
Designing Women -- I was
Annie Potts-- and
Golden Girls -- I was
Sophia, of course). My companions decided I was going to be married at twenty-four and-a-half, do a lot of travelling with my husband, and start having kids at age twenty-seven. By the time I was thirty-three I was supposed to have three kids.
That was the expectation, and now that it hasn't happened I have a hard time not feeling cheated. I sometimes see my SAHM friends with their one-to-four kids and am overcome with jealousy. I hear them complain about their husbands and wish I could complain about mine, too. I love them and celebrate their joys and commiserate with their sadness and force myself not to wish I were in their shoes.
I continue to do what I've always done. I do whatever feels natural and I try not to question it. I graduated with a Bachelor's degree in English, and when the editing/newspaper jobs didn't come I took another job that seemed likely. Now I'm doing technical writing and I quite like it. I never thought I could work for a living, and was afraid that I wouldn't be able to support myself. Not only have I learned that I CAN support myself, but aside from my mortgage I've never been in serious debt.
I continue to do theatre, because why not? I'm coming into my stride and finally getting the good parts I wanted in high school. I've made a list of dream roles and am looking for opportunities to sing and perform. I won't always be young and cute (old and cute, maybe, but not young forever) and I'm taking advantage of it while I can.
I save my money and paid time off so I can travel and see as many places on my bucket list as I can.
I enjoy my life as much as I always have, because I have the nagging feeling that this way of life won't last. And I hope it doesn't.
But I feel like there's a time-bomb over my head and I won't know when it's going to go off. Will my life ever change? Would I know what to do with myself if it did? I'm afraid to make long-term plans because I don't know what's going to happen one, five, or ten years from now. Buying the condo was hard for me, because it was yet something else I didn't think I'd do alone. I never planned for a career, and I don't know if I want to do what I'm doing for the rest of my life, should it come to that.
I know that life isn't static -- I change with every experience every day.
My main desire for this life is still to be a wife and mother. If I met the right guy tomorrow I wouldn't hesitate giving up my current life, just like if there had been a spot for me in Mads I would have taken it in an instant. Last choice is still chosen. Dating and marriage ares not something I have total control over and that worries me.
At the same time, there's something comforting in knowing that my life situation doesn't mean that I'm not good enough -- I just haven't found the right person... or I have but neither of us know it yet. Was I talented and dedicated enough to have been in Madrigals? Yes, I was. Am I cute and fun and smart and loyal and forgiving and dedicated enough to be a good wife someday? Absolutely.
Conclusion
Eight years after high school ended, I was lucky enough to be cast in
A Christmas Carol at
Hale Center Theatre in West Valley. I was part of an octet -- a group a third as large as the Madrigal choir. It was supremely cool singing with those other seven (well, fourteen, counting the other cast) talented performers. Years after the Madrigal disappointment, I still got to be part of an elite singing group. The Hale and my fellow octitians will never know how much that experience meant to me. My favorite memories from that show are standing in a circle around the piano, singing my heart out, and amazing music director Anne Puzey not having anything to tweak in our performance. It made for an awesome Christmas and still makes me happy when I think about it. That's the reason I continued to audition for so many years afterwards, even though I haven't been cast again. It was totally worth all the fear of rejection!
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| Wassail, wassail to my M/W/F cast! |
My married time will come. I have a hard time believing that if I live for another thirty years that I won't get married SOME time between now and death. It'll be different than I anticipate, but it will be just as worth it.
So, there you have it: my Madrigal/marriage metaphor. If you made it all the way through to the end, you're either a really good friend, or I did an okay job with my story-telling. Either way, thanks for sticking with me!
