A few weeks into term I was sitting in my room, watching the afternoon sun sink under the carpeted mountains, and I got a blitz (like email, but better) about open auditions for a student-run production of Jean Anouilh's Antigone. I considered it for a moment, but soon put the notion aside knowing that I had enough extracurriculars to satisfy my time without the added pressure of participating in a production. A half-hour later I got another blitz from my Acting professor asking me to personally audition for the show. I balked. I consider my acting professor a brilliant, talented man -- the fact that he took time to encourage me towards opportunities in theatre was deeply flattering.
Auditions were that evening; I changed my clothes and biked to Wilson Hall, feeling underprepared and thoroughly anxious. I filled out the sheet someone handed me at the door, writing down specifically that I was interested in the show but not seeking out a huge time commitment. Soon the hallway where I sat filled with Theatre Majors, leads in previous mainstage productions, girls prettier than me, etc. Specifying a low time commitment seemed redundant, considering the turnout.
But when I picked up the scene I was to read for my audition and stepped into the room, I felt a bit more at peace, and let Anouilh's pretty phrases carry me through the dialogue without a single thought to those waiting outside. I remember the student director conducting the auditions saying, "Lovely, lovely! Lovely." And I smiled, and she mentioned something about callbacks later that night, and I trotted off to the warm land of Collis pasta, hopeful.
Another blitz: I'd been called back for the role of Antigone. Only me, and one other girl. Only me. I went and read two more scenes, and laughed as I waved away the importance of a low time commitment.
The next day, the final blitz: I had been cast as Antigone. I had been cast as Antigone! I remember standing on Baker beach in the rain talking to my parents on the phone, their exclamations of joy and pride ringing through the speaker. It was expected that my parents were proud, but the thing that caught me most off guard was the reactions of my friends: they were proud, too. Coming from a high school that was very competitive in the arts, sincere congratulations from peers were few and far between. But here, my friends scooped me up in their arms and cheered for me, accepted and embraced my passion regardless of competition or personal interest. I found myself free to enjoy the production that much more; I didn't have to prove myself to anyone or justify why I was cast -- I just had to do my best, and push myself, and get the most out of the opportunity, and perform not for the audience or for critics or for anyone who didn't get a part, but for myself.
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