Rejection

(Please understand that I hold full conviction that the directors cast the people who will do the most lovely job, and I also am fully aware that rejection comes hand-in-hand with acting. This post is about needing the solid ground of theatre in a place that feels so unstable.)

Angles in America. Rejected.

The Room. Rejected.

Henry V. Rejected.

Laramie Project. Unknown

In the past five days, I have auditioned for four shows. I have received a callback for four shows. I have been rejected for three shows. I am awaiting the results for the fourth show, Laramie Project, which I auditioned for tonight at the callback.

I walked into the first of the auditions last Monday, Angles in America, and I felt a peace I had forgotten. It lasted less than two minutes, but it was like standing on solid ground again; it was like waking up; it was like running into the arms of my best friend. I was acting and I was alive, and for the first time since I arrived in England, I didn't feel lost. And even though every audition has lasted less than two minutes, each one of those minutes have been my happiest moments in the past two weeks.

Rejected.

Two days later, I auditioned for the Chorus in Henry V. From the Chorus’ first line, “O, for a muse of fire that would ascend/ The brightest heaven of invention!” I fell in love. For the entire play, the Chorus has six monologues. I read those monologues. I wanted those monologues. I knew I could do those monologues. I began to have visions of the potential for this role. Of the heightened level of audience interaction. Of reducing the audience to putty in my hands. Of the grand gesticulation and range of body and vocal levels. I threw myself into the first audition. I got a callback. I threw myself into the callback audition. The director complimented me. I could taste the savory sweetness of the role.

Rejected.

I cried. I cried because I need theatre back in my life. I need that foundation, that company relationship, that character empathy, that process, that release, that escape, that feeling that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing and loving it. Even if I was not cast in these shows, I know that I could do them. The directors will disagree. That is fine, because in acting I have had to learn that my self-worth cannot come from an external source. I cannot hand over something so precious and so vital and so private to another human being, because that human being will inevitably smash it. And then where would I be? Broken in a million pieces on the floor to be walked on with dirty shoes? Irreparable? No.

Rejection hurts. There is nothing nice about it. It says, “No. You were not good enough.”

But after crying and after auditioning again for Laramie Project, I have decided that I am not giving up. I love acting too much to quit. Maybe I will not be cast this semester. I will go on. I will hate it. But I will go on. I will audition again next semester. And if I do not get cast this semester, then I will write my own play.