When Do You Realize You’re Home?

Isaiah Reed (Greg) and Justin Swann-Hall (Director); Image courtesy of Isaiah Reed

Theatre is a collaborative art, more so than most. As such,

people within theatre groups build relationships, talent, a home.

This is especially the case in college theatre. A group of

performers become an inside group that newcomers may feel

intimidated by. They may feel the need to earn their spot. This

was especially the case for a younger me.

Almost three years ago, I was a freshly eighteen, college freshman

with frighteningly little theatre experience, a small fish in an

incredibly talented pond. And it stayed that way for a good few

months. As you can expect, this created some rather bad imposter

syndrome. Every night, I would go to rehearsal and do everything

that I could, only to watch others do so much more with little

effort. I’d watch them play off each other (both on and

off-stage) as if everybody had known each other for years; I was

an intruder. Then comes the second semester.

To this day, I still believe the director took a gamble on me.

Our play for the second semester was called “Sylvia," a rather

small cast of four, meaning, competitive auditions. Our theatre

group was small, but not four people small. There was only one

male character in the cast, not the titular character but

arguably the lead role. I happened to be one of two men in the

group, the other fitting the description of the character almost

perfectly. I resigned myself to the same as usual. The day after

auditions, I looked at the cast list and... I got the lead role! I

landed the male character that I was sure I would never get. As

thrilling as it was, I was horrified. Not only did I swipe this

role from the man who fit the character perfectly, but I was the

only freshman in a cast full of seniors. On one hand, this is

what I’ve been asking for: a chance to prove myself, build my

craft and see what I’m really capable of. On the other hand, this

is make or break. If I can’t prove myself and do this role

justice, I may not get the opportunity again. This was my chance

to prove that I belong.

Lita Van (Sylvia) and Isaiah Reed (Greg); Image courtesy of Isaiah Reed 

The next month or so was dedicated to me building myself up as an

actor. Down to the last-minute detail, everything that comes

naturally to me now, I had to learn. Down to the way I walked and

talked, I slowly began bringing this character to life. I wasn’t

amazing, but there was undoubtedly potential. Potential that, with

this kind of work and (feigning) confidence, I could be just as

talented as everybody else. And the seniors I was cast alongside

did everything they could to support me, both as an actor and a

person. They brought me out to lunch with them, made sure my

voice was heard, and that I didn’t feel like an outsider. Invited

me to really feel like a part of them. And I did. I was still a

little fish, but I was growing and people saw that.

Of course, with growing, comes growing pains. My voice was very

quiet, and I found it hard to project to a point where my voice

was overshadowed by my costars. The director threatened to put a

microphone on me. I found myself very unaware of the culture that

my friends participated in to a point where I looked silly trying

to fit into certain things that I clearly had no idea about.

Samantha Overton (Tom/Phyllis/Leslie), Alyssa Nelson (Kate), Lita Van (Sylvia) and Isaiah Reed (Greg); Image courtesy of Isaiah Reed 

These are the types of roadblocks that come with coming into your

own. Of course, I did overcome these roadblocks. When we closed

“Sylvia” and took our final bows, I was filled with a rush of

pride that I’ve never quite felt before. I felt part of

something, something important. I knew that I had skill, as well

as potential to grow that skill even more. I knew that I had

friends who I could come to for community. I wasn’t an intruder.

I was home.