Filling Your Space

Pictured above is a random empty theater hall. What shall we fill up this big, cavernous space with?

You thought "people," right?

That's what I'd thought too. Until this spring. I was privileged to dance in "La Traviata" in Colorado Springs with Opera Theatre of the Rockies. Pikes Peak Center was bigger than most theaters I'd ever performed in. It was also my first time in an opera. I was deeply touched and impacted by the amount of talent and hard work I experienced while hanging out with these vocalists. Ironically, they in turn acted like the dancing my partner and I did was beyond their highest expectations-- my confidence as a performer skyrocketed due to the appreciation and many compliments I was given during this run.

The biggest lesson I learned during "La Traviata," however, was an important one. Here's what I found the first time I stepped onstage, and realized how large the space was (and, at that point, filled with what seemed like a million empty seats in front of me): In order to make any type of impression on our soon to be audiences, I was going to have to increase my stage energy and "power" tenfold. Having been a performer since age eight, I have learned intrinsically that your personal space must swell out to include every single person in every single seat, all the way out to the back row of the balcony. If your gestures and body language choices do not translate out to the back wall, your performance becomes obsolete. No one will understand your character, intentions, or emotions unless they are sitting in the front row. Simple facial expressions aren't even enough.

Standing out on that stage for the first time, I was scared. How could I fill that huge theater space with the energy it demanded?

I had no choice. For a minute, I let myself feel the fear the great cavern in front of me evoked, and think thoughts of not being able to touch every single audience member. Then I prayed. Then, it was Peter's and my turn to rehearse our part for the party scene of the opera. I forced myself to hurl, cast, and throw my dancing and acting energy out to the back of the balcony, far more forcefully than I ever have done in the smaller theaters I'd previously performed in. Not done in a ridiculous, fling-y way-- but in a way that simply opened up the center of my soul and tossed it outward, through my body movement, more potently then normal. My goal was to fill that theater hall  top to bottom.

The feeling was glorious.

Peter and I as The Toreador and The Gypsy in "La Traviata" with Opera Theatre of the Rockies

What I learned was that I was enough. What I learned was that the energy I tossed out in performance was not too puny or small to reach the back row. The God-given power I flung out from the center of my heart and soul took much energy, but the result was I realized I could do it.

Isn't life kind of like the cavernous space in that theater? I want to fill the moments of my life with similar energy and focus. I want to reach the "back row" of my life with love, passion, and meaning. What "La Traviata" taught me (as well as good opera is heart-breakingly beautiful) is that there is no coasting allowed-- if you want the theater, or your life to be filled.

Peter and I as The Toreador and The Gypsy in "La Traviata" with Opera Theatre of the Rockies