Singing for a smaller me

There are some people in our lives that build us up and others that tear us down. I don't know about you, but I prefer the former over the latter, and try to keep the latter out of my life at all possible costs.

Over the weekend, someone told me they were proud of me. That's it. Proud of me because I've done so well, and would accept none of my "glass half empty" blah blah blahs about how much further I had to go. I was speechless (which says a lot for me cause I rarely ever stop talking), and it dawned on me that's exactly the sort of person I like to be around.

On the other hand, I met someone recently who - while complimenting me - managed to tear me down every time we talked. I'm sure they felt they were being supportive, but actions speak louder than words. I was able to cut it off at the pass and remove the person from my circle of friends, but their influence was insidious. (Incidentally, this person's time in my life corresponds with my blogging hiatus. Coincidence? I think not.)

It's pretty simple: friends are people you love and trust to support you, not erode your self confidence. I've spent far too much time in the past thinking negatively about myself to keep that kind of cr*p around.

Looking at it now, the contrast between the two is crystal clear: one focused on the accomplishment and strides I've taken, but the other focused on how far I have left to go and what a difficult journey it will be. Truth be told, I vascillate between those two trains of thought more often than I should, but - in the end - I'd rather celebrate myself today than mourn the days to come.

Now, onto that other stuff:

During my blogging hiatus, I finally hit the 50lbs gone mark. Yay!

Then 55lbs. Yay!!

I joined a gym. Yay!!!!

Then I stopped going to Weight Watchers for a month. Boo. It started because Luann, my Wednesday night leader, is no longer at that location, but I do know where she is on Saturdays. Now it's a question of do I go to the Saturday morning meeting or try to find another leader that doesn't bore me to tears.

The past couple of months have brought about a fair bit of revelation about life, what I'm doing with it, what I need in it, and about the people I choose to keep in my life. There's a lot I don't say because I'm frightened people will judge me, which is pretty funny because I've always had a "f*ck 'em if they don't like me" personality.

Opera has, for some time, been a bone of contention. I spent the better part of the past fifteen years pursuing a dream that I didn't really want. It was never really my life or something I loved, but I did a damn good job pretending it was. And I did so because I gave up on the dream that actually made me happy.

Growing up, the thing that made me happiest was musical theatre. My dad grew up in New York going to Broadway plays and, as a piano player, introduced me to the musical theatre classics at a very young age. When my friends were watching MTV, I was humming along to Rodgers & Hammerstein and Lerner & Loewe. My Fair Lady. The King and I. The Sound of Music. I knew those a lot better than I knew any rock band. Some of my fondest memories are standing at the piano with my dad singing "If I Loved You" and "Mister Snow" and a whole slew of others my friends knew nothing of.

The first musical theatre piece I ever auditioned for was Peter Pan, and - if you could believe it - I was cast as Wendy. For a 12 year old kid that was pretty spectacular. The whole process enchanted me: I loved rehearsing, memorizing lines, and staging blocking. Being under the stagelights was intoxicating. It only whetted my appetite for more.

Sadly, that first experience was not typical of the rest of my pre-teen and early teen auditions and theatrical experience. At that age, I hadn't grown into my adult cynicism nor did I know enough to realize that Children's Theatre is extremely political and based an awful lot on how much who's parent is contributing to the company. Entering high school, I had no doubt of the fact that I was talented; I skipped into the Intermediate Acting class in my freshman year, but the theatre director never gave me a solo in the musical theatre variety show, nor did he ever cast me in a "leading" part.

It was brought to my attention at that young age (by another student - surprise!) that yes, I was talented, but I wasn't "thin". It was a pretty crushing blow to my ego. (It's funny - I was at my adult height, and weighed maybe 150 - I'd kill to weigh 150 again.) It felt like no matter what I did, I'd never be enough of the right thing.

My youthful enthusiasm was quickly replaced by bitter apathy, and by fifteen years old, I pretended musical theatre was passe and below me. Truth be told, I gave up on musical theatre because I gave up on myself and believing I could ever find it in myself to be a "normal" size.

How I long to have those fifteen years back! I'd love to smack my fifteen year old self upside the head, tell her to keep on going, that high school was not the end all, be all of musical theatre. And I mourn the past fifteen years because I missed so much happiness by trying to force myself into a mold I didn't fit.

We never mean to give up on hopes or aspirations, but it's a sad reality that our self perception can negatively effect what choices we make in life. There have been several major upheavals in my life recently which forced me to sit down and ask myself what do I really want. Being happy is obviously near the top of that list, and if that means never singing a stitch of opera again, so be it. I'm okay with that.