I’m not sure why I thought it would be trouble-free to return to rehearsing live opera after a 5 year hiatus…seriously! What was I thinking?!?! The last major production I did was for Tapestry Opera in 2017. So returning to the rehearsal room for this Canadian premiere production of Jake Heggie’s Three Decembers (after several failed pandemic attempts–it has been rescheduled 3 times since April 2020) has been…well…INTENSE. Not only is the subject matter tough (an aging actress, with complicated relationships to her adult children, some dark secrets, substance abuse, AIDS, suicide…it kind of runs the gamut of “hard stuff”), but just the act of showing up in a room, being vulnerable with others and having my voice on display turns out to be harder than I remembered. Daily I am confronted with my inner demons, the ones that tell me “too old, too late, not enough”, and I recognize, once again, that there are no shortcuts around the work. There’s the work of singing: that going daily to the metaphorical barre and repeating the rigours of basic technique. And then there’s the personal work: the constant noticing of negative self-talk and the reminder to care for and love myself, accept where I am in this moment and value it.
The great leveller in all of this is that not only am I a teacher, but also a practitioner. Teaching in an academic setting, one can be lulled into forgetting the stresses and struggles of students who are practicing the craft. But when we have to engage in the practice ourselves, it’s a big reality check. It means we cannot look away from these same struggles or carve out some nifty, quick detour around them. We have to sit right there in the muck and deal with what is in front of us: a voice that we’ve perhaps neglected a little. Not practicing as much as we need to, because other things always seem to get in the way. Forgetting to invest in the daily routines that keep the instrument supple and healthy. Getting away from strong spiritual practices like meditation and journaling that anchor and ground us. And then, thrust back into the incredibly vulnerable space of the rehearsal room, we have to return to all of these things at once, all while navigating a new role, a memory that isn’t quite as resilient as it used to be, and a voice that is no longer as responsive as it was in younger days.
It’s enough to make me want to pack up and run away. But I won’t. I’m going to settle in and do the work that’s necessary, be as kind and loving to myself as I can be, and not try to take any shortcuts. Because there are none. There’s just no way around the deep work that’s necessary to craft a life and an art.