Wednesday, March 11, 2015

LTYM: 2015

I did it; I auditioned again. I wrote my entry and it all just flowed, like it did the last time I auditioned. I was planning to drive to the audition with my daughter, to have some girl time on Saturday morning.

Why don't I come with you? asks my husband. We can do breakfast after, get some time together. And what with the snow days we've had recently, that sounded extra good to me. He asked a lot of questions about where we were going, what time, all that. I just figured he had forgotten what I'd told him, that he was figuring out his own day around mine. But that wasn't what he was doing at all.

We headed up to the audition, me sitting in the passenger seat with nerves pinging, pretty much just clueless to everything around me. Breathing slowly. Talking about life stuff, half focused on the conversation because I was nervous. Didn't notice that he seemed nervous, too.

I've got some paperwork to work on while you read, he said. Okay. Fine. That's not strange, since he never brings paper work home with him. Seems legit, thought my keyed up brain.

We go in. Talk to the other people in the waiting area—the one from last year who was greeting the auditioners. The friend who was there to also read. Talking about nerves and past experiences and new experiences, and he stood by my side, offering me moral support and acting nervous, being chatty because that's his way.

It was time for my audition. I realized I didn't bring everything I needed and it felt like a little pinprick in my confidence. I read my story. They laughed where they were supposed to laugh, their eyes danced with love—I've been here before. I know how this goes. I felt safe and supported and encouraged by them, as always.

I felt lucky to be there.

I walked out of the audition room, relieved. Greeted the new faces, turned to my husband. How did it go? he asked me. I think it went well. I think it was okay. You ready to go? I asked him. I will be in about 10 minutes, he said.

And the producer behind me looked at him—Are you ready for your audition?

And I don't remember what happened next. I was shocked—he was auditioning, too. What was he going to say? I was nervous. I was proud. I was confused, too. Everyone else knew, he'd been planning it since January. He signed up for his audition about 10 minutes after I did, and these producers, these ladies I know and love, never said a word.

I felt lucky to be me.

He walked out after about 10 minutes, and we went to breakfast. He handed me a folder with his piece in it and I cried. How could I not? He sees the things I don't see. When I'm struggling or nervous or anxious, he sees.

I felt lucky to have found him, this man who isn't afraid to write heart-felt words.

So now we wait. The cast will be announced by the weekend. But no matter what happens, I have his words. We have this experience.

When I say that my experience with Listen To Your Mother changed my life, it's not an overstatement. And it's happened again. Submissions are sent, auditions are over and all that's left is the cast to be notified and the show to happen. I hope you will consider attending. You can find all the information on the Listen To Your Mother—OKC page.

1 comment:

  1. I have been waiting to read this blog from the moment I saw your post on FB. My eyes have the biggest tears in them. Yeah, I'm that friend. I'll be an even better friend if I actually get to make it this year to hear both of your stories (I am confident).

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