Crashing into New York

How moving to NYC made me rethink everything

My anniversary of moving to New York passed this week.

Nine years. Nine years, and what feels like nine lives later.

The day was August 23, 2014, when I first moved into a shared bedroom, in a shared duplex apartment, just two blocks away from Times Square. And there I stayed for a grand total of just under four months.

And I felt like couldn’t hack it.

My hope was to move to New York, pursue auditions and performance opportunities, and do freelance writing on the side to hopefully make ends meet.

I was in the best place in the world! I was in one of my very favorite cities, not even a block away from the closest subway/bus station, and one to two long blocks away from two of the major audition hubs in the city. I couldn’t have been in a better place!

While I hit the grind of going out for auditions, trying to put my name on the non-equity (basically, nonunion) lists at 6 a.m. (well before the auditions actually started), I tried to meet people who might be able to connect me to some writing/work gigs. At one point, I was smitten with and courted by an MLM company until I realized I had no one I could really sell to or even the desire to try and sell anything.

In a way, I’m glad I didn’t last long in that location. Just traversing through Times Square on a regular basis wiped me out. Cue me collapsing every day on the bottom bunk I managed to get because I happened to get there first.

At one point, I started singing a la Ariel, “I don’t wanna be where the people are.”

While the audition scene had its moments and magic—first Broadway/Equity audition was for Dr. Zhivago and I also got in the room for Once as well—it was very much not my favorite thing in the world.

I know it’s what my fellow actors have to do just to get work, but that life was utterly draining. I respect the heck out of anyone who does that full-time. But I was exhausted every day, and I crashed. Hard.

My savings disappeared. My normal dinner was two slices and a soda for $2.50 from the dollar pizza shop on the corner since six people living in one apartment meant no space in the fridge. And it felt impossible to try and do my contract writing gigs in the audition waiting rooms. Too much energy buzzing around to focus on that rapid-return Fiverr request…

Do you know how competitive it is in the musical theatre scene in NYC?

Imagine every musical theatre program kid in the country with top marks, or just enough ambition, converging in the one city where it’s possible to make an actual living from singing and dancing?

Those rooms were very, very crowded.

I knew it would be competitive, but holy crap… The division between union and nonunion work became glaringly clear startlingly fast, and I had no idea that was even a factor until I moved here.

You were lucky if the casting directors saw nonunion actors that day for union jobs (the well-paid ones), or if you were even alerted that nonunion would be seen or not. My very first attempt at an audition (Wicked, btw), I got very lucky and was typecasted out practically immediately, so I could move on with my day and not be beholden to that one audition location. Being typecasted out soon became one of the more efficient ways of knowing if you were what the casting directors were looking for or not. And you were even luckier, even after hearing whether or not nonunion actors would be seen, if you’d actually get in the room.

Because… It was not so easy to actually get into the audition room. The room where it happens. (Anyone get that reference?)

It took me a couple weeks to get into an audition room, one for a children’s theatre company, and I was so excited I took myself out for a nice dinner at Eataly since my aunt had recommended it. Didn’t get the part. I was just happy to get in that room.

You definitely need talent to make it in the performing arts. But you also need serious persistence, will, drive, energy, tenacity, cajones, and dedication—basically every other synonym for hardworking—to make a living as a performer. Every performer I met was holding down one if not two jobs, often in the food service industry due to the flexibility of scheduling and the income from tips. Working performers know the true meaning of hustle.

And no, not that Hustle.

Thankfully, I had more luck in the local community theatre scene. Somehow I managed to make friends—both waiting in the audition rooms and through people who connected me with others—and a gem of a woman mentioned an audition for a local theatre festival called Estrogenius. And I was in!

Barely a month in NYC, and I booked my first theatre gig. Alongside a ridiculously fun cast and crew, I had a wonderful experience as a zombified fairy tale princess—who got to kick the prince’s butt—in a short play called Snow White Zombie. (See some BTS shenanigans below.)

Literally, from that one experience, there was a chain reaction of local plays, workshops, and even a couple musicals I was invited to audition for/act in over the next couple of years—just based on the friends I’d made and the people I worked with. It was rather remarkable. I’m immensely grateful to the local New York City theatre scene for making me feel so utterly welcome. I’ve loved my time and the friends I’ve made on the NYC theatre circuit. Wouldn’t change that for anything…

But there was that one moment…

The moment when, during rehearsals for Snow White Zombie after I had strained a muscle doing fight choreography, something felt… off.

I couldn’t describe it. But the forced bedrest in my recovery for those couple days had my mind spiraling. And the cold I contracted after closing night brought it back like a tidal wave.

But… I was in the greatest city in the world! I was doing theatre in NYC! I was living, if not working as much as I would like, in NYC! I was… not happy?

The first swell of this wave caught me off-guard. Because I was loving what I was doing, even if money was dwindling, and I didn’t seem to be making any moves in the performance industry that would actually create a living… And I was scared that I’d have to go back to Utah because I couldn’t hack it.

And it wasn’t that I wasn’t enjoying myself and enjoying my time in New York. I loved exploring the city, investigating different fitness boutiques through the newly formed ClassPass, making new friends from all around the world, or chilling in Bryant Park on a sunny day with a book when the day opened up after an audition fell through or, even better, came through.

So, why was I feeling so unfulfilled and like I was on the wrong path?

What was I missing?

Little did I know that New York would challenge me in ways I couldn’t imagine.

New York City has made me face myself more times than I can count at this point—this was just the first instance, two months into my adventure.

That’s why it feels like I’ve lived several lives in the nine years that I’ve been here.

Stepping outside your comfort zone, especially some place new, is a quick way to start running headlong into your unhelpful habits, negative thought patterns, and the hard questions like…

Is this what I even want anymore?

Is this the life I want to live?

Is what I’m doing supporting me in doing what I long to do?

Every few months, I’d hit this same point where the same questions could come up, and a pit in my stomach was telling me that I needed to course correct or I’d crumble…

Was I really on the right path for me? Was all this hustle and exhaustion worth it? Did I want the life I was striving for enough?

And the truth is… I’m not sure that I did.

I’ve always been known as the girl who sings… The girl who sings in the bathroom. Around the office. The walking jukebox, often taking requests. Theater became a second home to me because I found other off-beat people who loved playing pretend on stage just as much as I did. So, it would make sense that I moved to NYC to pursue just that, right?

So, why didn’t this fit anymore? What did I actually want?

I will say it took a lot of time to figure it out, and sometimes I feel like I’m still a work in progress (aren’t we all?). A lot of trial and error, experimentation and discovery, has been forced on me since I moved away from my hometown.

And a big part of it was because I didn’t know myself as well as I thought. There were gifts of mine, layers I’d yet to discover, let alone tap into, that would legitimately change my life. A lot of my life up to that point was what was expected of me, or what I’d always been recognized for, with a dash of scratching my itch to explore as much as I could (hello, Sagittarius rising!).

It was like moving to New York unlocked a new level for me, and I couldn’t go back. There was no other way but forward, and I needed to figure that path out for myself.

Almost like… Mario Mario Bros jumping from the ease and comfort of the cave in level 4 to level 8 where everything is different and you have to think on your feet and learn to trust your instincts or you’ll run out of lives real quick.

And since then I’ve learned a lot. Not just about me, but about the world, the people in it, and how I truly want to show up and contribute my gifts in this wild existence we’re all in together.

I’ve been turned inside out and upside down by NYC, and I wouldn’t change a lick of it.

When I first started this post, I thought it would cover more of my journey in New York… But now I see this might have to be a series of how moving to New York made me discover myself. While I may not have been ready to share while I was in it, it feels like this is part of my story that’s wanting to come through now.

Ready for the rest of the ride?

Stay tuned…