So it begins....

I did it.

I finally started this crazy shit.

I've been talking about starting a blog for about three years. It seems I've dribbled on and on endlessly to just about anyone who would listen about my 'master plan'---an honest and open chronicle of the capers, catastrophes and craziness that comes from being a full-time performing artist (if you were one of such captive audience members, God bless you. I promise I'll buy your next drink for allowing me to gesticulate madly at you for hours...).

I've put a LOT of thought into this blog, into its creation, its 'voice' and its development. I've been drafting articles and entries in my head for at least a year. I would read an article in a newspaper or online and think, "I should write about this topic..." I've hoarded programs from productions that I've seen that I felt were incredible, and I've hoarded programs from productions that I thought were goddamn awful, because I've wanted to write about both. My partner is often caught sighing with exasperation as he pulls yet ANOTHER stack of crumpled programs out from some dusty corner, shaking his head over the mad scribblings and notes I've obsessively penned all over them. I've been listening to podcasts and thought about commentaries and counter-arguments. I've attended auditions and experienced things I desperately felt I needed to document. I've had conversations with my peers and colleagues and dreamed up pertinent posts that I should pen. Basically, I've been writing a goddamn novella in my head, a documented listing of the amazing chronicles of the Chicago arts scene. I've been encouraged by my family, friends, and peers to just get GOING already. I've tried several times to sit down and actually put this together, but something was always just not quite right to me.

See, the problem was one that pops up again and again throughout any artists' lifetime: the infamous Imposter Syndrome. It's a sneaky thing, this Syndrome. It creeps up on you while you're having these amazing thoughts, slithers its way inside your head and whispers into you ear that you couldn't possibly be serious, who do you think you are, and don't you KNOW what people would say if you tried to do that?? The subconscious has a funny way of affecting the conscious, and pretty soon, I was believing that little voice that told me that this whole idea was nuts. I simply didn't believe I was 'REALLY' a writer. I didn't have any degree in writing. I didn't have any 'real' experience writing. Even though I was payed and published on a monthly basis for my writing, I didn't FEEL like a 'real writer'. I didn't feel like anybody would want to listen to what I had to say. It would just be me, shouting out into the internet's void, like a crazy corgi lady who talks to her dog and herself as she walks (this is a very accurate picture of me).

But then something magical happened.

I stopped caring so much.

I had an amazing discussion with a dear friend, in which she made the astute observation that I was 'fucking with my own head'. It's a classic singer problem, one which we all tend to find ourselves falling into from time to time: the tendency to overthink and over-analyze any situation until we become completely paralyzed by crushing doubts and fears. She sat there on my couch, calmly took a sip of her cocktail and suggested a three-fold plan of attack: 1), that I should touch up her bourbon, 2) that I should knock the mental-blockage shit off, because it obviously wasn't working for anyone, and 3) that I should STFU and just get STARTED already, because she couldn't sit and listen to me whine anymore (she said it in a much kinder way, I just have a tendency to turn every retelling into an dialogue between two Sex and the City characters...). Why is it that our friends are often the best source of personal-insight and inspiration?

It was like receiving a personal permission slip to get going.

So--here we are, in the midst of my mad creation. A little about the creation in question, and my mission:

I moved to Chicago in 2014 as a participant in a summer-intensive singing program. Chicago summers are utter perfection, and I quickly fell in love with the city and all it had to offer. I found a fast job in the restaurant industry, the simultaneous soul-sucking and supremely-rewarding industry I had been in for twelve years. While I was working my ass off (quite literally, logging miles around the floor), I began what I call 'The Hustle'---the intense, all-consuming act of introducing yourself into a new arts scene and integrating yourself into the community. It wasn't particularly difficult, as Chicago singers are some of the most generous colleagues I've ever been lucky enough to work with/meet. However, I began to encounter other difficulties, the kind one faces when they are attempting to live as a working artist: being able to support myself financially while attempting to continue actively working on my craft. In the summer of 2015, I was offered a position as a teaching artist with Chicago Opera Theater. I began working with at-risk youth to develop a music and performance program at a high school on Chicago's south side. The incredibly-rewarding and fulfilling work was doubly satisfying, as I was actually being paid an appropriate-wage as an artist for the first time in my life. By late 2015, I decided to quit my restaurant job and to devote myself to becoming a full-time freelance artist.

Since that time, I've been through a LOT. It's been two supremely-inspiring and amazing years---two very long and glorious years of sweat, endless practice sessions, long hours, intense rehearsals, nights of worry and anxiety followed by days of incredible experiences. Throughout it all, I found myself wishing that there was someone I could honestly discuss, compare and contrast my experiences with. I longed for an open, honest and up-front outlet, somewhere where the politically-charged, perfectionist-atmosphere of the singing world wouldn't interfere with the issues I wanted to talk about.

In the words of Ghandi, 'Be the change that you wish to see in the world.'

So here I am.

I'm going to be brutally honest: as much as I long for everyone's approval, this blog might not always be your cup of tea. My middle-child syndrome won't be able to keep me from poking a few people the wrong way. The singing world is a strange monster, full of politics, vanity/egos, traditions, performance practices and downright-Machiavellian tendencies. Strong personal opinions are a specialty of mine, and I'm starting to learn that not everyone tends to agree with me 100% of the time.

I also like to say 'fuck' a lot.

A LOT.

So if you can stomach getting a little uncomfortable while we look at some current events and issues in the arts scene, and if you can handle a few swear words thrown in from time to time, and if you can stand alliterations and excessive usage of the Oxford comma, you might just enjoy yourself here.

And while you might not always agree with my personal views, I promise to always provide sources to highlight the other side of the issues I'm discussing.

I'm happy to have you, and I hope you always leave here inspired to get out there and make something beautiful.

Buckle up, because #SopranosBeHustlin'.