So we’ve been hovering in the North Carolina area this past week and it looks like next week will be much of the same. I’m not sure why I chose the verb “hovering”. How totally inappropriate. Musical theatre people do not hover. They smack each other and/or grope each other. They do not stop singing showtunes, ever. They rarely lower their voices or stop to think about people outside their general vicinity. In short, we are not so much hovering in North Carolina as we are INVADING and CORRUPTING it.

I shouldn’t label our entire cast “musical theatre people”. Hell, if you called me a musical theatre person to my face, I would cut you with a boxcutter. And I’m sure that sounds as if I’m not proud of my career path or that I don’t take myself seriously. But you know what I’m talking about, right? The simple truth is that there are people who happen to do musical theatre and then there are Musical Theatre People. The latter group? I try to avoid.

And yes, they are everywhere: taking their bras off in front of me at auditions, screaming with delight when they see a familiar person, doing West Side Story combinations down 34th Street. Yes, these are my people. Do I consider myself one of them? Not anymore. But I USED to be. GOD, I used to be. Let’s talk about that.

You have to understand that when I discovered the soundtrack to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the tender age of 10, I started singing and I never stopped. I spent junior high and high school singing for HOURS. I’m talking, HOURS. To the point where this one time? My sister told me if I didn’t shut up she would RIP OUT MY VOCAL CHORDS. My sister. And even though I cried at the time because I was super into my feelings, the girl definitely had a point.

I would lock myself up in my room and play showtune CD’s over and over and over again, singing all my favorite parts and often making up choreography. Christine Daae was my first ingenue role, performed with great zest and energy and nearly ALL her high notes. My cousin Tom often joined me, alternately playing Phantom, Raoul and the great diva Carlotta. But mostly, I was on my own.

I eventually branched out and moved on, performing snippets from all my favorite musicals. “Rent” was a favorite that lasted well over a year, a phenomenon that disturbs me even to this day. It’s hard for me to see how a musical about the AIDS epidemic related to me as a 15 year-old growing up in white suburbia. Maybe I just liked the “badass” quality to it–the drag queens, the curse words, the excessive sexuality. After all, the risque revival of “Cabaret” produced a similar effect.

I found most musicals by browsing the Borders music section. I discovered “Ragtime” this way, long before it came to Broadway. Tom and I listened to the first track of the concept album through huge Borders headphones. It was an instant purchase and I played it every day for an entire summer, the melodies drifting out my window and onto the cul-de-sac below. A year or so ago, my old high school performed “Ragtime” and when I heard the opening piano melody, I cried.

Other musicals were found by cutting out the advertisements in the New York Times. My father would save me the Arts & Leisure section and I would go through it very slowly, carefully snipping out the musicals that looked interesting and taping the ads to my closet doors. Some of them are still hanging up there in my old room.

I was also fascinated by every musical that was performed at the regional theater by my house. When they put up Damn Yankees, the disc lived in my CD player for months. This baffles me because I can hardly stand to hear it now. Or rather, I can’t stand the image of me that it conjures: A gangly 12 year-old belting out “Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets”. So wrong, isn’t it? So very…Nabokov.

The nice thing about this very awkward and embarrassing stage in my life (which I’m documenting for the general public here! Hi! Welcome to DorkTown! JAZZHANDS!) is that it’s over. Sad, isn’t it? Knowing that I no longer spend time in my bedroom playing Fantine AND Eponine AND Gavroche from Les Misérables? (Trust me, it was genius.) But however absurd an outlet it was for me, however graceless a hobby, it meant a lot to me at the time. It allowed me escape and release and imagination and all that. Also, it was dumb.

And I feel like I’ve come so far! Yes, I do enjoy sitting down to the piano at my parents’ house and singing a few songs. And sometimes, when the right song is on my ipod and I’m walking down the street in the city, I start to imagine just what pose I’m going to hit on what beat and WHAM! I’m a ROCKSTAR in my own head! But I like to believe I’ve left most of the past behind and whatever remains is just unfortunate residue that will someday, hopefully, wash off.

And what does this all have to do with anything? Eh. I’m not sure. It’s just that a huge part of tour life involves interacting with individuals. The same six people. Every minute of every day. I’m learning such important communication skills–how to confront someone, how to speak evenly, how to control my temper, when to shut my mouth. But really, what amazes me, is the realization that some people are the embodiment of my 13 year-old self.

And what do I do with that?! I mean, I understand where they’re coming from because yeah, that was me 10 YEARS AGO but at the same time I don’t because I sort of did this weird thing one time where I…oh..how do you say it? I don’t know….GREW UP?

It’s not just the showtunes, it’s mannerisms, attitude, tone of voice. I haven’t dealt with it since junior high. In all honesty, I want to treat people the way I would like to be treated. I want to understand them and come from a place that is non-judgmental and non-threatening. I want to be compassionate, sympathetic, assertive and mature. I want to let them know that I’m here to help and not to point out their mistakes. Plus also? Sometimes? I want to smack them in the face.

But this is all part of this experience. It’s unrealistic to think we’d all get through this tour without any disagreements or tension. I’d say 87% of the time, I’m having a blast, laughing really hard and taking funny pictures and trying not to suck. But the past two weeks have gotten a little rough and a lot of it, thankfully, has nothing to do with me and for that I’m grateful.

I just need to remember that I’m an adult and act accordingly. I’d like to try to be someone who does musical theatre rather than a Musical Theatre Person. And it isn’t because the Sing-Out-Louise Showtune People are bad people. It’s because I often find them overwhelming and a tad bit grating. Granted, the same people who make me cringe often make me laugh so how can I really point fingers one way or the other?

I think I’m slowly evolving into someone that I’m proud to be, someone who accepts the dork within yet prays nightly that it goes away. I’m happier when I’m not fighting to be the center of attention, happier when I don’t have to compete to be funny, happier when I don’t have to discuss who got what role in what show. It exhausts me. And I’m downright ecstatic when we drive up to our hotel and I can put my luggage down and go for a jog.

I’m just trying to figure out what makes me happy, what works for me. Running works for me. Going to bed early works for me. Eating soup? That’s good too. Mostly, I just like performing theatre every day. No matter how silly the show is, no matter how grueling traveling can be, I find the joy.

So, I’m here in North Carolina, doing musical theatre. And in my bedroom on Long Island, thousands of miles away, advertisements for the musicals of 1997 are hanging on my closet doors, yellowed and peeling, tiny pieces of who I used to be.