Opening Weekend Gratitude - Musical Theatre (The Full Monty)
Community theatre is one of the most human things I know.
It pulls together people who might never cross paths otherwise - teachers, parents, business professionals, caretakers, drifters, service workers, retirees, medical professionals, students - and asks us to make something bigger than ourselves. And somehow, it works.
Every single person in this production has mattered.
Even those who could only be here for a time left their mark. Some had to step away because of illness. Some because of personal life. Some because this particular show wasn’t the right fit for their families or professions - because yes, sometimes the content of a show and the work you do in real life don’t quite align. And that’s okay. Health and wellness, integrity and livelihood - they come first.
Some people wanted to try theatre for the first time, took that brave step forward, and then had to bow out when life got heavy. Sometimes doing the inner work while trying something new doesn’t go as planned, even when there’s love and connection with the people you’ve met. That doesn’t make it a failure - it makes it real.
Others are caregivers/parents, holding down multiple jobs, juggling kids, babysitters and rehearsals, and showing up bone-tired but still ready to give their all. Some drive 45 minutes or more each way, every single rehearsal and performance. Some are in overlapping shows, learning songs and lines for two productions at once. Some hadn’t been on stage in ten or more years. Some are job-hunting after layoffs (which, given the storyline of The Full Monty, feels like life doing its own ironic bit of casting). And some are learning stage left from stage right for the very first time, picking up choreography, stage makeup, and theatre etiquette all at once.
This is the part of theatre I love the most.
Watching strangers come together to make something bigger than themselves. Watching people who have every reason to say “I don’t have time” still find the time. Watching friendships form where there were once only auditions and name tags.
Our director says often, “We’re all here to make each other look cool.” And that’s what community theatre is at its core.
And then there are the ones who stepped in last minute - the four different sound techs we had in a two week period. The people who quietly moved props, built sets, checked on cast-mates’ mental health, or just showed up to help the energy stay afloat. Those things don’t make the playbill - but they make the play possible.
On the personal side:
My husband - who has never been on stage like this before - willingly jumped into everything with a smile and positive energy. Usually I’m the one burning the candle at both ends, but this time he outdid me - sleeping less, showing up, and still finding time to capture it all behind the camera. He became our backstage photographer, taking headshots, poster shots, and candid moments throughout the process, with amazingly fast turnaround. Our 10-year-old daughter has been right there too, wandering the theatre like she owns it, nose in a book, yet somehow absorbing every lyric and every line. She could probably perform the whole show by herself at this point. She’s learned what it means to “pretend-play” at a level most adults can’t even touch.
To our director, who never once had the entire cast in the same room until opening night, and still found ways to help us stretch into our characters - thank you. To our tech director, who gave up a week of paid vacation to build a world onstage - thank you. To my co-producer Talon, thank you for your calm, steady vision and for letting me say, “Yes, let’s do it,” over and over again.
Not until opening night, did we run this show with the full cast present.
Not once. And yet, here we are - about to run for our second weekend (Oct 10-12, 2025). That’s community theatre. It’s not about perfection. It’s about people.
And in this show, it’s also about vulnerability.
Getting undressed around each other - literally and metaphorically - creates a level of camaraderie and trust that’s hard to describe. You can’t fake it. You can only laugh, breathe, and know that you’re surrounded by people who’ve got your back.
After opening weekend, I’m just grateful. Grateful for the humans who showed up, for the ones who couldn’t stay, for the laughter and chaos, and for the way we keep finding family and community in the most unlikely places.
