The only person you can heal, change, and fix is yourself.

Note to Self: The only person you can heal, change, and fix is yourself. 

 

Let go of the idea that you have to be the savior for everyone around you and embrace the freedom that comes from focusing on your own growth and well-being.

 

People are not projects.

 

By nurturing yourself, you create a ripple effect of change and healing that inspires others to embark on their personal journey to self-discovery. 

You don't have to say much. 

You don't have to save anyone. 

Let your actions speak. 

Let others be a witness. 

Your evolution can sometimes be the best encouragement.

Healing by example is a beautiful thing. 

 

 It took me a long time to realize that it's a form of deep respect to others, to let them have their lessons, struggles and challenges. By attempting to expedite their growth, was not really fair to them, and was more about me. Others are sovereign beings who decide when and how they grow into more of who they want to be, when they are ready to do so. Sometimes this deep acceptance and lack of interference or meddling, with no agenda is the healing agent. It's so liberating to pour that energy into one's own growth and to (like a dance) invite or let go of whoever can flow with that. 

 

 

 

Alec's Debut

Four years ago exactly I met Alec Silver on the first day of rehearsal at Chicago Shakespeare Theatre. I introduced myself with a shocked-but-casual “Hey Alec Silver I’m Al SILBER… we have the same name!” He then proceeded to astonish me in the first table read. I knew he’d go far.  But I had NO idea how far we’d go together.

On Nov 6, 2018 sharing a night like this with Alec Silver would never have crossed my mind.
 
Last night, after a little over three years in New York City (two-and-a-half of which were a worldwide pandemic) Alec made his Off Broadway and New York acting debut in the profoundly moving GOOD ENEMY at Audible's Theater at Minetta Lane. 

The play by Yilong Liu is gorgeous triumph of generational trauma and what we "owe" our family. It is directed by Alec’s greatest artistic advocate Chay Yew, is a triumph— superbly cast, acted, designed and executed by all involved.
 
Alec’s work was spellbinding. So skilled. Deeply observed and wildly out of his “type.” I barely recognized him as Dave and was equally if not more astonished by his work as I was by his Francis Flute on Nov 6, four years ago.
 
But what floored me, was the people that showed up to celebrate Alec in this moment. Friends, colleagues and Chosen Family all collected over the last four years that showed up in a ten-strong cheering section, evidence that lives worth living are BUILT— day by day, with every conversation, connection, good work done, generosity shared and promise delivered. 

 My Alec, four years to the day of being dazzled by you I am dazzled not only by your work, but by the life you have so courageously manifested. I am in awe. What an honor to celebrate you in this moment.
 
Thank you to Adrienne and Alex Balducci, Katie Spelman, Etai Benson, Alexandra Socha, Tony Cloer, Carman Lacivita, Elle Rigg, and Alley Scott  for being a part of *The Silver Squad.* 

📸: @liachangphotography — genius.

Escape from Cleveland: A Melodrama

On November 4, 2022, five character actors drove to the airport having recently completed a week-long workshop at the Cleveland Playhouse of Ken Ludwig's latest play, Moriarty: a Sherlock Holmes Mystery. The week had been splendid. A group of hilarious, intelligent Broadway veterans gathered together to exchange ideas, perfect a play with one of the most collaborative playwrights in the world; plus shared several delicious meals, experiences and stories after rehearsal. 

What a week working (laughing--good GAWD the laughing) at Cleveland Playhouse with great friends and insanely gifted artists—directed by Mark Browkaw—working on a reading of Ken Ludwig's latest— MORIARTY giving 12 or so comic tertiary or five, and Irene Adler to old pal Santino Fontana's Sherlock Holmes. 

All in all: the week was a great success. Behold our happiness post reading: 

cast + creatives of the pre-production of "Moriarty" at Cleveland Playhouse

But THEN! Then: the following morning, the cast of five-- a merry band of players-- all headed to the airport to catch the 12:15 Delta flight from Cleveland to LaGuardia. And that, my friends, is where the plot thickened...

But as if daily laughs and nightly meals weren’t enough, there’s more. All 5 actors arrived at the airport Friday morning to learn our flight to NYC was CANCELLED by Delta.
 
So instead of moping, we made lemonade outta lemons, rented an SUV and? 5 CHARACTER ACTORS DROVE FROM CLEVELAND TO NYC FOR AN IMPROMPTU ROAD TRIP!
 
We didn’t turn the radio on once, because we were talking and laughing and getting real and laughing so much. Thank you Ken Ludwig and Cleveland Playhouse for bringing us together. And thank you Santino, Andy Groteluschen, Pun Bandhu and Jill Abramowitz for the forever-memory—this gig was one for the BOOKS.

PS) the whole road trip is a highlight in my “stories” titled “ESCAPE FROM CLEVELAND!” About 5 mins. Worth it. 

"Honk if You Agree"

 Honk If You Agree

— On October 8, 2022 Kanye West tweeted to his 30 million followers “I’m going death con 3 On JEWISH PEOPLE.” The following Saturday, members of a White Supremacist hate group stood on an overpass above the 405 Freeway in California, performing Nazi salutes behind a banner that read "Kanye was right about the Jews. Honk if you agree.”

*

Just as an ancient house, demolished
    liberates the vermin
    so we see them now
    in all their flagrance
    and undisguised monstrosity.

Honk if you agree.

Many rats
    are killed in falling mansions
    but some find other houses.  

Hate—it turns out— is not dark.
It blazes with the cruelest light
and rings to petulant music—
    the rage of car horns on the highway.
    the ear-splitting silence of indifference.

Hate is born with you
    it howls in your first howl.
Impatient loathing
    coiled behind our tongues like a python.
    
This hate is ancient.  
And my People’s pain is insignificant, some say.
Our victim card, expired
Our terror, irrelevant.

So I shall exit the 405 for today—
Knowing it is a road I cannot ignore.
I shall without a doubt read its signs again
and again
and drive across its bloodied highways.

But tonight is Friday
so I exit to light candles
    that pierce into this darkness.
I shall be a good ancestor—
one that paves better highways for the generations yet to come.

To see with clarity
but also with hope
For hath I not eyes?

Honk if you agree.

End of LEND ME A SOPRANO

What a magnificent experience from top to tail. One never knows how an away-from-home experience will go— personally or creatively, but from the downbeat Soprano has been nothing but joy.
Ken Ludwig was collaborative and generous.

Our director Eleanor Holdridge created THE safest, most loving, most creative and playful playground to ask any question and try any idea.

Our Stage Managers were above and beyond. And our very generous first laughs!

The actors. Oh the actors. This was was one of those remarkable sets of conditions where every single actor was drama and ego free— no one fought for “their” laughs or “their” moments. Everyone fought hard for “OUR” laughs and the PLAY’s moments. I can’t recall an experience like it. Where everyone was so devoted to making the play everything it could be, concerned only with how they might best serve it.

Creating a role is a rare experience, and it was my honor to chisel Elena Firenze for Ken Ludwig, for our company, our audiences; for MY soul, for every actor to play Elena in the future long after I am gone, and above all for Elena herself.

Actors— ask not what characters can serve for you, but what we may do to serve our characters. Elena could not sing without me, and it was my honor to provide her very first voice.

Addio e addio, Elena.
Never to be forgotten.
Until we meet again.

X

 

"The Day Beauty Divorced Meaning" by Leslie Harrison

Their friends looked shocked—said not
possible, said how sad. The trees carried on
with their treeish lives—stately except when
they shed their silly dandruff of birds. And
the ocean did what oceans mostly do—
suspended almost everything, dropped one
small ship, or two. The day beauty divorced
meaning, someone picked a flower, a fight,
a flight. Someone got on a boat.
A closet lost its suitcases. Someone
was snowed in, someone else on. The sun
went down and all it was, was night. 

Multiple layers of freedom and celebration

 

End of Summer…

Sure sure, this photo is a thirst trap (and I’m 39 so that’s already a feminist STATEMENT) but very VERY real talk: I have spent so much of my life in the depths of sorrow, grief, and self-blame; truly loathing this one and only body of mine, missing out on irreplaceable experiences just to avoid being physically observed.

Then the *moment* I meaningfully healed that disordered part of my psyche? My body was hit with a ulcerative colitis — a debilitating disease that robbed me of my life force. Thus the work began all over again…

I am so relieved and proud to say that after 20 years of all kinds of adversities, I am healed mentally, and cured physically.

It was a war.

But I look back upon it and acknowledge that I faced it like a soldier.

So sure sure— this thirsty photo might appear lame on the surface, but it represents multiple layers of freedom and celebration.

I purchased this swimsuit last spring from an ostomy website so that I could swim in the last few weeks of my bag-life. But I KEPT it because
      1. It’s hella cute and
      2. It reminds me that being fully alive is truly worth fighting for.

Fight on, fellow warriors.

"The Bench Scene" from CAROUSEL for The Transport Group

Ah, the healing and transcendent power of music, theatre, true friendship and community.

Thank you Transport Group for the chance to return to Julie Jordan and the ‘Bench Scene’ after over a decade, and to share the experience with the huge-hearted genius pal that is Tally Sessions and a 30 piece, first-rate orchestra conducted by Joey Chancey.

It was a gift.

You know a theatre company is special when every single artist on stage donates their time and talent to support it. EVERY. SINGLE. ARTIST. May the Transport Group long continue to make great American theatre.

📷: @graceecopeland

Ask Al: The Energy Behind the Decision

a little perspective

Dear Al, 

I have a career-related question and would love some advice: 

I just got re-offered my national tour contract. I am two years in to said contract, in a leading role. I had previously said no to year three of the tour, but now I’m thinking of returning because I love the production, the role, and performing— especially post pandemic.

It just feels potentially foolish "career-wise—" am I robbing myself of pursuing new opportunities? Am I pigeon-holing myself into this tour and role and not allowing myself to try new things? I wonder all of these, but also feel this new contract is a gift from the heavens after everything the performing arts world has been through. Am I looking a gift horse in the mouth? 

I would love to know your thoughts.

R

*

A few thoughts on this, points of various “camera zooms”

1. Big picture:

 
I think often we as actors—particularly female actors— feel that we are in a position of being PAWNS. Meaning, that we have very little power to choose our path with a lot of AGENCY. The truth is, on some level that’s true. Not all of us are Emma Stone.

Thus we fall into... 

2. Lack Mindset. 

Because Opportunities don’t come along as often as we’d design, we perceive ourselves to somehow be in deficit, and it can perpetuate a “Lack Mindset.”

The lack mindset sounds like the inner monologue of “NEVER ENOUGH”— (I’m never successful enough, thin enough, good enough, rich enough ...) And when we make decisions from the place of lack, we operate from a place of survival--a place of very-real desperation because we feel our livelihoods are actually on the line.
 

But the Lack Mindset? Is a GIANT LIAR.
It is crucial that you don’t make this choice from a Lack mindset, or dis-empowered female actor “mental space” because

 

3. There is no right or wrong decision here 

— EITHER will effect your life and future with likely equally worthy experiences and momentum—
But making any decision out of FEAR or LACK? I promise you will lead to some kind of deep regret. (I’ve made this mistake a few notable times...)

What I mean by it being a neutral decision is this:

• You will return and continue on an awesome national tour to play a truly rewarding role in (maybe?) less exhilarating cities.
• You might be a little bored sometimes but, whatever!
• You’ll stash money away.
• You’ll be employed an an actor IN THESE INSANE TIMES
  
• and finish your Tour story on your terms.

OR

• You leave the tour
• and grab the momentum of a re-energized show-business in NY or LA
• And roll the dice! Taking a chance at your next big break!
• Meet new people, make new connections.
• It might yield “nothing” or it might change your life. Only giving yourself a chance will tell.
• This choice gives yourself a shot to super charge growth and expansion beyond your pre-pandemic self....

But
Neither is wrong. Both have their pros and cons.

4. Final Point:

Always?

It’s not about the choice.
It’s about the energy behind the choice.
And if there is any whiff of fear inside that energy? Run the other way.
In the end you won’t regret it. 

A Very Personal Statement on Roe v. Wade

My name is Alexandra Silber.
And a legal right to safe abortions—as safe and accessible healthcare— is a very personal issue for me.

Now it is not just personal to me because I have a uterus, identify as a woman and am currently in child bearing years. It is not just because I support all oppressed people, everywhere.

But it is because in 2001, at the age of  18 — I had on abortion in the state of Michigan. I had become pregnant against many birth-control odds, with a committed, and incredibly loving partner I was with throughout high school through college.

This termination took place just 7 weeks after my father had died of cancer, at an incredibly precarious time in my life and the state of the world. Not one human—including if not especially the unborn—would have benefited from that birth taking place. Despite doing “so much right” in the safe sex department, the birth would have destroyed the lives of many, including my own.

Do you wanna ask me what it feels like to be a statistic?
Do you want to hand me a religious, political, or reductive high and mighty take on an 18 year old grieving girl’s  humanity?

You wouldn’t be the first.
To assume, accuse, or to call me a murderer to my face.


If Roe V Wade is overturned the incredibly correct choice for me, my partner, the unborn and both our families, that I made in 2001 at the age of *18* would be—according to polling data—an utterly illegal and criminally punishable act in the state of Michigan. If I had survived an “underground” procedure, I’d be imprisoned for it.

Look:
I am a white-passing person with on again off again access to decent American healthcare. In 2001, I had friends and connections that might have funded my ability to fly to another state to have the procedure done safely and legally. But the MAJORITY of Americans are not in that position. Abortion will never stop happening, it will stop happening safely. More people will be impoverished, hungry, disenfranchised, and of course DEAD because the government is threatening to make a decision that has held as “precedent” for 50 years.

I am currently 38 years old. I’m a “successful” self employed Millennial whose generation has been struck down a few times by the 2008 recession, the 2020 pandemic—my generation isn’t lazy or irresponsible, irrevocably woke or lacking in a concept of hard work. I now possess the maturity and wherewithal to raise a child— but I STILL don’t feel I dependably have the means to properly provide for that child is so precarious a country. But above all— NO ONE should ever have to be pregnant who does not want to be pregnant.

Our culture has hated and oppressed women since the dawn of time.
This is an attack on women. Yes.
But in a broader sense it is an attack on any human being who is not a white, Christian, cis-gendered male in a typical nuclear family Model.

I am angry. And I am terrified.
And if you are too — I’m with you.

I do not publicly talk about this because I’ve always considered the decision and chapter to be private, and honestly I’ve felt extraordinary terror about sharing this information for the violence it might —as HAS— inflicted upon me when it is brought up. But privacy doesn’t exist in a country where the government is inside our bodies.

Perhaps in sharing this, perhaps in giving a human face to what for many feels like a theoretical issue, Someone out there might PAUSE, think, feel, and acknowledge that I am someone’s daughter, sister, aunt, friend, colleague and neighbor. I’m a person you might not think this issue has affected, but it has. Profoundly. I am you. I am your loved one.  And it is hard to hate up-close.

Take a look at me:
I could be someone you know.
I am only here today making any kind of difference because I was able to make a choice SAFELY and therefore did not die or end up in prison for making a medical decision about my own body.

I am here today doing everything in my power to make the world a better place because the life I chose was the only life I COULD choose.

March. Write. Call. Donate.
And for the sake of all the women and womb-having siblings you care about: vote.

Thank you.

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Endurance is Universal

Have you been to rock bottom? No shame, fellow rock-bottom-visitors; I’ve been there! But I want to put forth a not-always-meme-able idea: that the un-nuanced glorification of an individual’s capacity to endure isn’t always productive. 

Why?
 

1. It doesn’t allow for the truth, ugliness and raw humanity of intense frustration, sorrow, frustration, grief, despair. We must feel free to experience all the states life has to offer.
 

2. We all have this capacity-not JUST a “special few.” Stories that glorify a singular protagonist (Hulu’s version of ‘The Handmaid’s Tale,” for instance) often subliminally express that our protagonist is NOT an Everyman—but rather that THIS protagonist is special— they and they ALONE possess and extraordinary capacity to be tested and prevail. It sells us a false narrative that THAT special human being is so unique; that THEY ALONE can face extraordinary hardship, but not EVERYONE. “You want to thrive? No. You have to be special. You have to be chosen,” this Narrative dictates. But how do we know that? Short answer: we do not.

There is a Yiddish saying: “When we must, we can.” Ostensibly, does this saying mean that we never know what we are capable of until we are asked to face The Unknown? Should we be generous and expansive in our understanding of ALL that could mean? I welcome us to be.

Human beings have great capacity. All of them. Not just a “special few.” Yet not every human being will make the same gigantic leaps as another, because they won’t have the same adversities thrust upon them, or identical stakes, circumstances, supporters, and wherewithal to make those leaps in those moments. 

As the war in Ukraine approaches it's second month, we are reminded of humanity at its lowest and at its very finest. The images are shattering, but also gobsmacking in the shimmering humanity.

 

All evidence that our human capacity to endure is universal. The level to which we ride and fall? That is unique to us. And thus, we are not to judge.

So whether you are hanging out at rock bottom, soaring to new heights, languishing in purgatory or somewhere in between— take heart. I see you. I believe in you. Triumph looks different on everyone. You’ve got this.

 

Greetings from The Bottom

 

 

Knowing when to leave...

For the last 18 months I have been taking an online poetry class over Zoom. Oh, how I loved it! It was a place of extraordinary artistic respite for me, a place where I did not have to be a professional artist, where I was unknown to my fellow classmates, and could safely learn and grow in the company of strangers. It was an appointment I treasured keeping week after week. I kept it when I traveled, and even when I was working in London (tuning in from 10pm- 1am!). Class is taught by a celebrated poet and teacher who I have become friends with online and off. 

It was a truly joyous space for a long time. 

The Class is filled with a grab bag of individuals who all came together for the shared joy of creating, loving words, and discussion of the human experience as analyzed through text. It was the part of being an actor I missed the most -- the "table work;" the part where the company sits around the table and discusses in rigorous detail the depths of the human experience, as crystalized through language, relationship and sociology. I think this need to discuss our humanity is what sends millions of people who are not "formal artists" in any way to spiritual texts-- for all branches of spirituality and theistic text is merely another lens through which we can know ourselves. Does it matter if the story is about Isaac, Shiva, the Knight of Swords, Mohammad or Othello?  

I've made some wonderful connections in class too-- some individuals I may never meet in real life, and some I have already met. People that have really beautifully challenged me to grow, have been critical of my points of view, and of my work in tremendously productive ways. People that have affirmed my humanity, have empathized, and held me in tough moments as I shared slivers of my life through the poems I brought in, in the feedback I offered, and the private messages exchanged through the Zoom chat (the 21st century version of passing notes in class). Some of these classmates have become very real friends-- of all shapes, colors, sizes, geographic locations and walks of life. I am so grateful to have crossed paths with these people, and I hope they know who they are. 

But my time in poetry class has come to an end. 

And... I am devastated. The intensity of the emotions I am experiencing at the loss of this once safe space stuns me. I cannot even conceive of why it aches as much as it does. But it does. I have shed tears, and exhausted the pages of my journal, and finally come to the decision to step away from the beautiful space that was, acknowledging that the space has changed, the world around us has changed, and the digital portal to an oasis of language and humanity is longer what I remember, recognize, or require.

There is no need to discuss what happened in detail, because it doesn't really matter. I wanted to share this experience though because I often think we confuse "giving up" with "surrender." For many weeks I wondered if leaving the increasingly toxic environment would make me a "quitter," would insinuate that I wasn't "tough enough" or "emotionally strong" or that I was "too sensitive" or "couldn't take critique."

I rumbled with the decision to moonwalk out of class-- was I being a "weenie?" But logic tells me that to suggest these is preposterous. 1. Who could possibly suggest that having too much sensitivity for a poetry class is a bad thing? 2. To have the audacity to suggest I cannot accept critical commentary on my artistic work (a piece of advice no one could even possibly contemplate offering to a professional actor of 16 years, and a twice-published author with any degree of seriousness! Please: I am alllllmost immune to artistic criticism at this point!) But artistic criticism is not what this exit is about...

Week by week, this particular group of individuals came to critique my humanity more and more acutely, with ever-increasing personal remarks that were simply inappropriate.  No boundaries. No consequences.

I came to class to have my artwork assessed.  Not my humanity judged. 

So. Farewell, poetry class. And from the bottom of my heart: thank you so much for all you gave me. But a lady always knows when to leave the party... and it is time to gather my things and exit with grace.

*

Dear readers, in my time here on earth I have come to learn that there is GIVING UP and there is SURRENDER. I have written about this before, but in brief:

- Giving up is a collapsed posture; I picture the human form in the fetal position, inward, downward and in a self-protective stance. 

- Surrender is its opposite; I picture a human form wide open-- palms up and out, eye closed but trusting, chest, heart, legs wide and available to possibility.

I write this simply to share and to connect: if you have ever felt the loss of a community, however small, however seemingly insignificant, you are not alone. 

Surrender, dear readers. And onward: with courage and integrity. 

I don’t know who to be online anymore…

• Shall I swipe on a filter and attempt to commiserate?

• Shall I slap on a bold lip and pretend this isn’t a profoundly difficult time to be semi-alive?
 
• Shall I risk over-sharing and/or TMI with a post of me without concealer/ at the doctor’s office/ or after another setback?
 
• [this is no brainer, but] More Tati pics?
 
• Who am I if I’m not posting from the dressing room / telling you I’m acting / writing / Jewish / married / in __ country / have-now-don’t-have colitis? / got a haircut?
 
Who are any of us?
We are so much dust.
And we are stardust.
We contain multitudes.

For all of us, “ONLINE” is a portal to another world—for better and for worse, and I don’t know who “avatar Al” is anymore. I don’t know who to be, what I should be. I have no clue what a human brand is and if humans should have one. I love being a beacon of information, buoying, and connection—and then again, sometimes I don’t.
 
Maybe I never understood how to *present* on here in the first place and the cracks are starting to show only now… I don’t know. And I’m okay with not knowing.
 
We all long to be unarmored, unabashed, truly seen.
 
In 2022 it is hard to be online.
It is also hard to be in the real world.
We might be “okay” and nothing might be “wrong,” but I challenge you to find anyone fully “okay” as we march around this confused and aching planet.
 
So here I am, lifting up my weary, dirt-soaked eyes to stare into yours say “if you are face down in the middle of the road—you’re not alone. I’m okay-but-not-okay TOO. And I struggle to share just how or why. And now of you’ll excuse me I have more dirt to eat…”
 
I see you.
All my love, from my dirt pile to yours,
 
Al

 

SO IN LOVE -- Valentine's Day in New York City

It's The Most Wonderful Time In The Year. Right?

Wrong. It’s not only deepest winter, it is February, there’s a pandemic, and in walks the weirdest “holiday” of them all: Valentine's Day. Who wouldn’t want to grab a drugstore box of chocolates and scream-cry in their sweatpants?

NOT THIS YEAR.

You don’t need a significant other to snuggle up to your cocktail and spend an intimate evening with the Grammy Award nominee Alexandra Silber as she celebrates, makes fun of, mourns, and idealizes all things romance.
With songs.
And jokes.
And special guests.
And maybe even a QUIZ…with prizes.

Join Alexandra February 14th and experience a unique and intimate performance that combines Silber’s signature mixture of depth, wit and musicality.

And who knows? Maybe you’ll even score your very own box of chocolates.

With musical direction by Ben Moss
and Zack Zaromatidis on guitar
featuring Alec Silver 

TICKETS — https://thegreenroom42.venuetix.com/show/details/SrKJf33yUjwZrI9XlNAn/1644892200000

 

Happy Birthday, Alec

 Happy Birthday, Alec.
 
How could I possibly articulate how magnificent Alec George Hao Silver is, and what he means to me?
 
How could I ever accurately capture what he has achieved, done, and grown to be, in the last year of his life?

But I’ll try:
 
In the last year Alec has stood by me (alongside my mother of course) through 3 major surgeries, waited in hospital rooms, driven me to 100+ appointments and the ER—all with grace and calm.
 
He grew as an artist— teaching young people, acting in countless professional readings with incredible artists, and returning to live theatre as the protagonist of a new Chinese American play at the Goodman Theatre (!!).

All whilst laughing, healing, growing, finding joy, nurturing friendships, Tati, nurturing family, acting on his dreams, and cheering on his friends like no one else I know.
 
Oh and that’s right: this year, he married me. To commit to someone so fiercely in the middle of a pandemic *and* the middle of a huge health journey is a signifier of character I don’t have language for.

Alec, I love you.
And I am so glad you were born. 💜

 

Carla: A Friend Gush

Oh hello there. Are you in need of some inspiration?
 
Behold: This is my friend Carla Stickler.
 
Last week (in the midst of everything) Carla flew to NYC from her new home outside Chicago, to answer a call from Wicked on Broadway: “Hi Carla, we know you haven’t been a part of the full time company since 2015, but can you be here in a few days to standby for Elphaba?”
 
Carla has recently pivoted away from showbiz and taken on a new career in coding. She has not played this role in seven years and kapow: with a performing itch to scratch and an industry in need, Carla "Defied Gravity" last night. ON BROADWAY.
 
The vocal training, the sheer vocal CAPACITY, and ballsiness to be painted in green, pushed onstage with zero rehearsal, and screlt your heart and guts out. For some of us, we might not totally appreciate what a role like this entails—let alone not having done, rehearsed it, or even THOUGHT about it for SEVEN years. But Carla? Did it. On one of the biggest stages ON EARTH.
 
I have known Carla since we were 12 years old at summer camp. In adulthood we’ve been a part of a group of “Kick Ass Ladies” (with Christina Wallace + Rachel Beider) who lift one another up and support one another on this roller coaster called life.
 
Carla is one of the smartest and most devoted humans I know with the voice of an angel, but even better: the heart of a WARRIOR.
 
She will return to her life in Chicago with her amazing husband, perfect dog and kick ass coder job— but if she never performs in public again? She knows without a shadow of a doubt that THIS BOW was her last bow.
As Elphaba.
On BROADWAY.
 
I’m proud of her accomplishment, but even more in awe of her courage, resilience, and sheer  KICKASSERY.
 
I love you, Carla. Thank you for reminding me (and all of here) that sometimes miracles happen TO us, but sometimes, when we are scrappy WE HAPPEN to THEM.
 
Everyone deserves a chance to fly. 💚

 

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