OUTGOING | ADAPTABLE | MOM (of the group) | FUN
My Story:
I’ve always loved the performing arts. I’ve been surrounded by music my entire life with my father being a percussionist and my mother having a B.A. in music performance. I took dance classes when I was young, I’ve participated in choir since 5th grade, and I’ve been an avid performer in the music and theatre departments at Concord High School since my freshman year. Music helps me to connect with others through emotions that words alone can’t express. My love for performing has led me to the world of music theatre, and I’ve been participating in community and school productions since I was in 8th grade. Throughout my experience with music theatre, I’ve learned that storytelling is the foundation of all music theatre productions, and stories help us to learn and better understand the human experience.
Drama, relationships, and challenges naturally occur and complicate life in high school. A small incident at the end of my freshman year involved all three of these, and to make a long story short, it led me to dislike seniority and develop a thick skin. I say this because this event instilled in me the belief that doing my best wasn’t ever something to be ashamed of. I had as much of a right as anyone else to use what I’ve learned to my advantage and seize any and all opportunities. I held onto this philosophy for most of my high school career and continued to perform and audition for nearly everything I could to gain experience. Granted, there were a few things I felt others might have deserved more than I did, but I had to keep in mind the decision was in the hands of others. There was nothing I was doing blatantly wrong.
This past fall (2019), I auditioned for Elkhart Civic Theatre’s Frozen Jr. alongside my best friend. We were both seniors who had participated in numerous youth productions at this theatre, so we had our focus on the leading roles of Elsa and Anna. Also auditioning with us were good friends who I’d been performing with since my first show in 8th grade, one of whom was a girl one year older than me who was enrolled at a university that specializes in acting and performance. I thought she was a shoe in for Elsa, not only because she had platinum blond hair, but because she could belt higher than I could and do it well. For both of us it was “Elsa or bust,” meaning that if we didn’t get the role, we wouldn’t participate in the show. Neither of us wanted to turn down the chance to be in this show, but we had been friends long enough to respect and support the other and not mention the inevitable. We auditioned for the role back to back, seeing and hearing every note and word from the other. As expected, we were asked to sing a section of “Let It Go,” and while she nailed it, my voice cracked on the high note. To me, I blew it vocally, so I hoped my chemistry with my best friend would restore my chances in the acting portion.
After we were finished auditioning, the casting team began to speak with people one on one, dismissing each person after the talk. Everyone was sworn to secrecy about the casting team’s decision, and I watched my best friend and my “Elsa competition” leave without saying anything more to me than “Great job! Good luck.” I was finally called into the room as the last auditionee. They wanted me to play Queen Elsa of Arendelle. I was speechless. So speechless, in fact, that they weren’t quite sure I had understood the offer or would take it. I accepted the role, recognizing that this was what they wanted and that their decision had been made based on everyone's performances. I went home and cried, a mixture of gratitude, relief, and guilt. I wasn’t fully convinced that I had earned the role fairly considering who I was “up against.” “Let It Go” didn’t go as I had hoped, I had dark brown hair, and I thought my competition had me beat (in more ways than one). I didn’t give myself a chance to celebrate because all I could think about was the person I hurt by being unapologetically ambitious.
When the cast list was released, I was able to find joy in the fact that I’d be sharing the stage with new and old friends, especially my best friend, who had worked hard and been cast as Anna. Rehearsals began shortly after, and the director (who served as both the production director as well as the vocal director) was very careful about making me sing “Let It Go.” Neither of us wanted me to hurt myself and jeopardize my voice or the show. Additionally, I was hesitant to ask my voice teacher for help, out of pride and the fear that she’d discourage me from belting like Idina Menzel. I practiced the song in private, but I rarely pushed myself to belt high notes. In my head, I just wasn’t a belter.
Fast forward to the week of the show. The time came for me to present my show-ready version of this power ballad. I had figured out where in the song to belt and where to “fake it” so that I wouldn’t theoretically injure my voice. However, because I still believed deep down that I wasn’t meant to take this role, my anxiety attacked my voice at the climax of the song. I had been singing the note in a feigned belt, a part of my voice I had trained and conditioned to sound stronger than it was naturally. My voice cracked and was lost in the sound from speakers, and I was left vocally exposed and embarrassed in front of the whole cast and production team. Night after night, the same thing happened, and I would retreat to the dressing room, hating myself for not being able to do in public what I knew I could do in private. My best friend tried to cheer me up and empower me to keep going, but I continued to live in fear of the very moment in which my character let go of hers. For all of our dress rehearsals and five out of our six shows, my voice cracked and I resented myself for disappointing the audience, my cast mates, the production team, and myself. Somewhere in Arendelle, I lost the part of me that took opportunities left and right and was unstoppable in showing off what she had earned.
Finally we arrived at our closing night. This was my last chance to be Queen Elsa, perform in a youth production at this theatre, and share the stage with friends I’d spent most of my high school career with. There were no more shows to “save my voice” for and I was tired of my voice breaking from anxiety and fear. I sang “Let It Go” with no regrets and belted my face off, hitting the trouble note perfectly and powerfully. I finished the song, breathless and relieved, and stood there shaking while listening to the deafening roar of my castmates jumping with joy in the wings and the thunderous applause from the audience. Everyone in the tech booth was celebrating and flashing the lights, even forgetting my light cue to leave the stage. Finally, I walked off the stage and began to sob while everyone backstage smothered me in a giant group hug. I went down the line of people from our production team who had come to congratulate me, hugging and thanking them for having faith in me. At that moment, I realized that my “failures” didn’t matter compared to this one success. What’s more, the audience wanted me to succeed just as much as everyone else did, and I only felt that I let them down because I thought I did. I had been the one holding myself back, no one else. Ironically, I hadn’t taken my character’s advice of “letting it go” and seeing all that I could actually do.
As I look back on this experience, I have mixed emotions about how it all unfolded. I see how I should’ve asked for help, trusted myself, and reached out to the girl I auditioned with to make peace with the casting decision before it was too late. The silver linings, however, were getting to be a sister to my best friend, a queen in a Disney musical, and a dream come true to dozens of little girls and boys who loved the movie. It took a few therapy sessions and heart-to-hearts with people involved in the show for me to open up about how much this experience affected me. What I’ve learned in putting this story down on paper, though, is how wonderful it feels to “let go” of what holds me back. Could I have done things differently? Of course. I could’ve asked for help in voice lessons rather than planning an emergency lesson halfway through our production weekends. I could’ve pushed my limits and taken more risks to get the results that I wanted. Moments of fondness and regret come and go in my memories of this show, but I have to remember that it was a learning experience and a milestone in my growth as a human and as a performer. I was and am supported unconditionally by friends, peers, and adults who had faith in me from the start. Most importantly, I won’t let Elsa’s words be in vain. I won’t hold on to fear and regret. The past is in the past.
Favorite part of working with PAT+CASSIE:
I've known Amy J since I was little (I went to elementary school with her daughter), and I love her wisdom and kindness. She made posing for pictures easy and was supportive the whole way. Everyone is professional and they want you to love what you see in your pictures.
What advice would you give underclassmen?:
Take risks!!! You'll never know what you're capable of unless you try. If you make mistakes in front of others, so what? You're trying! In addition to this, hold yourself accountable for what you do and don't do. Don't take or make excuses from anyone, including yourself. Live and love openly, but remember that you are all that is guaranteed in your life. Lastly, have fun!!! Try to find joy and laughter in every single day.
Instagram: gcarrenomusic11
