Life Lessons From My Summer Theater Job

My job in elementary education means my summers are free. Sometimes too free. So this year, my friend suggested I volunteer as an usher at our local off-Broadway theater. I watched pets for income, but that didn’t get me out and about in the community, and I could easily hide away for my entire summer.
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Alright, alright. But the bit that sealed the deal? The theater was performing Beauty and the Beast AND Murder on the Orient Express. So I had two shows I wanted and a paraprofessional’s income. But ushers could stay and watch the entire summer season free.

So I ushered. And I experienced my first summer season. And I learned a lot about theater. But the funny thing is, what I learned there works outside the theater, too.

One: Give it a try.

The theater offered five shows this year, and I only knew two. But far be it from me to turn down a free ticket.

Except I almost did. The afternoon I ushered The Wedding Singer, I’d been dogsitting for a week and had car trouble first thing that morning. I already felt “meh” about the show, and a long nap at home was all too enticing.

But the free ticket prevailed. If I disliked the show that much, I reasoned, I could sneak out at intermission.
I didn’t sneak out at intermission. The Wedding Singer made me smile more than any other show. I laughed so hard I forgot all about the car trouble and my nap.

And I’d almost missed it. I’d almost stuck with what I knew.

Trying new things is easy when it’s free and you can sneak out at intermission. Rarely does life outside the theater work that way. But God will send opportunities our way. They might be fun things, like Wedding Singer tickets. They might be not so fun things, like car trouble along the way. Sometimes it risks embarrassment or disappointment.

But sometimes it comes with laughter. Sometimes it comes with joy. But first, I have to give it a try.

Two: Audience matters.

My first show, I smiled at the dressed-up girls at Beauty and the Beast. Then two weeks later, I was the only young person at Kiss Me Kate. Then a month later I clapped along with the dancing audience at Beautiful.

And I sat behind the theater’s high school conservatory group at The Wedding Singer.

And man, that conservatory group was the best audience.

They cheered loud and hard for the orchestra when most people just politely clapped. They laughed the hardest at the jokes. They gasped whenever a character gave a particularly good roast.

And that reaction is infectious. It was uncanny how one person would clap or dance or cheer, and soon it would ripple across the entire audience.

Who is in my real-life audience with me?

Someone who will cheer the overlooked or someone who’s content to politely clap?

Someone who will discuss the show with me afterward or someone who will scroll their phone at intermission?

Someone who will gasp and cry with the more dramatic bits or someone who you can never quite read whether they’re even enjoying it?

Someone who will laugh and find the joy, or someone who will complain about the seats and the people around them?

And what audience am I for those around me?

Three: It’s okay to watch the show alone.

The very first show I ushered was Beauty and the Beast. I sat with the usher who trained me for the first half, but at intermission, she announced that she had an appointment.

That left me alone in an empty row.

I’d attended this theater several times before, but a friend or family member always came with me.

Being alone was strangely refreshing.

Don’t get me wrong—there’s something beautiful and unifying at sharing a glance or laughing at the same jokes or reacting to a climatic moment together. I definitely wouldn’t want to attend every show alone.

But this time, I laughed at the parts I found funny without wondering if anyone else caught the humor. Nothing and no one else tugged at my attention. I immersed myself in the lights and the spectacles and the characters.

Sure, you need a good audience. But I also don’t have to be afraid to watch the show alone sometimes. Alone doesn’t mean lonely. Sometimes God gives us that space so we can learn things about ourselves and immerse ourselves in what God has done and what He’s doing. And then we can take the next show, the next thing, and share it with our audience.  

Four: Love what you love.

Beauty and the Beast was the only show I attended alone. But I made up my mind. No matter who I sat with, I would enjoy the show my way. I’d laugh at the jokes I found funny. I’d cheer for the characters I loved. I’d clap along with the songs if I felt so inclined. I wouldn’t get embarrassed if I cried. And I’d stand at the end even if no one else did.

I got to just be myself in a crowd of people who also got to just be themselves. And we lost ourselves in a story for three hours.

And something about being ourselves also unified us.

God created me uniquely and specifically. He created every other person in that audience uniquely and specifically. And far beyond a show, I have a unique perspective on the world outside the theater.

I studied Ecclesiastes over the summer, and sometimes that book is a downer. But scattered throughout it are these passages that remind me that God gives all the good things we experience, and that enjoying those good gifts is a beautiful thing.

I can try new things. I can surround myself with a good audience. I can even enjoy time alone. But a show only has as much value as you give it. Life only has as much value as I put into it. Let yourself experience the show your way, the way only you can, the way He designed you.  

Do you have a favorite play or musical? Have you seen any of the ones I mentioned? Share your adventures in the comments below!