Picture on a Tea Box

Concept: 12/27/19 | Written: 03/20/21

I always thought I knew exactly what type of life I would have when I grew up. At the ripe old age of twelve, I decided with absolute certainty the kind of life I was meant for as an adult: I wanted to be left alone with my dog on a beautiful, flourishing landscape away from people. I wanted to live in a cozy home where I could write stories, explore different art mediums, and maintain a vibrant garden. When I grew up, my house would have all of my favorite things and my dog would forever be my loyal, furry companion who’d never disappoint. It was that simple. This ideal life was perfectly portrayed on the cover picture of Celestial Seasonings’ cinnamon-apple herbal tea box. It depicted an attractive farmhouse on the lush green acreage of an apple orchard. A casually-clothed woman was in the midst of harvesting ripe red apples from one of the trees while her Golden Retriever played happily in the distance. That was the quintessential life: living on one’s own in a quaint home with a devoted canine (which for me would either be a Labrador or German Shepherd). This particular image has long been replaced with an updated one for the cinnamon-apple herbal tea, and I haven’t been successful in locating the old design from at least fifteen years ago. Regardless, the homely station of an apple farmer with her dog was exactly the life I was meant for. And for many years, this was the future I knew I wanted.

I’m an adult now and that tea box future was, until recently, blissfully unchallenged. Within the last year however, the perfect life I destined for myself as a twelve-year-old was shattered with one stark blow from reality. Turns out, you actually need people. You need genuine, healthy, face-to-face human connection and interaction on a regular basis…or at least, I do. More specifically, I needed to be around innovative people who challenged me creatively and pushed me closer to my potential. And to be completely honest, I was rather annoyed at this new revelation. Not because I was wrong for so long but because I had no idea how to go about finding that ‘right’ group. It was a daunting mission, especially since there was part of me (and still is, to a lesser degree) that believed people, in general, were crummy. They lied, manipulated, and virtue signaled. They didn’t listen, complained about everything under the sun, and were too often entitled and self-absorbed. There are exceptions of course and I know there are plenty of good people in the world. I’ve just run into too many of the rotten ones that it’s easy for the genuine gems to be outshone. But the truth of the matter is, I need to be around human beings and I need a collaborative lifestyle.

So now I was presented with the seemingly impossible task of finding these specific people. I’d just come to terms with the fact that my place in life was on the fringe of society. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t get samplings of community every now and then. But ultimately, I’d be operating on my own. So how on earth was I ever going to uncover this elusive niche?

The necessity of human interaction became abundantly clear when I left my bakery family of eight years for a desk job with healthcare benefits in October of 2018. I went from a highly active food-maker to a sedentary human resources researcher. Instead of adding a pinch of joy to customers’ lives with good food, I now verified other people’s work history and educational certificates. I had become, essentially, a glorified fact-checker. It was a monotonous, nine-to-five job that involved no face-to-face connection because everything was done through a computer. And I do mean everything. There were quotas to meet, personal activity logs to submit, and time limits to every aspect of the work day. Phone calls, data entry charts, holding times for outgoing calls - everything was documented digitally. There were procedures for procedures and tallies for every mistake made. All of these components added up to numbers and percentages, and that’s how you were evaluated as an employee. It wasn’t so much about the kind of human you were but rather how good your numbers were. The accrual of procedural errors, completion of verifications, and minimal breaks determined your value there. It wasn’t long before I started to feel the life being sucked out of me and my soul being gradually drained. I’m a creative person by nature and need an active and stimulating lifestyle. I began to realize this new, corporate livelihood was terminal, but I felt trapped because I desperately need the healthcare coverage the company provided.

To regain my humanity, I’d return to the bakery every Saturday. Although it was only one day back in the home I’d left begrudgingly, it was enough of a recharge to get me though the following week. This is when I realized that I needed people - good people who weren’t tied to a million timed procedures or a lifeless calling script. Not only was the denial of human connection negatively affecting my mental, emotional, and physical health, but its side effects became a damper on my will and desire to do anything else – write, sketch, or sing along to songs in the car. Even hiking, an activity I’ve loved ever since my unforgettable adventure in New Zealand became mundane. And so, I grew numb to everything.

By some miracle, nine months into this dismal desk job, I was hit with a sudden burst of determination and decided to indulge in small bits of creative writing throughout the day and risk the ‘punishment’ for not meeting daily quotas. The consequence for my semi-rebellious act would be in the form of a passive-aggressive email from my team leader basically instructing me to “be better.” No matter. Throw in some sketches here and there, and that’s how I got through the tedious office days. And to my surprise, I actually managed to finish a rough draft for an episodic TV script! There’s nothing like the surge of a little hope; it makes you think that somehow you’ll be okay. With this newfound optimism, I was determined to do something fun once or twice a month, like volunteering as a stagehand for a local community theater or enjoying a new movie on the big screen at my local AMC. This was my new game plan. I didn’t know how long the hopefulness would last, so I’d utilize every moment I had.

About two weeks before the first anniversary at my desk job, I decided to see An Act of God at Bristol Riverside Theatre which is only a short drive from my house. I wasn’t nearly as excited to see the show as I was to be returning to the place which I’ve considered to be like a second home. I’d worked there the last four summers for an independent children’s theatre camp called Theatre Arts Center. Because TAC rented BRT's stage for its children’s performances, I had the opportunity to work with some of the theatre's staff. They were always friendly and more than happy to teach me the ins and outs of behind-the-scenes operations. It was an invaluable experience to say the least.

Not only were the technicians amazing but the location was beautiful as well. Bristol Riverside Theatre is comfortably situated in the newly revamped Bristol Borough, directly across from Burlington Island. It sits right along the Delaware River and is surrounded with just the right balance of Old City Philadelphia vibe. It’s cozy yet professional, and I knew in my soul that I’d one day call this theatre home. It was something I knew since that early June morning when first I walked through the now familiar tinted glass doors on Radcliffe Street. But that dream was a long way away, and I was happy for now to be enjoying a casual evening out.

I had the mezzanine almost all to myself that Thursday night in September, and I was more than content to be comfortably settled once again in the navy-cushioned seats of my favorite theatre. The show itself was boring and I personally didn’t like it...although it was impressive to watch an actress perform an essentially ninety-minute monologue flawlessly. Regardless, I was in a familiar place watching live theatre. It couldn’t get any better than that. How wrong I was.

After the final bow, I headed for the exit which was left of the lighting booth and gave a friendly wave to the lighting technician who I’d worked with during my summers with TAC. And that’s the moment my life changed. He eagerly motioned me to come up to chat. Rehearsals for the next show would be starting in about two weeks and they needed a second assistant stage manager for the production. They were rapidly running out of time and people to ask. So, was I available? “I will make myself available,” I remember saying calmly, though in my head, I was screaming ecstatically at this sudden prospect. My heart began to race while he explained some further details, and I was quickly overcome with a wave of cold sweat of excitement. I had so desperately wanted an opportunity like this the moment I first set foot inside BRT, but I knew I had to accumulate a considerable amount of experience before I could even qualify for a professional role like the one I was now being recommended for. This unexpected offer changed everything.

So I sent him my resume as soon as I got home that night which he then forwarded to the stage manager for review. Two days later, I got the job. And from there, things fell quickly into place. Within two weeks, I left my droll desk job – one I thought I’d never be free of – and was welcomed warmly with open arms by a supportive and friendly team. It was my very first professional theater credit. I could hardly believe it. I was the second Assistant Stage Manager for the production of Next to Normal and I couldn’t be happier. To be completely honest, I teared up a little when I got my name tag and place card.

I don’t think my new team ever knew just how earnestly or how long I had yearned for an opportunity like this. Just to be considered for the position was something I didn’t think I’d ever get. Having no formal training and with only five years of experience in amateur productions, I knew that it would be many years and take a considerable amount of hard work, patience, and perseverance before I'd have any chance of working for Bristol Riverside…or any professional theatre for that matter. But I had this opportunity now because I was in the right place at the right time, and because I had developed a reputable working relationship with the lighting technician over four consecutive summers. I thanked God every day for this extraordinary chance, and I was beyond grateful and blessed to be on an exciting ride that I wasn’t qualified for, technically, on paper.

My life changed dramatically during my two-month contract for Next to Normal. And I felt myself change too. I’d built a family at the bakery and earned the respect from the kids and adults I worked with in amateur theatre. But Bristol was different. I was now operating alongside professionals in a field I hoped to make a career in one day. No one - cast or crew - knew who I was but they nonetheless gave me all the support and guidance I could have asked for. The weight of this incredible gift was not lost on me.

But I wasn’t immune to intimidation. Truthfully, it was daunting to be among such an accomplished team. My initial and secret insecurity stemmed from the feeling that I had no right to be there: I had absolutely no professional training or experience. All I was equipped with were five years stage managing children’s theatre and four years developing a close rapport with a seasoned lighting technician. And I have no doubt that my limited theatre knowledge was glaringly obvious during the thorough interview with Bristol’s stage managers. But they chose me and I was now part of the team. I was humbled and immensely grateful, but completely out of my league. They were all professionals and I was furthest from. Despite how new I was, the Next to Normal company treated me as an equal.

I was welcomed into the group and evaluated based on my character, integrity, and work ethic. That’s a relatively new experience for me as well. Not to say that I’ve never been judged on those qualities before, because I have. But this time, I was being assessed by a talented cast and crew who were successful in the very world I desperately wanted to be part of. I endeavored to earn their respect and to be an effective asset to the team. It felt a bit vain, but I genuinely just wanted to do a good job.

It wasn’t long before I began to see the appeal of being around people. As I grew closer with my new colleagues during the rehearsal weeks, the desire to live with my dog away from the world slowly morphed into an unrealistic future. I got a taste of what it’s like to have the kind of friendships I’ve always been envious of on television shows and movies and in books. I had the chance to work with talented individuals, some of whom were my own age. That was another novel experience for me. Ever since I entered college and the workforce nearly ten years ago, I’ve been surrounded by those who could be my younger siblings or who were old enough to be a parent or grandparent. I was either the older sister or the kid, and I was growing tired of that trope. I have nothing against these age groups, but there’s something special about working with people who are the same age you are, and I really liked it.

I loved every second of my time at Bristol Riverside Theatre and learned a great deal too. I participated in activities I’d never dream of doing before because I just didn’t see the point. For instance, after one of our Thursday shows in late November, we ventured to a local pub to celebrate another successful performance. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever do that, or want to for that matter. Bars had never been my scene and I’d found no reason in wasting hard-earned money on overpriced beverages. But this was different: I trusted the group I was with and was genuinely fond of their company. Cast and crew gelled well together which made the experience all the more pleasurable.

We arrived at that small pub off of East Farragut Avenue and entered into the familiar ambiance of fluctuating chatter, amber lighting, and odors of sizzling meats and deep-fried carbohydrates. A row of high, square tables had been sandwiched together and we all climbed onto equally tall black chairs. To say I enjoyed myself would be a tremendous understatement. I sat happily among a lively crew, constantly jumping in and out of a dozen conversations to my left and right. Between nibbles of deliciously cheesy appetizers and sips of crisp hard cider, I eagerly soaked up morsels of the group’s individual histories and shared a bit of my own. I laughed heartily and never once checked my phone for the time.

I was also invited to and readily attended cast parties. Again, not my forte. But I had learned to regard these people as friends and they treated me as one of their own without a second thought. And that made all the difference. Good company, fun stories, and tasty snacks. It was as simple as that. But it was a huge deal to me.

Needless to say, I was addicted to this new life. One evening, during the lull of intermission, my fellow assistant stage manager shared one of her favorite theatre mottos from her college instructor: “It’s called a play, so why don’t we?” And I did. I’d gone from a general numbness caused by an inability to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel to immeasurable happiness resulting from my immersion in a professional production of one of my favorite musicals. Because of the monotonous and isolating desk job, and because of my unforgettable time at BRT, I’ve come to realize the importance of being around decent human beings who challenge me creatively. I need to be among individuals who I can learn from, depend on, and trust.

The warm and vibrant scene which had been so attractively displayed on that ordinary Celestial Seasons tea box is still an appealing getaway. But it’s no longer the ideal, permanent lifestyle as I had once thought many years ago. Instead, it’s a temporary escape. I’ve come to learn that an isolated life, however tranquil, isn’t one I can realistically sustain without interruption. I’ve seen what it’s like to be surrounded by genuine human beings, and that’s not something I can simply forget or let go of. I do still believe the way of life painted on that tea box has some part to play in my future. But it’s only half of the lifestyle I need, and that’s okay.

So I think it’s a happy medium I’m after. I’d still like to have a quiet place away from the world where I can retreat periodically to decompress and devote time to writing, art, and horticulture. But I also know now that I thrive in a creative and collaborative environment. The quest to find a group like the one I was part of at Bristol Riverside Theatre will, without a doubt, be a challenging search demanding patience and perseverance. But I found an unexpected optimism at the tail end of 2019 that gave me confidence in my ability to tackle this endeavor. Those two months at BRT were a personal reboot, and an invaluable one at that. The once-in-lifetime opportunity I was blessed with gave me hope that I just might have a chance to make it out there. Clarity adjusted my linear course and I’m now on a new path with twists and turns, and who knows what’s in store.