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So, this list has been surfacing around the internet a lot these days – “Things I Wish I Had Been Told in Theatre School.” I cannot even tell you how many of my Facebook theatre friends have shared this link on their walls because they like it. They agree with what this dude has to say. And to some extent, yeah, he makes a few very valid points that I agree with as well.

However, I have to speak up. I feel like the outlier in my profession saying this, but I just don’t agree – not completely, anyway. Most of the statements I agree with are things that anyone serious about this industry knows without needing someone at a “theatre school” to tell them. I understand these are not hard and fast rules, and I respect his personal opinion on his personal blog. He owns those words and he should write them with pride because, to him, they are truth. After all, everyone has a unique learning curve from which their experiences stem. We have all walked away with different lessons.

But there’s a couple of his thoughts, in particular, that I just can’t get behind because of my learning curve and my experiences. For the sake of not boring anyone to death, I’ll keep it to my top three objections only.

“#2. You’d be surprised how few people are willing to pay for theatre tickets when they aren’t your friends and family and have no personal connection to you whatsoever.”

This, I have to disagree with. Do you only dine at a restaurant if you have a personal connection to the chef? Do you only pay for tickets to a sporting event or music concert if you have a personal connection to the player or musician? If this were a truth in my world, the professional theatre industry would not exist and I would not be employed full-time by a LORT B house with a full-time staff of 50+ hard-working folks for whom theatre IS their day job/night job/living/life. That figure does not even begin to count the hundreds of actors, designers, directors, and over hire crew that we contract with on a show-by-show basis. The reason I am so blessed to be able to do what I do everyday is because people who had no personal connection to me, or anything involved with the show whatsoever, were willing to pay for tickets. Buying tickets puts butts in seats, and butts in seats means we can continue to explore our craft and share that journey with our community – which is, indeed, the heart and soul of the whole operation to begin with. Every single day we cultivate new relationships with single-ticket buyers who are stepping foot into our theatre for the very first time. They may not know a single soul associated with that production, but they were still willing to pay for a ticket. Why? Because stories are universal. Because art transforms us.

And for those individuals who do need a personal connection – we reach out. We invite them in, we get to know them, and we open the doors to involve them so they can take ownership in the process, translating to an investment both in themselves and in us, ultimately leading to the purchase of future tickets so this industry can continue to exist. We make a connection through what we share with them. Every single theatre experience is about making a connection to something or someone in some way. Audiences are smart folk; give them credit.

“#4. By the same token, there are very few roles in the theatre for twenty-year-olds.”

News to me. We feature twenty-somethings on our stages all the time. Every single new play I have read in the past six months (and I have read many plays in the past six months – plays in the early stages of their development, plays in a state of workshop and final revision before being published or produced, plays making their world or regional premieres, plays new within the past year, plays new within the past five years, plays that have been around the block a time or two, and plays that are have been around for years and years) has had (usually, this is a generalization, of course) at least one role for a twenty-something. Look harder. Broader your horizons. Explore new material and up-and-coming playwrights. These roles are all around. You just have to be open to them. They won’t always exist, all the time, but “very few roles” feels like a drastic exaggeration, in my opinion. Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up with the number of excellent roles open to twenty-somethings.

“#32. And finally, don’t go down this path just because you’re “good enough” to be a professional actor. For the love of God, do it ONLY because you cannot do anything else.”

I have always had an issue with this sentiment. This very phrase was drilled into my head by countless theatre mentors from the time I was twelve and I have silently disagreed every single time but never spoke up because if so many people said it, then it must be true. “Only do theatre if you cannot do anything else. Only do theatre if you cannot imagine doing anything else. Only do theatre if you would be unhappy doing anything else.” I have been working in the professional theatre industry for the past five years, and I love what I do with every fiber of my being. I love that everyday, I get to go to work and create art. I am honored to be able to share that very art and make connections and touch others lives every single day.

But there are a lot of other things I can do, and could do successfully and probably even happily as well. Almost every actor I know could likely do something else successfully and happily as well. I think I could make a fine writer, a great educator, a strong nonprofit leader, a compassionate social worker, a smart veterinarian, a capable researcher, an archeologist, tour guide, animal trainer…but I choose to do theatre, not because it’s the only thing I can do, but because it is something I enjoy doing and want to share with the world. Treating this profession like you were forced into it out of necessity instead of choosing to do it out of love, just sucks all the fun and passion right out. I think telling our possible future generations of theatre artists that they should only do this if they cannot possibly do anything else with their lives is limiting. It intimidates them. It scares them away from what could be an amazing experience and an amazing life. Now, I’m not trying to diminish the fact that being an actor is hard work, or that you might work 150 jobs that have nothing to do with acting (unless you actively translate them to experiences you can use in your work – in other words, soak in the experiences and make them relevant), that making enough income to keep a roof over your head, food in your body, gas in your car, and your bills paid might be hard to come, or that you’ll need stamina and gumption to power through. I don’t shy away from the fact that it’s not an easy paycheck kind of life. But, we can be honest while welcoming people in to this wonderful world, not frightening them away so that someone who might make an excellent stage manager or technician or actor or director or designer or dramaturg never tries to pursue it because we’ve told them it will be miserable instead of joyous, when really, it’s a lot of miserably hard work that is incredibly joyous and rewarding! Let’s not make artists a dying breed.

Just my two cents.