On being a good colleague...

In my last post, I touched on how lonely this profession can be.  And it's true - as a soloist, especially a freelance soloist, it can feel like you're the only person looking out for yourself.  But life doesn't have to be so lonely.  There are millions of colleagues out there going through all of the same things.  People who can be an invaluable source of information, help, and support.  This is why it's important to reach out to others and form alliances within the music profession.  This is why it's important to be a good colleague.

What does it mean to be a good colleague?  A good colleague is helpful: they offer advice, give recommendations for good teachers and coaches, or endorse you to someone for future work.  A good colleague is sympathetic: they listen when you're having a hard time, and they understand what you're going through.  And finally, a good colleague is considerate: they consider how their words and actions affect other people.  In other words, they aren't an asshole.

Surprisingly difficult advice to follow.

Now, that is a lot to expect from one person.  And you probably shouldn't expect everyone to be all of these things for you all of the time.  After all, singers are very busy people working in a very difficult and competitive field.  But I believe that if you want to be a happy singer, you should seek out and befriend other singers who have these qualities.  And the more that you emulate these qualities yourself, the easier you will find it to surround yourself with like-minded people.

There are, of course, certain types of colleagues that you should avoid.  Some of them are more dangerous than others, but none of them are particularly helpful.  So try not to spend too much time with these people - and try not to become one of them yourself.

The Apathetic Colleague is the honey badger of colleagues.  They don't give a shit.  They don't wish you ill, but they don't particularly wish you any good either.  If you get in touch with the Apathetic Colleague and ask for help or advice, don't expect an answer.  The Apathetic Colleague doesn't have time for you - they only want to look out for number one.  You can sort of understand where the Apathetic Colleague is coming from.  After all, their life is busy, and they can't be expected to drop everything whenever someone needs their help.  But the Apathetic Colleague tends to ignore everyone all the time.  And what goes around comes around: when they need help, they're usually met with a taste of their own apathetic medicine.

If you honey badger someone, they will honey badger you right back.

The Negative Colleague is a total downer, man.  Always feeling sorry for their self for bombing that audition or not winning that job.  Always speaking doom and gloom about how it's impossible to get anywhere in the industry these days.  The Negative Colleague likes to play the victim - they don't take responsibility for anything that happens in their life.  Instead they choose to believe that for some reason, bad things are always happening *to* them.

Everything happens to Eeyore...

The Negative Colleague has absolutely nothing good to say about anyone or anything.  It's amazing really -you can almost feel the positivity seeping out of you as you speak to them.  Everyone goes through phases where they feel bad about life.  But the Negative Colleague isn't going through a phase - they're like this all the time.  And nobody wants to hang around a person who's always bringing them down.

The Selfish Colleague might act very friendly and pleasant toward you, but make no mistake - they don't actually care.  The Selfish Colleague will use you for all you're worth, and give nothing back.  They can be extremely needy.  They will call at any hour to ask for advice, or whine about their terrible lesson.  But the minute you ask them for a bit of help, they will suddenly become very busy.  Beware of the Selfish Colleague: they are a constant drain on your energy.

The Toxic Colleague is the most dangerous kind of colleague.  Like the Selfish Colleague, they will act like they're your BFF.  But the minute you turn your back, you can guarantee that they will be gossiping about you to someone else.   They will find ways to make subtle little comments that poke at your insecurities and chip away your confidence, all the while pretending to be on your side.  The Toxic Colleague is insidious and extremely clever - they know just how to get under your skin.

"Did you hear that Cindy got the role?  Omigod that is like, sooo sad for you."

Don't be fooled by the Toxic Colleague's tough exterior.  Chances are, they behave this way because they are incredibly, painfully insecure.  They see life as a competition with only one winner.  And they think they have to play dirty to win.  The reason the Toxic Colleague plays so many mind games is that deep down inside, they don't believe they can get ahead on their merit alone.  They think they have to sabotage their rivals in order to succeed.  When you look at it this way, it's actually pretty sad.  There's no need to be mean to the Toxic Colleague, but there's no reason to let them mistreat you either.  Just stay friendly and try not to get sucked in.

I'm often shocked by the way some singers behave toward each other.  But then again, I'm not really shocked at all.  If I'm being completely honest, I have been guilty of all of these types of behaviour at some point in my life.  And I bet that you have too.  Why?  Because we work in a difficult and competitive industry, and these are all various (admittedly unhealthy) ways of coping with it.  It's hard to separate the personal from the professional.  It's hard to be friendly with people who you consider to be your rivals.  And it's hard not to let your setbacks bring you down.

But like I said, what goes around comes around.  The music industry is a small world, and when you behave badly word spreads pretty fast.  You'll find that people are less likely to hire you back, or help you out, or even answer your calls.

More importantly, all of this kind of behaviour sucks up a lot of energy.  Energy which could be spent improving your singing, or your stagecraft, or your knowledge of the repertoire.  You have a lot of work to do!  So why waste yourself on negativity?

There is really no need to be dishonest or unkind towards our colleagues.  It makes life more difficult and unpleasant for everyone.  We all learned the same Golden Rule in Kindergarten: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  Why do so many of us forget it when we grow up?

Being a good colleague just makes good sense.  We are the only ones who truly understand this career and what it entails.  So why not help each other out?  Why not lend a bit of help and support to a comrade-in-arms?  This industry is hard enough without making it harder for each other!  I know I might sound a bit naive here, but I really do believe the world will be a better place if we are kind to our fellow singers.

In the end, you have two choices: you can keep your toys to yourself, or you can share them.  If you keep them to yourself, nobody wins.  If you share them around, there's more for everyone.  We can all accomplish so much more if we pool our resources.  There are millions of fantastic websites, blogs, and online communities which demonstrate just how much singers can do when they get together.

But on a smaller, more personal scale, life is so much easier when you have friends in the industry who you can trust.  Friends who can give you an honest opinion, or a valuable recommendation.  Friends who will meet you for a beer when you're in town, or even let you crash on their couch.  True friends, with no ulterior motives, who have your back and know you have theirs.  These kinds of friends are invaluable in our profession.  And you will only get as much as you give.

I have met some people in this profession who are unhelpful or just downright nasty.  But I have also had the pleasure knowing some fantastic colleagues who have helped me in countless ways.  I am extremely grateful for everything I've received from these thoughtful and generous people.  And knowing how much their kindness has meant to me, I see how important it is to do the same for others.  Because every time we are helpful, generous, and considerate to our colleagues, we are changing this profession for the better.  We are making the music world a friendlier place.  And isn't that something we all should want?

On going the distance (part 2)

It's past midnight on a Monday, and I'm talking to my boyfriend.  It's been over a week since we've last been able to talk - he's been on tour with his orchestra, and they didn't have internet or phone signal at his hotel.  But now he's on a bus to Venice, and thanks to a German phone borrowed from a friend, we are finally able to have a conversation without racking up astronomical long distance charges.

The last week has been difficult.  A series of missed calls, Tolstoy-novel-length texts, and desperate searches for wifi.  We have both felt the absence of our regular Skype chats.  And every time I send an email or a facebook message, it feels like sending a message out to sea - I have no idea when or if it will be received.



Sadly, he would never get to see that hilarious youtube clip...

I don't have a perfect relationship.  I don't even have a perfect long-distance relationship.  In the perfect long-distance relationship, we would have bottomless bank accounts so we could jet over to see each other every weekend.  We would have limitless access to internet and mobile phone networks, so that we could constantly stay in touch.  We would have near-identical schedules, so that it would be easy to find time to talk.

But nothing, as we know, is ever perfect.  Especially when it comes to relationships.

It's been over a year now since my relationship became long-distance.  In the year since I last wrote about it, a lot has happened.  I have learned things about myself and my boyfriend, and about relationships in general.  At times it has been challenging, hilarious, heartbreaking, ridiculous, inspiring, and joyful.  And I thought I'd take the time to share what I've observed and learned.

I always knew that I was going to miss my boyfriend.  I expected to feel sad and lonely when he wasn't around.  And I was right about that.  I always miss my boyfriend - it's a dull kind pain that's with me every day.  What I didn't expect was that I would get used to this pain, that I would stop noticing it.  What I didn't expect was that we would both get used to being apart, and this was a much bigger problem.

In a long-distance relationship, as you spend time apart from each other, you both become more independent.  I mean, of course you do.  You have to.  If you spent all your evenings at home pining for your other half, you'd be on the short track to clinical depression.  So you go out, you make new friends, you find new hobbies.  You get used to doing your own thing, following your own schedule.  And eventually you fall into a rhythm that works for you.  Which is great.  Until of course, your other half comes to visit.

Suddenly, everything changes again.  You can't just follow your own schedule anymore - there's another person to consider.  You've spent all this time filling up the big gaping hole they left behind, and now you have to fit them in again.  Of course, they were a part of your life when they were away too.  But there's a big difference between an scheduled hour's chat on Skype, and being together 24/7.

And then there's the jealousy.  Not romantic jealousy, but friendship jealousy.  I've struggled with this a few times on visits to Sweden.  You see, my boyfriend has this whole social life apart from me.  Of course he needs this social life, and I'm very happy he has it.  But when I come to visit, I can't help feeling a bit left out.  I can't catch up on all the bonhomie these people have shared.  These are people who can take him for granted, who get to hang out with him every day.  They share banter and dance tunes and drinks and inside jokes with him.  They probably even get to hug him more than I do.  How is it fair that he hugs his buddies more than his girlfriend?

At this point, I'm sure a lot of people would love to chime in and tell me that I'm fighting a losing battle.  That long-distance relationships never work.  Well, as my brother says, scratch any cynic and you'll find a wounded romantic.  In my experience, most of the nay-sayers out there seem to be hurt, embittered, or angry about a failed long-distance relationship in their past.  I have also been in unsuccessful long-distance relationships.  Nonetheless, I do think a long-distance relationship can work.  Maybe not for every couple.  Maybe not in any given set of circumstances.  But it can work.

I think a big key to making a long-distance relationship work is to fight the two romance-killers: routine and lack of communication.

I know you're probably sick to death of hearing how important communication is in a relationship.  Well I hate to break it to you, but it's true.  Almost any problem in a relationship is surmountable - if you talk about it openly.  If you don't talk about the problem, it will only get bigger, breeding resentment and misunderstanding.

Now I know what you're thinking.  It's really, really hard to talk about relationship problems when you hardly ever see each other.  The problem is that you want every visit to be nice.  You want to make the most of your time together, and leave with lots of happy idyllic memories.  Memories of strolling down the street hand-in-hand, visiting the zoo, or having a snowball fight.  The kinds of things couples do in a romantic comedy montage.  You don't want to leave with memories of having long, emotional discussions about your relationship problems.  And so it's very tempting to just stick on a smile and pretend that everything is fine.

Yes, everything is just wonderful!



But trust me on this one.  It is always better, if possible, to talk about these things face-to-face.  No technology in your way.  No sketchy wifi connections or crackling phones.  Just the two of you, looking each other in the eye and speaking honestly.

It's also important to communicate with each other about the relationship as a whole.  What kind of relationship is this?  Where is it going?  What do you both want?  You need to be on the same page about these things.  Otherwise you'll discover - far too late - that you are in two completely different relationships.

"Monogamy?!  I thought you said mahogany!"

Which brings us to the second romance killer: routine.  Yes, things can get routine, even when your significant other lives on another continent.  Maybe it's not the routine of ordering in Chinese every Friday, or quibbling over who makes the coffee every morning.  But even routines like talking on Skype every night can put your relationship in a rut.  You start to think of your conversations as an obligation.  You start to let your attention wander, and do things like checking facebook mid-conversation.

I will never forget a particularly cathartic conversation in which my boyfriend and I finally told each other how sick we were of talking on Skype.  Not that there's anything wrong with Skype per se.  It's just that after a while, anything can get boring.  And after all, what is natural about sitting down to speak to each other at an appointed hour, for an appointed period of time?  This should be a relationship, not a business meeting!

So what did we do?  We took away the pressure of talking on Skype all the time.  Instead, we tried talking more through instant messaging, spontaneously, when we felt like it.  And we got creative.  We looked for other ways to reach out to each other.  Whether it was writing romantic texts, sending silly photos, or composing the odd limerick, we found millions of little ways to say "thinking of you".  One of my latest discoveries?  You can send a video message up to 3 minutes long over Skype.  It's a great way to send a message when the other person is offline.  And if you happen to be under the influence of alcohol whilst recording your message, I assure you that hilarity will ensue. 

I am not at all speaking from personal experience.  Nope.  Not me.

Some people will tell you that a long-distance relationship is not a real relationship.  It's just a delusion, a fantasy.  In a way, these people are right.  A long-distance relationship can never be the same as a real relationship.  There is no replacement for being together in person.  Of course, your feelings for each other may be very powerful and very real.  But most of the time, your relationship is more like a promise of a relationship.  A promise of what will be the next time you're together.  This is why it's important to always look ahead.  Plan your next visit.  Get excited about it.  And more importantly, have an end point.  Know that at some point, one or both of you will move so you can be together.

Like any relationship, a long-distance relationship takes work.  You can't just sit back and expect things to run smoothly.  The Beatles say that love is all you need, but I don't think it's that simple.  You also need honesty, trust, kindness, and respect.  You need to never take each other for granted.  Keep showing each other how you feel, whether with romantic surprises or small everyday gestures.  And you need to keep the lines of communication open - if you're not happy, for God's sakes talk about it!

Am I a hopeless romantic for believing in long-distance relationships?  Probably, yes.  But so what if I am?  I'd rather be a hopeless romantic than just plain hopeless.  Call me crazy, call me naive, call me deluded.  But I think that when two people really love each other, and they really want to make it work, anything is possible.

Being Romy: Schauspieler sind so zerbrechlich

Last week we were performing lunchtime concerts at the opera house and I had an encounter I'll never forget.  A woman from the audience approached me, and with shining eyes she told me that she was going to see her first opera next week.  "It's so powerful, what you opera singers do," she said, "it's so full of emotion."  Having experienced a short concert of arias, she couldn't wait to experience this kind of emotional intensity for the length of a full opera. 

She was going to see Tosca, by the way, so I don't think she'll be disappointed.

This woman's words astounded me.  It was wonderful to see such an enthusiastic newcomer to opera.  But more importantly, her reaction to the music reminded me of what it is I actually do.  As an opera singer, sometimes I get so caught up in the technical details - the text, the stage directions, the high notes - that I forget what this is all about.  Opera is not about singing with impressive ability in foreign languages.  Opera is about the power of emotion - pure, raw, human emotion.

This is something I've always known of course - it's the reason I was drawn to opera in the first place.  And yet so many times I've forgotten it.  As I've studied, practised, and worked on my technique and my languages, I've often lost sight of the powerful emotion and drama behind the music.  I've often become disconnected from the meaning.  I don't know why this has happened.  It's inexcusable really, and embarrassing to admit.

Beethoven would have disapproved.

Playing Romy Schneider is changing all of this for me.  This opera is showing me just how much I can become emotionally involved in a role.  Of course I have cried in operas before - when I was sitting in the audience.  But until last week, when I cried real tears over the death of my fictional son, I had never before cried onstage.

I never thought I could get so upset about an opera while I was playing in it.  But in this scene, knowing the whole story, knowing that it actually happened, I felt overcome with emotion.  Romy lost her son David to a terrible accident when he was only fourteen.  Not long before the accident her first husband, David's father, had committed suicide by hanging himself.  For anyone to experience so much trauma and loss in such a short amount of time must have been unbearable.  But what made it even worse for Romy was that she had to relive every moment of these tragedies as they were reported in the press.  It's not just that her life was sad - it's that her life was never completely hers.

Why does Romy Schneider get to me so much?  Certainly she lived a difficult life, full of tragic events, but there's more to it than that.  I think Romy felt things very deeply.  She was an intense woman full of emotion.  And as we relive her life onstage, I can't help but feel everything with the same kind of intensity that she did.  I am learning a lot from Romy.  Unlike me, she would certainly never forget the emotional content of an opera.

As we continue working on this opera, I feel that I'm getting both closer and farther away from knowing who the real Romy Schneider was.  Our libretto is mostly based on the public Romy - quotes from interviews, lines from her films, rumours and speculation spread by the press. But what about Romy herself?   Can we ever really know who she was?

Celebrity is a strange way to live.  Like most child stars, Romy didn't really have a childhood: she went straight from living at a boarding school run by nuns to becoming a famous actress.  From the time she made her first movie at 15 years old, Romy lived in the public eye.  She could never truly be herself without being aware of how others saw her.  And as she grew older, there wasn't a single aspect of her life she could keep private.  A broken engagement, a divorce, a miscarriage - every event in her life, no matter how personal, was covered in detail by the press.  Even when her son David died, a reporter entered the hospital disguised as a nurse so they could take a picture of his body.

For me one of the saddest moments in this opera is my aria in the third act: "Früher habe ich mich selbst davon überzeugen wollen das ich einen Alltag wie alle andern haben kann.  Heute weiss ich, das ich so einen Alltag nicht leben kann." (I used to want to convince myself that I can have a life like everyone else. Today I know that I can not live a life like that.)  As Yellow Romy, I am the part of Romy that wants to have a traditional, normal life.  The sad truth is that for a famous actress this kind of life was impossible.



Romy and her son's grave in Boissy-sans-Avoir

With the public watching her every move, it must have been impossible for Romy to have any kind of life at all.  And yet I believe she did.  I believe Romy had a true self, one she kept safe from the relentless clutches of the magazines and newspapers.  And I believe we can see glimpses of it in her films.

In her films Romy felt a certain safety, a certain freedom that she didn't have in real life.  Here she could express herself with real intensity without being analysed and criticised personally.  Here she could be herself, her true self, safely hidden behind the mask of a character.  Within the confines of her films, she had the freedom to live authentically.

I recently watched Romy's last film, which she made shortly after her son's death.  In La Passante de Sans-Souci, Romy plays a woman who adopts an orphaned Jewish boy during WWII and escapes to Paris with him.  The boy in this film is the same age as Romy's real son, and it's heartbreaking to watch the way she interacts with him.  In one scene, they are having Christmas dinner after discovering her husband has been sent to a concentration camp, and she asks the boy to play his violin for her.  You can see the real Romy in this moment, crying for her son.

It is in her films - especially her later films - that we can see pieces of the real Romy.  She was a deeply intense and emotional woman.  A woman who felt everything to her very core.  She was strong and vulnerable at the same time.  She endured overwhelming sadness and anger, and she survived.  She was both extraordinary and human.

 

Who was the real Romy Schneider?  Perhaps we will never completely know.  I would like to think that.  I would like to think that although she sold so much of herself in films, in pictures and interviews, there was a part of her that she kept just for herself.  A part that was sacred and real, and not for anyone else to see.

 

We have less than two weeks left before the first show.  We know the words, we know the music, we know the staging.  But there is still something to discover before we perform this opera.  Somewhere in the middle of all this, in the middle of all the quotes and lines and hearsay, in the middle of Romy Schneider and ourselves, there is a truth to be found.  The text and the music and the staging are only a part of it.  At the heart there is this truth, this emotional core.  If we can find just a small part of this truth and express it to the audience, it will stop being words and music and staging, and it will become an opera.

Being Romy: Elle est moi et tu es moi

Do you know who Romy Schneider is?  Until recently, I had no idea who she was.  And yet Romy Schneider is the reason I haven't cut my hair since January.  She's the reason I've been watching French and German movies from the 60s and 70s.  She's the reason I've had my head in a score for the last three weeks.  And she's the reason I found myself walking home on Friday night feeling overwhelmingly sad.

Romy Schneider was a famous Austrian film actress.  I am one of three singers who will be playing her in a newly commissioned opera this June.  Ever since I was cast as one of the three Romys (more on that later), I have been reading all about her and watching her films.

I am really excited to be cast in this role because, to be honest, it's the first time I've been given a real role. Oh sure, I've had opera roles before. But up to this point, I've only been cast in two types of roles. Either I'm a boy - a page/solder/messenger/whatever who sings maybe 5 bars of insignificant music...

"Your majesty, I tremble in your presence whilst wearing this adorable historically accurate uniform to deliver an important message in recitative"

...Or I'm part of an ensemble like the Three Ladies in Magic Flute - three women who are completely anonymous and interchangeable.

Which one are you again?

This is the first time I've been given a character with real complexity and emotional depth. And not just any character, but a real person - a famous real person. This is a unique opportunity in terms of preparing a role.  It's not every day you can see your character in films, books, and television interviews.

Romy Schneider was born in Vienna in 1938.  Like many young actresses, her life was full of glamour and tragedy. There is a lot to say about Romy's life and career, but I'll try to summarise it for you briefly here.  Romy first achieved fame as a teenager by playing Empress Elizabeth of Austria in the popular "Sissi" film trilogy.

If you enjoy period costumes half as much as I do, trust me, you will LOVE these films.

She then outraged her German fans by becoming engaged to French actor/director Alain Delon and moving to Paris.  From the sweet and innocent Sissi, she moved on to more gritty and mature roles in French film.  Alain Delon later broke off their engagement, but they remained lifelong friends afterward.  Romy went on to marry twice and have two children.  Her firstborn, a son named David, died in a tragic accident when he was only 14.  He punctured a femoral artery when climbing a spiked fence.  Romy witnessed the accident herself and she was never the same afterward.  She turned to drinking.  When she was found dead in her Paris apartment at the age of 43, there was some speculation that it was caused by a lethal mix of alcohol and sleeping pills.

Romy Schneider, 23 September 1938 – 29 May 1982

I could spend years researching Romy Schneider.  But I don't have years - I have weeks.  There is less than a month to go before the premiere of the opera, and as we only got the score three weeks ago, I have lots of work to do!  When I'm not in rehearsals, or watching Romy Schneider films, or taking vitamins to help my hair grow out (we'll be getting "vintage" hairstyles in a few weeks and I've been told my hair needs to be longer), you will find me studying my score and listening to the helpful midi file which the composer has sent us.  Between the films, the music, and the staging rehearsals, I am just starting to get an idea of who Romy Schneider was...

Now, I mentioned that there are three of us playing Romy Schneider in the opera.  We have not been triple-cast in the same role.  Nor are we playing Romy at different ages.  We are all playing Romy at the same time.  Romy Schneider was a complicated woman full of contradictions.  And so we are each playing a different side of Romy's personality - Red Romy, Green Romy, and Yellow Romy.



The three Romys

We are a trio of sorts, and we often sing together.  But this is no anonymous ensemble like the Three Ladies.  Within the trio, we are very different personalities with very different fears and desires.  As our librettist explained to us, each colour represents a different aspect of Romy's life, and a different neurosis.  For Red Romy, the neurosis is attention.  Red Romy is obsessed with fame - with her relationship with her critics, the public, and the press.  For Green Romy, the neurosis is perfection.  Green Romy is the driven workaholic who always wants to be the best in her field.

For Yellow Romy - that's me - the neurosis is home and family.  Yellow Romy wants a marriage and children.  She wants a real home, where she can live a "normal" domestic life.  She is convinced that this is the only thing that will make her happy.  And when it doesn't make her happy, she can't face the truth that it isn't enough.

Fortunately - or perhaps, unfortunately? - pop culture is full of examples of women like this.  When I first encountered the idea of Yellow Romy, two TV characters immediately sprang to mind...

Betty Draper from Mad Men

...and Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives

These characters are something of an archetype.  They represent women who were raised to believe that the perfect domestic life - a husband, a home, and 2.5 children - is the only thing they should want, and that it should fulfill them entirely.  Inevitably, these women find that it isn't enough - maybe the marriage is dysfunctional, or maybe the kids are psychopaths, or maybe even when everything seems to be perfect it just feels empty.  But their real unhappiness is too difficult to bear, and so these women cover the truth with denial, pearl necklaces, and lots of valium.

Before I start launching into feminist theory though, let's get back to Romy Schneider.  As I've dug more into the role of Yellow Romy, I've discovered that she's more than just a desperate housewife.  She's an actress who's desperate for some stability in a very unstable life.  And that is something I can relate to very deeply.

I have been living abroad for almost four years now.  And while I'm glad to be following my passion and pursuing a career in opera, I often feel a bit lost at sea.  My family is in Canada, and even my boyfriend is miles away in Sweden.  My current flat isn't really my home - it's just a box that I'm inhabiting for the time being.  It feels blank and temporary.  I don't even have an oven or a microwave, or a real bed, or a stand-up shower. 

I have one of these.  For the record, it sucks.

I am always on the move, always figuring out what comes next.  It feels unstable, uncentred, insecure.  And while there's a part of me who is super-ambitious and determined to do whatever it takes to be an opera singer, there's another part of me that's very tired of all this upheaval.  A part of me who would love to settle down somewhere and start a family.  A part of me who looks with envy at other people my age who are "real grownups" with houses, husbands, cars, gardens, children - the works.

My boyfriend is lucky enough to live in a house in Gothenburg - a real house!  To him it's normal, but to me it's a huge luxury.  The last time I visited him he was completely mystified by my enthusiasm for staying in, baking bread, and cooking meals.  When he wanted to go out with friends, all I wanted to do was drink tea and watch television.  I know it must sound boring, but for me it was such an amazing novelty.  I don't have a home like that in Ghent, and it's something I miss a lot.

So I completely understand Yellow Romy's desperation to create a family and a home.  And I completely understand the conflict she feels between her ambitions as an actress and her yearnings for stability and domesticity.

Hmmm....

It's an amazing experience, being able to delve into a role and inhabit a character's world.  But it can also be overwhelming.

I have a lot of emotional content to explore as Yellow Romy, from the tense duet I sing with my husband about our dysfunctional marriage, to the ironically triumphant canon I sing about giving birth at the hospital while he stayed at home sleeping.  When I'm not being controlled by my husband or abused by my stepfather (Romy's stepfather allegedly took an "unhealthy interest" in her, and he probably sexually abused her), I'm being micromanaged by a fame-hungry stage mother (Romy's mother managed her career and often appeared in films with her when she was younger).  And as the more maternal of the three Romys, I am often sympathising with the others' suffering.  I absorb Green Romy's anxiety as she's bullied by a power-hungry director.  I absorb Red Romy's grief when Alain Delon leaves her.  It's a lot to take in.

This is why, walking home on Friday night after a run-through of Act 1, I found myself feeling extremely depressed.  I have experienced so many intense emotions this week as Romy Schneider.  It's exhausting.

Is it possible to get too much into character?  Can a role be dangerous for your mental health?  As a friend told me yesterday, the line between yourself and a character can at times be very thin.  But for reasons of self preservation, it's important to remember that the line is there.

And so, as I go into another week of being Romy Schneider, I'm doing my best to continue identifying with her.  But I'm also remembering the line, no matter how thin it is - for safety's sake.

On being far away...

This year for Christmas, my boyfriend gave me a wallet.  Perhaps it doesn't sound to you like the most romantic gift in the world, but I love it.  Not just because it's made by a label called "Puccini".  And not just because it has lots of little compartments that help me organise my various foreign currencies and bank cards.  I love the wallet because I use it all the time, and every time I use it, I think of him.  I don't know about you but I think that's pretty romantic.

Every day I feel lucky to be where I am, to be following my dreams.  But every day I also deal with the fact that I am far away from the people I love.  Even now, when I am visiting my boyfriend in Sweden, I am far away from my family in Canada.  People often ask me if I miss Canada.  To be honest, I don't often miss Canada.  But I always miss my family.

I consider myself very lucky to have been born into such a large and loving family.  My family is full of character, curiosity, and passion.  Many of us are musical, and most of us are avid readers.  And although we don't always agree on everything, most of the time we get on very well.  We love to gather, usually over loads of food, and talk each other's ears off.  I love my family and I love spending time with them.  This is a part of my life that I miss very much now that I'm living abroad.

I also miss my boyfriend, who understands me in a way most people don't, and who always knows how to make me laugh.  When we were living in Glasgow I knew he was the right guy because I felt at home when I was with him.  Now that we live in different countries, he's still my home away from home - but he's no longer a 20 minute bus ride away.

Despite their absence, I have found many ways to surround myself with the people I love.  Of course, like anyone living abroad I stay in touch with my family over email and skype.  Obviously I can't stay in touch with everyone this way (there are a LOT of us), but I find that facebook is another great way to keep track of people.  I'm always grateful for the regular updaters in the family, who post pictures and videos and status updates, keeping me up to speed on my nieces and nephews' latest escapades, my cousins' latest projects, or my brothers' latest concerts.  But while the internet is a wonderful thing, the most beloved connections I keep with my family are the tangible ones.

I have a collection of keepsakes scattered around my flat.  There are the photos from my brother's wedding, and the homemade keychain and pencil case from my niece.  There are cards and letters from my boyfriend, and a photo of him which his mother framed for me.  There's a crystal hanging by my window which turns the sunlight into rainbows - a beautiful gift from my parents.  There are letters and postcards from friends and family, and countless trinkets and souvenirs from all the places I've been.

But my all-time favourite keepsake is a sign that says in colourful bubble letters "Welcome home Brynne".  It's from a difficult Christmas a couple of years ago, when I came home a complete mess.  I had just been dumped.  I had also been rejected several times in a run of unsuccessful auditions.  I had lost all my confidence and conviction.  And when I arrived home from the airport, feeling heartbroken and downtrodden, this cheerful sign was stuck on the door.  Waiting for me.  Welcoming me.  Letting me know that no matter what happened, my home and my family were always there.

I now put that sign up on my door -  that is, the door of wherever I'm living at the moment.  It's a reminder that I am home no matter where I am.  I am home because I am always surrounded by the unconditional love and support of my family.

This weekend was my grandma's memorial, an event that I was sadly unable to attend.  But while the prices of plane tickets kept me from crossing the Atlantic, I found other ways to be with my family at this time.  My mom has been sending me regular email updates these last few months, from the time Grandma went into the hospital, to when she went into palliative care, to her final hours.  So I had some time to prepare for her passing, and to think about how I could send my love in a tangible way.  I knew how much my keepsakes from the family meant to me, and I wanted to be able to send something similar to my family.

Naturally, if I was there, I would be singing at the memorial service.  I always sing at family weddings and funerals.  And it would mean a lot for my grandma because she was a singer too.  I decided that the best way to send my love was to record one of my grandma's favourite hymns and send it to my parents so it could be played in the service.

I wasn't able to be at my grandma's memorial, or at the big family gathering that surrounded it.  But I was able to read the text of my dad's eulogy, and to see pictures of my nephews emailed through my mom's BlackBerry.  I was able to skype with the family, getting passed around the sitting room on my brother's iphone.  I even "met" my new baby nephew for the first time (we had a fascinating conversation involving lots of squeals and flailing arms).  My uncle made a video of the service for myself and other absent family members, and I look forward to watching it and "being there" in my own way.

It's not the same as really being there, of course.  And I still get pangs of guilt about that sometimes.  But that's just the way it is right now.

The saddest part of going on an adventure is the people you leave behind.  Every birthday, every anniversary, every wedding and funeral that you miss - it stings.  But real love is more than a physical presence.  It's something that can cross borders and oceans, that can be felt from far away.  I feel the love and support from my family every day.  And I hope they feel it too.

These keepsakes I treasure so much, they aren't important in themselves.  They're important because they remind me of something that's already there.  Every day, no matter where I am and no matter what I am doing, I am surrounded by love.  And my boyfriend and my family are surrounded by it too.  We can't always be there for each other physically.  But we are always there for each other in spirit.

On avoiding the diva trap...

When I called this blog "Diva on a Dare" I wasn't seriously calling myself a diva.  I intended for the title to be a bit tongue-in-cheek.  Because actually?  Nobody wants to be a diva.  I try pretty hard to avoid being a diva, and I'd like to think that most of the time I succeed.

What is a diva exactly?  Seen in a positive light, a diva is someone majorly talented.  The star of the show.  They're confident and assertive.  They know what they want and they're not afraid to ask.

They also tend to call themselves things like "fierce".

But most of the time when we use the word "diva" we don't think of that.  We think of someone difficult and demanding.  Someone who makes ridiculous requests, like asking a big bowl of blue M&Ms in their dressing room.  A diva is rude, confrontational, self-centred, and inconsiderate.  The very worst kind of person to work with.

Like I said, I try to avoid being a diva.  I'm pretty sure every singer out there tries as well.  But if we're being perfectly honest here, when things get tricky, we sometimes have our diva moments.

Why does this happen?  Why do we end up acting like a diva even when we're trying ever-so-hard to be polite, considerate, humble, friendly, and down-to-earth?

There are a lot of possible factors that can lead to a diva moment.  Maybe you're dealing with a difficult work situation.  Maybe there's been a breakdown in communication.  Maybe things aren't going the way you want, and you feel frustrated.

Or maybe you need to have a Snickers bar.

Whatever the deal is, you know that acting like a diva is not going to help.  If you're struggling to communicate with your colleagues, throwing a big hissy fit will only make matters worse.  It's important to think of the people around you.  To be patient and agreeable.  To be understanding.  To play well with others.  You know all of this.  But sometimes, when you're tired, fed up, stressed out, hungry, or all of the above - you forget.

I had a diva moment this week.  We were working very intensely in the studio, staging a one-act opera within seven days.  The days were long and tough.  And the director worked in a way that's very different from what I'm accustomed to.  Throughout the week I was becoming increasingly frustrated and stressed out by his staging process.  One particular evening, I was really fuming.  I didn't realise it, but I was quite obviously in a huff.

Like this monkey who didn't get his way.

Luckily, the director was perceptive enough to see that I was unhappy and asked what was wrong.  I told him what the problem was.  And the next day he worked things out and everything became much clearer.  But on reflection, I was rather embarrassed by my behaviour that evening.  I realised that I had overstepped the line.  I had crossed over from the land of the reasonable to the land of Diva-dom.

We've all been there.  Am I right?  And the worst part is, you never realise it's happening until it's too late.  So how do you prevent it?  How do you stop yourself from acting like a diva?  Well, I've thought about this a lot and I've come up with some key tools to help you stay out of the diva trap.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

The Anti-Diva Kit

1. The first tool is Communication.  It's so SO important to keep a dialogue with your colleagues and your employer about what is happening at all times.  Most importantly, if you're unhappy or confused, SAY SOMETHING.  And don't wait until you're so frustrated that you can't be polite and diplomatic about it.  The more you communicate, ask questions, and explain your side of things, the more likely it is you'll avoid confusion and conflict down the line.  If I had been more communicative with this director from the beginning, I'm sure I could have avoided acting like a diva.

2.  Secondly, you need Understanding.  Put yourself in other people's shoes.  Perhaps you're not the only person struggling here.  What kinds of challenges are your colleagues dealing with?  How could you be more considerate, sensitive, and helpful towards them?  Try to treat others the way that you would like to be treated.  No man is an island, and we all need to help each other out now and then.

3.  Right, so we all need to vent sometimes.  This is why you need the third tool: your Sounding Board.  This is a person who is totally removed from the situation and who you can safely vent to.  Your Sounding Board could be your best friend, it could be your mom, it could be several different people.  The important thing is that they are NOT a colleague who's involved in the same project.  They are a third party, and they're basically impartial.  They love you enough to listen and nod sympathetically, but they won't chime in with your complaints, or disagree vehemently, or tell person X what you said about them.  My boyfriend is my Sounding Board.  When I need to vent, he hears all about it over skype (poor guy).

4. Finally, when all else fails, you need a Diva Alarm.  This is a friend who loves and respects you enough to be honest with you.  When you're being unreasonable, overly-negative, self-centred, insensitive, or whatever, others might pretend to agree with you, but you can trust this person to tell it like it is.  Do you think you might be acting a bit like a diva?  Ask your Diva Alarm.  They will keep you in check and say "STOP!  Diva alert!"

Here are some other reasons you might need to stop.

This is the Anti-Diva Kit I've assembled, and like everything, it's a work in progress.  I don't always remember all the tools, or use them in the right way.  I'm sure there are some other helpful tools that could be added to the Kit later down the line.  But I'm learning as I go, and so far these are the ones that work for me.  May they serve you well.

 Despite the best intentions, we all have moments when our emotions get the better of us.  Moments when we turn into a diva.  But with good communication, understanding, and the support of friends and family, you can keep your inner diva in check.  You can deal with stress, get along with others, and continue being the kind of colleague you would want to work with.

On being an introvert...

When you picture an opera singer, what do you see?  Someone with a larger-than-life personality?  Loud, talkative, exuberant?  The life of the party?  Prone to using Italian hand gestures?

Which are apparently as complicated as baseball signals.

Well, I could see why you would think that.  It's certainly what you see from opera singers onstage!  But offstage is a different story.  Offstage, perhaps a lot of opera singers are the life of the party.  But there's also a lot of us who are rather quiet.  Mild-mannered.  Unassuming.  And yes, introverted.

It may seem like a contradiction in terms, but there are a lot of introverted opera singers.  And I am one of them.

What does it mean to be an introvert?  First of all, let me clarify one big misconception.  It's not the same thing as being shy.  Shyness means being afraid or anxious about social contact, whether you want that social contact or not.  You could be an extrovert who wants to talk to a lot of people but struggles with shyness.  Likewise, you could be an introvert who is confident in approaching people but prefers to be alone most of the time.

It's also not the same as being antisocial.  Introverts don't dislike socialising.  We just prefer to socialise with people one-on-one, or in small groups.  And while we may love socialising, we can find it tiring.  The same party that makes an extrovert feel energised can leave an introvert feeling drained. 

Like one of those Sailor Moon villains has sucked the life force out of you.
Yes.  I am that geeky.

Why is this?  Well, there are a few possible reasons.  First of all, us introverts tend to spend a lot of time in our head, and we like it that way.  We like to reflect on things, and consider our thoughts and feelings in detail.  Often it might seem like an introvert is being quiet, like their mind has gone blank, or their "head is in the clouds".  As a matter of fact they are probably thinking about a million different things at once.  Why did John say that in the meeting?  What will Mary do tomorrow?  Am I really happy with my life?

So when an introvert talks to someone, they aren't just carrying on the conversation on the surface.  Their mind is probably working a million miles a minute, reflecting on what this person is saying, comparing it with their own thoughts, feelings, and experiences, and wondering what point or topic might come up next.  It can be extremely overwhelming!  It's no wonder that an introvert might become quiet in a conversation.  They aren't disengaging, they're just taking time to soak it all in.

I may look like a mindless zombie right now, but I'm just an introvert.

Secondly - and this may seem strange, but bear with me - introverts react more to outer stimuli than extroverts.  In her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking (great read), Susan Cain describes a study in which a psychologist followed a generation of children from when they were infants.  He believed he could predict which babies would be introverts and which would be extroverts.  He presented the babies with a series of surprising sights and sounds (e.g. a balloon popping or a person in a clown mask).  He predicted that the babies who reacted the most - whether by smiling, crying, or waving their arms and legs - would become introverts when they grew older.  And for the most part, he was right.

How does that make any sense?  Wouldn't the extroverted babies be the ones waving their arms all over the place and making lots of noise?  Well, actually, it makes a lot of sense if you think of it in terms of balance.  You see, since introverted people are more reactive to outer stimuli, they're more likely to become overwhelmed and seek more calm and quiet.  On the other hand, since extroverts are less reactive, they might seek more outer stimuli to "feel alive".  Both types of people are just seeking a happy balance that feels right for them.

Not too loud, not too quiet... juuust right.

If you think about it, it's no wonder that after spending a while at a loud party, the classic introvert wants to go home and get some quiet.  We need this kind of quiet time to reflect, to rejuvenate, and to process everything that's happened.

Introverts and extroverts can get along well, as long as they understand and respect each other's differences.  My boyfriend is a complete extrovert - if you don't believe me, you should have seen us at this party last week.  While he tore up the dance floor and chatted with loads of different people, I sought out quiet corners and had in-depth conversations with a few people.  Sometimes I would come and join him on the dance floor, and sometimes he would join in on one of our conversations.  We know that we both enjoy parties differently, and neither of us would try to force the other to be someone they're not.  Our differences complement each other, and we both bring something special to the relationship.

We're both special.  Mr Rogers told me so.

But how does all of this work with being an opera singer?  You know, like a big, loud, drama-queen opera singer?  How can I be larger-than-life onstage, when I'm a quiet introvert offstage?

This is a question I've struggled with a lot, and I still find it difficult.  Of course, my natural temperament doesn't do me many favours when it comes to acting.  A director once told me I had a "natural reserve" that will always be a challenge for me as a singer.  And it's true - I do tend to be inhibited, understated, a bit slow-to-warm-up.

But then the stage gives me the perfect chance to be someone I'm not.  To unleash my inner extrovert.  I know some truly great introverted singers who do just this, and it's an amazing thing to witness.  See, the great thing about performing is that there's this neat little line you can draw between onstage and offstage.  Onstage, you can fully inhabit another personality without worrying about losing yourself.  Because when the performance is over, the performance is over.  And offstage, you can go back to being you.  It's an incredibly liberating experience!

But sometimes the show isn't quite over yet.  Now we come to one of my biggest nightmares as an introverted singer: the Post-Performance Reception.  I've just finished a show, it's late, I'm exhausted... all I want to do is go home and read my book and go to sleep.  The last thing I want is to schmooze and make small talk with a bunch of strangers, pretending to be all sparkly and outgoing.

Don't get me wrong.  I get the post-show buzz.  I like meeting the audience.  I want to celebrate with everyone.  But by the end of a show, I'm already feeling tired and drained, and talking to a lot of people is just going to drain me even more.  It's not that I don't like the reception.  It's just that I want to hang out there for maybe half an hour, and then go home.  I need quiet and calm to recover.  A glass of wine, yes - but by myself, with my book.

Ah, bliss.

The Post-Performance Reception is a difficult thing to navigate, and there's no avoiding it.  Nobody is going to appreciate me leaving early or staying in a quiet corner.  That will seem rude.  The only thing to do is grin and bear it, and keep on my extrovert mask a little while longer.  I've grown to think of it almost as part of the performance.

But there are definite advantages to being an introverted singer.  Reflective thinking and self-awareness are great attributes for any artist to have.  They're great tools for developing a character, or reaching a deeper understanding of a poem.  An introvert might perhaps have more trouble communicating their thoughts and feelings to the audience, but trust me, they have a lot of thoughts and feelings going on there.  Still waters run deep.

And introverts tend to find it easier, even preferable, to do quiet work on their own.  So skipping that party and staying in to study a score by yourself?  Not a problem for the introverted singer!

As for travelling, which comes part and parcel with this career, I love it.  While many people might dread the "boredom" of spending hours on a train or a bus, I savour this quiet time to myself, when I can read my book, write in my journal, or just think things through.

So is it a disadvantage to be an introverted opera singer?  Only as much as it's a disadvantage to be an extroverted one.  There's no better or worse - they're just different.  And it would be a very boring world if we were all the same!  So whether you're a quiet and reflective introvert, or a loud and kooky extrovert, embrace it.  We all have something unique to offer.

On coming home...

I’m on the bus from Kingston to Toronto and my laptop is officially confused.

Poor little laptop - her life has been full of surprises.  First she was purchased in Canada, where she was given to me as a Christmas present.  For a brief but blissful sojourn, she was allowed to plug into lovely Canadian walls and connect to lovely Canadian wifi, just as nature (or the laptop manufacturer) intended.  But before she knew what was what, she was whisked away to the wilds of Scotland.  Everything was different, from the shape of the plugs to the funny accents to the source of the internet provider.  However, much as she tried to resist her unexpected new home, she did eventually adapt to British ways.

Literally.

But just as my laptop grew accustomed to British ways, she was carried over the English Channel and deep into the heart of the European continent.  Once again she has had to adapt, plugging into Belgian walls and using Belgian wifi.

Now, only months after her latest move, she has been flown all the way back to Canada again!  Despite the lovely Canadian walls and lovely Canadian wifi, it must be very disconcerting.  What is a laptop to think of all this?  I mean really, it’s no wonder that she’s now refusing to connect to the wifi on this bus, and suggesting that I instead connect to the opera studio’s wifi in Ghent.

Yes, computer, even though Ghent is over 5000 km away, that would totally work.

I suppose you could say that I’m visiting home.  We have a long winter holiday before the studio resumes, and having spent Christmas in Scotland with my boyfriend, I’m now spending some time in Toronto with my family.

But then again, is Toronto really my home anymore?  And if Toronto isn’t home, what is?

They say that home is where the heart is.  In that case, I have no idea where my home should be.  Is it in Canada with my family?  Is it in Scotland, where I lived for the last three years and where I met my boyfriend?  Is it in Belgium where I’m studying, or in Sweden where he’s studying?

When I first moved from Toronto to Glasgow, I used to get homesick all the time.  I missed my family, I missed my dog, and I missed the Canadian weather.

Yes, that's right.  I like snow.

But with time, I got settled.  I met new friends, found a job, found a nice place to live.  I got used to the British banter, and even learned to decipher some of the thicker Scottish accents.  I discovered favourite foods and tv shows that I didn’t have at home.  I learned where to get a lovely meal when you can’t be bothered cooking (Marks and Spencers) and where to get moisturiser and toothpaste (Boots) and where to get chocolate at 3 in the morning (the newsagents, or, if you’ve planned ahead, the cupboard).  I learned to use words like “lovely”.   I learned to navigate the train system, the subway system, and the bus routes.  So when my family came to visit me this summer, I was able to show them around easily and suggest great places for coffee, curry, drinks, or whatever they fancied.

When I left Glasgow in September, I kept my gaze fixed firmly forward.  I had enjoyed my time there, but it was time to move on.  I didn't think I would miss it.

Fast forward a few months and I’m leaving Ghent for the Christmas holidays.  First stop: Scotland. 

As soon as I arrive back in the UK, I feel a rush of relief.  Everything feels so familiar.  I mean first of all, people here speak English.  I can actually assume this when I meet them, without doing the whole awkward do-you-don’t-you dance and feeling terribly guilty for not speaking Flemish/French/German.  But it’s not just the language.  It’s the little things.  Costa coffee and Minstrels and Scotrail tickets and Hello magazine…

With gossip in English about celebrities I actually know!

Every little detail I used to take for granted now gives me a little tug of nostalgia.

The feeling intensifies when I visit Glasgow.  This pub, that bus stop, that street corner… everything is infused with memories.  And suddenly I feel really sentimental.  Suddenly this feels like home.

It’s not that I don’t like Ghent.  It’s just that I’m still so new to it.  Having moved only four months ago, I still don’t really know the city.  With time, who knows?  It may grow to feel like home.  But right now I’m still finding my way, and it still feels very unfamiliar.  So it’s not just Glasgow that I miss.  It’s that feeling of being settled, of knowing my way around.  It’s the comfort and familiarity in my day-to-day life.

And now I’m back in Toronto, where I lived the first 24 years of my life.  Surely this should feel like home, even more than Glasgow did.  Right?  Well, it does and it doesn’t.

I haven’t lived in Toronto for 3 years, and a lot can happen in 3 years.  Shops can close down and be replaced.  Prices can go up.  People can move.  Nieces and nephews can grow up.  And even the things that used to feel normal can become distant and strange.

For example.  When I first moved to Glasgow, I remember thinking everything was very small and quaint.  Well, at some point I must have gotten used to things being on a smaller, more European scale.  Because now when I come back to Toronto I’m overwhelmed by just how big everything is!  Canadians have lots of space, and we use it to live large.  Six-lane highways, skyscrapers, endless fields… everything seems to be on growth hormones!  And it’s not just the size of things, it’s the extent of them.  The millions and millions of options.  You don’t just watch tv, you choose from thousands of satellite channels.  You don’t just buy your food at a shop, you go to a giant supermarket the size of a city block and choose your breakfast cereal from about 900 different brand names.

I recommend the Apple Jacks.

Did I used to think this was normal?  Apparently yes.  But now I feel a sort of reverse culture shock when I visit my family.  It all feels very familiar, and yet very unfamiliar at the same time.

And what about me?  Am I now unfamiliar for Canada?  Have I changed too much?  Having spent so long away, I can’t help but wonder if there is a place for me here anymore.  My family and friends enjoy seeing me and catching up.  But can we really catch up?  Or is there just too much to catch up on?  We all like to think there would always be a place for us if we returned to where we came from.  But perhaps it’s unfair to expect everyone to keep the home fires burning.

The truth is, I can never really return to the Toronto I know.  Not the way I'd like to.  Because nothing ever stays the same.  Just like I’m not the same person who left Toronto, Toronto is not the same city I left behind.  And perhaps it’s moved on just as much as I have.

So where is my home now?  Where do I belong?  Perhaps I don’t have a home.  And perhaps I have many homes.  I will always feel deep ties to my Canadian family and background.  But I’ll also enjoy reminiscing with British ex-pats about things like X Factor and Tunnock’s teacakes.  In time, I will settle into my place in Belgium, and this will start to feel like home too.  And who knows how many other countries I might live in, in the years to come?

Sometimes, like my laptop, I feel confused.  I wish my life was simpler.  I wish I was like Dorothy, and I only had one home and there was no place like it.  And instead of planning complicated trips with trains and airport changes, I could just click my heels and be there.

Beats Easyjet any day!

But I’m grateful for all the homes I’ve had, and the memories they’ve given me.  Because there’s no place like Toronto, but there’s also no place like Glasgow.  And there’s no place like Ghent, or even like Gothenburg.  Each of these places has become part of who I am, and they have made my life all the richer.