Beauty and the Bits In Between

After almost a decade away from the stage, I decided to audition for Geelong Lyric Theatre Society's Beauty and the Beast. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect or where the journey would lead. Armed with a rendition of "Popular" from Wicked, I sang my heart out and hoped for the best.

A few weeks later, I received the news that I'd been cast as the Curly Sausage Lady and selected as the understudy for Madame De La Grande Bouche. Excitement quickly gave way to reality as I began wondering how I was going to fit rehearsals into an already busy life.

Images by Michael Mason

Stepping into Beauty and the Beast felt strangely familiar. I'd performed in a junior production when I was sixteen as Mrs Potts, so walking into rehearsals felt a little like returning to a place I'd visited years ago. The songs were tucked away somewhere in my memory, and I still knew many of the ensemble numbers. That familiarity gave me confidence as I settled back into the world of theatre.

What wasn't so familiar was finding the time.

When I accepted my place in the show, I knew I was also accepting the commitment that came with it. At the time, I was juggling three casual jobs while trying to grow my voice-over career. Something had to give.

Just before rehearsals began, I made the decision to completely overhaul my vocal booth at home. It was a bigger project—and a bigger financial commitment—than I'd originally anticipated, and it's probably something I'll write about in another blog post. Ironically, while I was building a better space for voice-over work, I wasn't actually doing any voice-over work at all. I stopped auditioning, put projects on hold, and parked that side of my creative life so I could focus entirely on the production.

It wasn't a decision I made lightly. Anyone who works freelance knows how uncomfortable it can feel to step away, even temporarily. There's always the lingering thought that opportunities might disappear while you're focused elsewhere. But for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to focus on one creative pursuit without constantly worrying about what came next.

One of my earliest moments in the show was a small solo line. It wasn't a huge role by any means, but throughout rehearsals I kept telling myself, "This is it. This is the bit where I'm going to completely freak out on stage."

I built the moment up in my head for weeks. Then opening night arrived. I stepped onto the stage, sang my part, and felt completely fine. No nerves. No panic. Just calm. In fact, I realised I was more nervous during rehearsals than I was in front of a packed audience.

Standing under the lights felt like stepping into a place where all the noise in my head disappeared. For those few minutes, I wasn't thinking about work, my vocal booth renovation, overdue emails, or what I was supposed to be doing the next day. I was simply present. And it was nice.

Looking back, that's probably the thing I'll remember most about Beauty and the Beast. Not the costumes, the choreography, or even the performances themselves, but the way the show gave me permission to focus on one thing at a time.

Sometimes life tells us to keep pushing forward, chasing the next opportunity and planning the next move. This show reminded me that there's value in being exactly where you are.

Beauty and the Beast was the show.

The bits in between were the part I'll remember most.