Imagine you are ten and you dance around the living room with your arms up like this and  suddenly you are a grown up living in the city where Mary Poppins comes from and you are sitting in Royal Albert Hall, which is very beautiful, and very big, even for a grown-up. And Marvin Hamlisch, who is the man who wrote A Chorus Line, the first musical you ever saw live, the first musical where you felt that little tingle in the bottom of your stomach telling you, “Oh! That's what I want to be doing!”, walks out onto the stage which has a full symphony orchestra sitting on it, and he walks up to the podium and all the people in the  audience cheer. And he raises his baton, and the people with the instruments know which notes to play and they are the notes to the opening of the song “One” from A Chorus Line. And you hear that familiar refrain and you suddenly feel a bit teary because there is Marvin Hamlisch conducting one of the pieces he wrote, which happens to be from your first proper musical, and here you are in London studying musical theatre and sitting in Royal Albert  Hall! 
  
And a little while later Idina Menzel floats onto the stage in a beautiful white ball gown with a black sash. And she sings “I’m not that girl” from Wicked, and Cole Porter and Lady Gaga and she tells the story about being cast in a little off-Broadway show called RENT and how on the night of the dress-run the writer Jonathan Larson died unexpectedly of an aneurism and she sings a lovely version of No Day But Today and oh god it makes you cry. And your friend passes you a tissue. And then Idina sings For Good acapella and that is very good too.  And outside the theatre you get to meet Sir Tim Rice. And he is a very friendly chap. And you can’t quite believe that the man responsible for many of the lyrics that you have sung, listened to, heard over and over since time began, is standing in front of you smiling and shaking your hand and introducing himself as “Tim”.
 
And then you go and share pizza with a new friend who you met in the audience, and she is lovely. And you float home on London’s wonderfully efficient public transport system and you think “oh my! What a week this has been!” Because the day before you saw a concert at the Barbican where the BBC Symphony Orchestra played a new score as live accompaniment to an old silent film from the 1920s. And it was utterly magical to be transported by an old film made over seventy years ago and even more magical to watch a full symphony orchestra play a delicious score. 
 
And earlier in the week you were in NYC. And last week you saw two brand new musicals. And you were a guest presenter on your favourite podcast. And in the midst of it all you get to go to school every day to learn more about musicals and be with lovely people who share your joy and your passion and your fun. And you feel very blessed to be surrounded by all this culture, this music, these wonderful people. And you walk home and the moon is shining and the stars are bright and the air is chilly and fresh, and you say, thank you thank you thank you to the powers that be for allowing me to live this life enchanted.  And you crawl into bed at 1.40am and fall asleep smiling. The end. 

Dear Uncle Mordechai. Could you ever have imagined, two-hundred and twenty odd years go, as you sat in the pub in London that your great-great-great (etc) niece would one day be here in this city of yours?! Because here I am. I’m in London! There’s no place like London!  Demon barbers aside... The double-decker red buses, the Tube, the masses of people from every walk-of-life, colour, creed, background, and birth status. That building is from 1200 A.D and that one was built on Roman foundations. And yet, here I am, this child from Australia whose ancestor sailed from here over two centuries ago! And in the intervening time his son sailed from London too, and he had children and they had children and they had children and so on and so forth and in between there were whole World Wars and  the Depression and  stolen children and whole countries were formed (including Australia which was signed into being in London!) and other immigrants arrived (including my mother) and suddenly history has fast forwarded, has appeared at this moment and here I am this Australian child born of Spanish, Filipino, Dutch, and Polish ancestors standing in London! And like a game from the Age of Empires, my map slowly unfolds around me as I explore this unknown yet strangely familiar territory. All the names from the Monopoly Board, all those markers from collective  consciousness suddenly here in my real perceived existence. It is strange. It is lovely. It is just here. And here I am ready to start drama school, ready to begin this Next Chapter. And I think of everything that has brought me to this moment. Two hundred and twenty odd years of history. Twenty-seven years of my own history and memories and recollections of the life that has brought me to be living in London. And then I smile and let it all go because it doesn’t matter. Because here I am. And here we go. 

And people are here from all over the planet speaking all their myriad of languages and think of all the hours worked to get here all the emotional upheaval all the planning the working  the wishing and praying and suddenly you are there in Times Square and your heart just sings at it all and your inner child is practically climbing up your inner organs and screaming dear Lulu! THIS IS WHERE WE BELONG! OH HOW I LOVE IT HERE! And your adult sensible self thinks, oh god. New York?! Times Square?! It is grimy and full of advertising and pandering to mass consumption and the massive energy use of the place and the people everywhere. And surely this is not paradise! But oh my! Another hundred people! NYC with all your shiny lights and endless billboards and theatres on every corner and crowded streets and vendors selling hot dogs and pretzels and the stands with the men selling prints of paintings of the shiny lights and endless billboards and theatres on every corner and crowded streets and vendors selling hot dogs and pretzels. And everywhere you look is a sign advertsing a show! And theatre is number one! And you’ve just come from a Broadway show and here you are walking down Broadway to the subway at 42nd Street and it is wonderful! It’s true what they say, the Bronx is up and the Battery’s down and the people ride in a hole in the ground, New York, New York, it’s truly wonderful brilliant amazing makes your heart and soul sing! 

Imagine a girl who wakes up one day to find herself on a plane. And she is somewhere over the Pacific. And she thinks perhaps the events of the past year and a half have only been a dream. Because suddenly it all seems right to be flying in the air towards a new life, heading
towards a life of musicals and theatre and being away from the place where she was born and grew. 

And even though this is her third trip away, this trip feels different from the trips before, because now she has the Scarecrow and the Tinman and the Lion by her side. In the past year and a half she has acquired a little more wisdom. She did the meditation course and sometimes it was hard but mostly it was wonderful and she learnt to sit quietly with herself
and be still. 

And even though her heart had been shattered into a million thousand pieces, she realised that she had all these wonderful friends around her (And you were there! And you were there!) and she learnt to look after herself and take care of herself which were all very important. And it was heartening to make all these discoveries. 

And in discovering she had a little more wisdom and a little more heart than before, she discovered she had the courage to go out into the world as herself and not be afraid of what other people thought or said or how often they projected their own fears about the creative life onto her being. 

And she made a promise to herself that she would continue to practise as often as possible to have wisdom and heart and courage and remember her friends by her side and to go out into the world and trip the light fantastic.

The end. Sort of. 

Imagine that as a child you watched Mary Poppins on repeat and there are countless million times you have watched Mary float down from the sky and dish out coloured spoonfuls of goodness and hold the beak of her umbrella and say that will be quite enough of that thank you! And as that little child you wished and prayed that Mary would one day actually fly into your world. And then imagine one day you are living in a place you have never lived before and one morning you go out for a jog. And you are in the park and next to the playground you spy a statue of Mary Poppins. And there she is with her feet in perfect first position and her umbrella held above her head and the familiarity of her makes you gasp. And even more surprising is the discovery that P.L. Travers (who wrote the original books upon which the movie was based) once lived just a short jog from your house. And the person who unveiled the statue six years ago is your aunty. And it is surprising. And it is lovely. And your inner six year old says that is too cool. Mary Poppins lives at my park. 

And one day you find yourself in a theatre surrounded by a bunch of avid theatre nerds and you are all there because in time and space you have sat listening to the original cast recordings over and over and some of you have performed in amateur productions of his shows and the music is what gets you. And although it is not a large venue, it is entirely  intimate and you can hear his breath and the plosive p’s and b’s and t’s and feel the pressure of his pinky hitting the top notes of the piano. And he exudes so much energy so much passion so much life as he plays and sings the songs you know so well but suddenly tonight they are new because the brain that wrote them is performing them in front of you and you wonder how he can possibly still be sitting with all that energy surely he must be floating surely the way he taps his foot so insistently that the whole auditorium can hear it feel its pulse surely he must need to stand but his back is straight and there he is sitting playing the piano and singing. And he is utterly marvelous. The way the music is driving and full of vigor but the lyrics are melancholy and funny all at once and the whole room is transported to intimate worlds far away in the land of America but still so familiar it could have been your own living room. You have had that conversation. You have had that heart break. You have felt that loneliness. You have shared that laugh. The magic of watching the craft come to life. Feeling like you are there as he writes the notes the chords the lyrics  the song is created in front of you before your eyes inside your very ears. And all there is a piano a microphone and a man in a spotlight. And it is lovely. It is breath-taking. It is music. The end. 

There is a song in the musical [title of show] called "Part of It All", in which the two leads Hunter and Jeff sing about wanting to be a part of the buzz, excitement, inevitable post-show blues, and life that is show business. And it is lovely when you are in the midst of it, and feeling exactly part of it. When you spend your days singing and dancing and fluting and running to the theatre and from rehearsal to rehearsal and you go to sleep dreaming about inversions and chord progressions and you spend your nights covered in white paint and hair gel and glitter and the thrill buzz excitement of being in front of an audience. And you wake up ready to start all over again. And if that is being part of it all, I love it with every inch of my being.