Why I’ll never do a touring children’s show again

Ah, touring shows.

Let me paint you a picture. 

I’m not a painter, but I’ll give it a go.

It’s 5:30 am. 

It’s cold, and the sky threatens rain before sunrise.

You’re stuffed in a van, wedged between props, people and cans of energy drinks.

You sit, half awake while a dear castmate sleeps at your side, using your shoulder as a pillow. 

After what feels like somewhere between two minutes and two days, the road manager announces to the slumbering inhabitants of this clunky van, with trailer in tow, that you’ve arrived. 

Once locating where the performances will take place: most likely a multipurpose room where there was sometimes a stage, sometimes it was more of pointing and grunting amongst the team to figure out which corner of the massive gym will become the stage…then and only then can you begin the unloading process.

Unloading #1 of 3 of the day.

Now, let’s say the Gods smiled on you, and the multipurpose room is empty. 

(The alternative is a room full of screaming children as breakfast is being served, and you basically have to weave in and out of said children.)

You can take your pick. 

Now, the unloading process is a ritual, a routine and by week two, it’s down to an art in and of itself. 

You and the team are communicating via telepathy. And good thing, as the winds picked up and the rains have begun to fall, and you couldn’t hear each other well even if you tried. 

You’re about to perform, you gotta protect your voices, right?

Boxes of costumes (including that wig you hate…and it’s starting to smell), bins of props, tall door frames…(and will it fit through the actual structural school door frame? Nope. Have to go around to the back entrance.) 

Small set pieces and panels and panels of artwork painted by a lovely intern that help display various locations within the four skits the show is made up of. 

Oh, and the sound equipment. Heavy, bulky sound equipment.

All of these things have to be brought in, set up and organized in show running order.

Performance

Then you do the thing you’re really here for: performing. 

You’re not energized from adrenaline, or the caffeine you chugged 30 minutes ago.

You’re on autopilot. 

Sill slightly wet from the rain, knee hurting because you banged it on a prop box on the way in, and you still have that chase scene to do in about ten minutes. 

Though like all performances, there are moments you still love doing even after the 50^th time, others you loath more and more each time you do it. 

Then, as quickly as it began, your 40 minute performance is over. 

You take your bows, the kids clapping and laughing (or not…middle schoolers are really rough crowds…like…really rough.)

Load-up #1 of 3 of the day

Sweaty, heart pumping, and enjoying the company of your fellow actors, because you’re all awake now, you reverse the process and get everything back into the van. 

Cue Tetris theme.

Then it’s off to another school to lather, rinse and repeat.

5 days a week.

Sounds like a lot, right?

It certainly was.

And for me, more than enough to last a lifetime.

Seriously, it was grueling to honestly the point beyond burnout, I just wasn’t aware that’s what it was at the time.

Now, let me clarify a few things…

Not all touring shows operate like this. 

This is me speaking to the specific experience I had, and I was blessed to be with a wonderful team, who all got along and supported each other. Which, I recognize, in and of itself, can be rare. 

So, for this tour, the actors were also the crew. 

It was a cast of four and our road manager who was stage manager, technician, light and soundboard operator, among other things, all rolled into one. 

Once we were on the road, we were it. 

We also didn’t travel anywhere overnight. So, that’s not an experience I can speak to. 

How to stay sane doing a touring show

I somehow managed to stay sane during the 5 week run of this tour. 

Often wonder how, really…looking back.

Cast and road manager aside, because, yeah they were a huge factor of awesomeness.

No question at all, I’ve never worked harder than I did then. Dunno that I ever will again. 

And, as the title of this post may insinuate: I’d be more than happy to never work that hard ever again. 

Got nothing against hard work, mind you, but when that teeter-totter of work/life balance gets knocked out of…well…balance…it’s really not ideal.

So, how did I stay sane?

A moment of me-time

Basically all days on tour the only time I had to myself was when I was in the bathroom. 

Seriously. 

Gotta stay hydrated and when you drink water you make water, as a mentor of mine used to say.

So whether I was peeing or changing in/out of my base costume, I learned to relish the moment.

This usually would involve a bit of breathwork.

It’s a calm before or after a storm kind of thing.

Pace yourself

Here’s the movement part of the post. 

Had to fit it in somewhere 😉

Pace your body.

Please, pace your body.

Especially if you’re also a member of the crew.

Children’s theatre requires a lot of physical energy. 

Grand gestures, chase sequences, and often layers of costumes. (What’s also called underdressing. Where you wear multiple costumes simultaneously to have changes be quick either on or off stage.)

The movement you employ, both on and off the stage, but specifically on stage, has to be sustainable. 

I talk a lot about the sustainability of movement on this blog, probably because I’ve seen enough performers wear out their bodies. 

In my experience, this tends to happen for two reasons: They do a thing in rehearsals, the director loves it, so the performer goes alright, but can I do that every day? No, but my director loved it so much, so I have to do it.’ 

OR the performer truly believes they can do a thing every day, and there’s either an injury or burn out. 

You need to know your body’s limitations. 

It’s imperative for any sort of physical theatre. And children’s theatre is definitely towards the top of that list. 

Driving time is for knitting, naps, and chats.

Alright, so maybe you don’t knit like I do, but this is the perfect time to do a quiet thing you enjoy. 

Reading, listening to music, and daydreaming while staring out the window.

Napping is also totally allowed. 

If you can sleep sitting up that is. Or in a car. Which I can’t really do either. Oh well, can’t have everything.

Or if there’s space in the van to stretch out, even if your legs are flung over a box of costumes, and you’re using your castmate’s lap as a pillow. (True story, it can work)

And as far as chats…I’m not gonna lie, the best memories I have by far, the only reason I’d consider doing something as insane as this again, was the people.

Camaradrie is a wonderful thing when the people mesh. 

The bonding through sheer rain-soaked misery, commiserating over a punctured hole in a fresh Monster energy drink, and kazoos will always hold special places in my heart.

It wasn’t all bad

Yes, being a part of a touring children’s show is incredibly grueling work, but it’s also really rewarding, especially when the kids enjoy the show. 

I remember performing specifically for a school where a girl, she was maybe seven, came up to us afterward as we were loading up and handed us all plastic beads as a thank you. She was too shy to speak, but the gift spoke volumes. 

Yep, still have that bead today. 

I hope this doesn’t discourage anyone from giving touring shows a shot if they one: have the opportunity or two: they’re genuinely interested in pursuing it. 

Give it a shot, don’t listen to me. 

I’m just one person and this was one person’s experience.

So, here’s to those who do this kind of work. Who did it once and said never again and to those who love it and continue to call it the home of their craft.

I still say never again for me and touring shows that ship has sailed…probably.