(Part 2 of 3)
A Three-Part Series on Life, Leadership, and the Beautiful Chaos of Theatre
Directing theatre isn’t just about blocking scenes and calling cues. It’s about leadership, creativity, and managing the beautiful chaos that comes with live performance. After 34 years in the director’s role—whether in schools, community theatres, or the performing arts world—I’ve picked up a few lessons. Some I learned the hard way, others were gifted to me by mentors and students alike. If you’re in your first decade of directing (or even your third), these insights might save you a few headaches (or gray hairs or a few stress pounds)—or at least remind you why it’s all worth it.
(In case you missed Part 1, check it out here)
In the first part of the series, we talked through the hilarious (in hindsight) chaos and unexpected triumphs of theatre. Now, let’s go deeper, exploring how small details become big moments, why listening might just be your greatest skill, and why costume changes could haunt your dreams.
Act 2: Building the World—Details & Dynamics (Lessons 13–23)
13. Sometimes, you just have to laugh and let it go.
Sometimes, you just have to embrace that theatre can—and will—go off-script. Shutaveya had unmatched presence and confidence onstage. During a festival production of The Diviners, she sang a haunting, powerful version of ‘Amazing Grace’—so powerful that she stretched the words ‘amazing’ and ‘grace’ into nearly a full minute. As her voice soared, my heart sank, watching helplessly as we sailed 14 seconds past our strict competition time limit, virtually eliminating our chances.
But here’s the thing: she was in the zone. At that moment, every second felt necessary to her, and honestly—who am I to interrupt ‘Amazing Grace’? It was heartbreaking in the moment, but these are the stories we laugh about later, the ones we cherish and retell over coffee or (apparently) in a blog.
Shutaveya remains one of my favorite kids, and those temporary moments of panic fade into great stories later. By the way, later that year, she broke unofficial records singing the longest National Anthem ever at a soccer game. It transported me so thoroughly (and for so long), I almost forgot I was at a game.
Things go sideways. Embrace it. Breathe. Laugh. You’ll need those laughs tomorrow.
14. Every show teaches you something new.
No matter how many productions you’ve done, there’s always a lesson in the process. Sometimes, it’s about logistics (like why you should NEVER order custom costumes from an overseas vendor at the last minute). Sometimes, it’s about human nature (like realizing how much stress affects even your most level-headed performers). Be open to learning, because every show is its own unique beast.
15. Your cast and crew will follow your energy.
If you bring enthusiasm, professionalism, and a sense of humor, they’ll reflect it back. If you bring stress, panic, and frustration, they’ll pick up on that, too. You set the tone for rehearsals. That doesn’t mean you can’t have bad days, but it does mean you should be mindful of what you bring into the space.
16. The audience experience starts the moment they walk in.
Lobby displays, pre-show music, and how your front-of-house staff greets your audience—these details matter. Greet people as soon as they enter your lobby, just like you would in your home. Make them feel comfortable and welcome. Theatre is intimidating for some. Make people feel welcome, and they’ll return. A great show starts before the curtain rises.
17. Details are important—even if only you notice.
As directors, we MUST live in the details—even if the audience never notices them. The details, when singled out, mean little. Who cares if all of the dresses in the finale of White Christmas are hemmed to land the exact same distance from the floor? Or if the flowers on the set are accurate to the time, location, and climate of the show?
But those details come together to create a feeling, a world, that audiences don’t consciously notice—but absolutely experience. If we have done our job, the audience won’t be able to remember every detail, but they will capture the whole—the feeling, the message, the world. We must live in the details so the audience and the performers can live in the world we have created.
18. The best directors are great listeners.
Your designers, actors, and crew all have ideas. Make space for them. Some of the best moments in a show come from a random suggestion that wasn’t in your original vision. Be open to collaboration. You are the final decision-maker, but the more voices you include in the process, the richer the final product will be. However, do not get lost along the way. Begin and end with your clear, unique vision. Think of directing like making soup—you blend great ideas, fresh ingredients, and unexpected suggestions. But as the chef, you decide the flavors. Just because someone hands you an avocado doesn’t mean it belongs in your soup. (To be clear, I can’t actually cook—but thankfully, directing is more forgiving.).
19. You are not just teaching theatre.
You’re teaching time management, collaboration, resilience, and self-expression. Theatre kids graduate knowing how to meet deadlines, work with difficult personalities, and think on their feet. Whether or not they pursue the arts professionally, these skills will serve them for life.
20. A rough final dress rehearsal often means a great show.
I don’t know why. It just does.
21. Your alumni will always be your kids.
Whether they go on to Broadway, become extraordinary teachers and mentors, or simply remember your show fondly, you become a part of their story forever. Years later, when former students say, “Theatre was my favorite part of school,” or “That show changed my life,” you’ll smile, feel your eyes burn just a little, and know what you did truly mattered.
I think immediately of two Sarahs—both extraordinary yet wonderfully different. Sarah 1 was a soccer player, cheerleading captain, and part-time debater (or at least she loved arguing with me). She brought enough wattage to any room to rival Norma Desmond in her prime. Her laugh still echoes in my mind. Every role she played was fierce, committed, and unforgettable—and her loyalty to theatre burns just as brightly today as when she first exploded into my classroom.
Sarah 1 became a mother to three talented kids who inherited her theatrical spark: Thadd once portrayed a dog so convincingly his mom proudly noted he “was very lifelike”; Libby, the eldest daughter, a mirror image of her mother, effortlessly charming and instantly befriending everyone around her (she also made a stellar dancing penguin); and Ahava—oh, Ahava—I swear I cast her when she was barely able to walk because she laughed at everything I said (the girl knew funny!). Her roles ranged from a believable young boy to a jellyfish (see earlier Little Mermaid story) to young lead. She grew up to become a supermodel with a killer backhand, though thankfully, she still appreciates a good joke. Reflecting on this, I realize that those kids had a passion for adventure that was clearly inherited from their mother.
Sarah 2 was quiet and observant and preferred running the spotlight to being in it. Her perfectly timed wit was sharper than any stage dagger. She painted sets, sewed costumes, made props, hung posters, and quietly earned everyone’s respect. Sporty may describe her haircut, but not her interests. In her senior year, I cast her as a lead—but she promptly took her name off the cast list, giving herself a small, silent maid role instead. She became my go-to for honest, blunt feedback—always delivered wrapped in witty, insightful commentary. Even today, when we meet for lunch, her unique perspective on teaching and life leaves me smiling every time. To my delight, she’s married now and coaches basketball (?)—a twist I couldn’t quite believe until I saw it on Facebook. But Sarah 2 always did have a talent for surprising me. She analyzes everything carefully, considers all reasons NOT to do something—and then does it anyway, flawlessly.
Why share this story? Because every theatre program has its Sarahs. Some students walk in ready to dazzle, confidently claiming center stage. Others quietly amaze us from behind the scenes, unaware of the brilliance we clearly see. Both are essential, both deserve honoring, and together, they create the perfect balance. These two remarkable women became best friends—perfect role models for today’s students—and remain dear friends to me. Theatre has a way of bringing special people into our lives, those who make us better teachers, directors, and human beings. You’ll have your own Sarahs—students who become family, who stay connected, and who continually remind you why every moment in theatre matters.
22. First-time directors always underestimate costume changes.
Respect the costumes and the people who create them. Make sure costumes are hung up carefully, no one comments negatively about anyone else in their costumes, and that performers understand costumes as extensions of their characters. A well-cared-for costume makes an actor feel respected, and a respected actor performs with confidence. Also, if your costume designer asks for extra time, they need it.
23. The week before a show will test your patience.
Expect emotions to run high. Plan breaks. Breathe. And don’t take every outburst personally—tired, stressed kids say things they don’t always mean. I once had a student burst into tears because their shoelace broke right before curtain. It wasn’t about the shoelace. It was about the exhaustion, the pressure, and the fear of failure. Theatre is emotional, and kids will feel everything at full volume. Your job is to be the steady presence they can lean on.
We’ve set the stage and fine-tuned the details. But what happens when theatre intersects with life in powerful, challenging ways?
Next, we’ll journey through moments that define us—not only as directors but as mentors and anchors.
*If you haven’t already, read part 1 and keep an eye out for the final act of our series coming soon!
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