34 Lessons from 34 Years of Directing Theatre

(Part 3 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.

(Wrapping up our journey—read Part 1 and Part 2 if you missed them.)

We’ve laughed, learned, and shared stories about navigating the joyful chaos of directing. In this final act, let’s reflect deeply on those profound moments when theatre becomes about something more, something bigger—life itself.

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Act 3: Reflections—Life & Leadership
(Lessons 24–35 + Afterword)

24. Every audience is different.

The jokes that killed last night might land flat tonight. That’s theatre. The energy in the room changes with each crowd, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I tell the story of doing Strider, the story of a horse, where during a major and emotional transformation scene, the audience didn’t know how to react… so they often giggled. And then… SILENCE. The discomfort became a tool for understanding rather than a roadblock to it.

Every audience reacted differently. And we can’t teach that. We can only teach our performers how to handle the differences and adapt.

I remember being in the audience of Come From Away, and when certain moments hit me, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—so I just sat there and disappeared into myself for a moment. The students I was with had no frame of reference for those moments, so they laughed. And the other adult with me openly cried.

It’s the same with music and dance. We don’t control how an audience reacts from night to night, but we can be prepared to be unprepared.

25. Never underestimate the power of good lighting.

Lighting has its own language, and those who can paint with light create new layers to any work. It shapes mood, focus, and transitions in ways that sets and costumes simply can’t.

It also hides a lot of bad seam work on set pieces. (Or was that just for my productions?)

26. When in doubt, simplify.

Don’t get me wrong, I love elaborate costumes, period props, and a set that would make Moulin Rouge! envious… but sometimes, all of that steals the thunder.

Just be conscious of when you can go big (that chandelier in Phantom better be impressive, and the costumes for The Three Musketeers better be legit) and when one or more of those elements might be pulling the audience away from your intended focus.

27. Don’t rely on last-minute ticket sales. Build engagement year-round.

If you think selling tickets is just about the week before a show, you’re already behind. Keep your community engaged all year. Send newsletters. Host movie nights. Get involved with local events. Make your theatre a place to be so that when ticket sales open, half the work of getting people in the door is already done.

28. Give teachers and parents talking points.

They’ll be your biggest advocates even if they don’t come to your show. Share short summaries, cast highlights, and ways teachers can integrate the show into their lessons. And please—make it ridiculously easy to buy tickets. Provide QR codes they can scan or share instantly. Maybe even create a quick video tutorial demonstrating how easy online ticket purchases can be. If parents, students, or teachers have to hunt down your website, dig through links, or drive across town just to buy tickets, chances are they simply won’t come. Remove barriers, and watch your audience grow.

29. Sports vs. Theatre? It’s not a battle.

Kids should feel encouraged to try both. Theatre teaches discipline, confidence, and teamwork—and so do sports. Some of our strongest actors were also star athletes, excelling on state championship swim and soccer teams. Yet, there was always room for the kids whose only passion was theatre, just as there was room for those who preferred their drama on the field over the stage.

Long before rehearsals began every year, I met with Coach Kimble, our state championship swim coach. We shared mutual respect built on high expectations and a genuine understanding of each other’s demands. Together, we realized that students often thrived in both areas precisely because of this mutual support. Knowing they could pursue both passions gave them comfort and confidence—bringing out skills that enriched both activities.

If inclusivity is central to your theatre program, remember it extends beyond theatre kids. It includes the athletes who might hesitate to set foot in your classroom, believing they won’t be welcome. Make it clear: there’s a place for everyone.

30. Other adults around you are invaluable.

Even those without theatre experience can help listen to students, run errands, or just be there for your sanity. Sometimes, you just need someone to hand you a Diet Pepsi and a Cosmic Brownie and remind you to breathe. I once had a parent whose only theatre experience was watching their kid on stage. But they became my most trusted sounding board—listening to me rant, offering outside perspective, and running for coffee when I needed it most.

31. Theatre is a business.

You need to make money, and that means having a clear plan before you begin. Lack of funds never has to kill creativity—it just means you plan carefully and let limitations inspire you.

I once directed a production of Mural, a play exploring the “inner turmoil and awkwardness of high school life.” Our total budget was exactly $100—plus all the leftover white paint cans we found sitting around in storage. If you know me, you know that’s tough. I’m more of an “I only have $1,000 for wigs?!” kind of guy. But I embraced it, turning the lack of funds into a character-building exercise.

Each actor received $10, and off we went to local thrift stores. Their challenge was to buy as many costume pieces as possible—all white—that captured their character’s personality through fabric alone. You’d be amazed at how much $10 can buy when you’re truly looking. It turned out to be one of the richest costuming experiences we ever had.

And our set? It was simple: we took existing set pieces, painted everything white, and each night, the actors painted their personal stories onto the set live during the show, creating a vibrant, living mural of their characters’ journeys. Before leaving every evening, we repainted everything white again. (I mentioned we had plenty of white paint, right?)

Our small budget didn’t limit us; it became an integral part of the storytelling itself. But this was possible because we knew what resources we had (and didn’t have) right from the start. On other shows, we calculated precisely how many tickets we needed to sell to break even and designed our budgets around that.

Theatre truly is a business. You make money to spend money. You spend money to make money. And you do both to make art. Embrace that balance, and you’ll turn constraints into creativity every time.

32. You are the constant.

Pick shows that push you. If you love it, kids will love it. That is something that is really hard to learn. Students change, administrators change, trends in theatre change—but you are the throughline. Your passion and vision shape the culture of your program, and that is what will last.

33. Trust your students more than you think you should.

One year, our festival show was hit with bad luck and worse weather. On snow days, kids weren’t allowed in the building, and staff-led rehearsals were banned. But my students met at a house, rehearsed on their own, took notes, and emailed me blocking ideas with pictures. They got further without me than they ever did with me because they had the freedom to play. When I saw them at our next official rehearsal, they were in a perfect place. Sometimes, stepping back is the best thing you can do.

34. Sometimes, you have to be the anchor.

Not every lesson comes gently or humorously. Sometimes, bad things happen, and there’s no script for how to handle them. I remember the phone call in the early morning hours: Jeremy, one of my theatre kids—someone I adored—had died in a car accident. I moved into my guest room and stayed there for two days. Jeremy’s mom was a dear friend; his friends were my theatre family, and none of us knew how to cope.

But you get out of bed. You shower, get dressed, and show up. You open the theatre doors and you listen. You let your kids cry. Sometimes you cry with them, though I tried my hardest to do that at home. You tell stories, and sometimes you stay silent, simply letting them be together. You plant yourself, becoming someone steady they can hold on to until the world rights itself again, even slightly.

You grieve by throwing yourself into your kids, into the work, into creating something. You do a show—not to diminish Jeremy’s memory with sadness, but to literally put these kids into the light again.

For the record, it never gets easier. Even writing this brings every feeling rushing back, making me question if I should delete this lesson. But I won’t, because directing isn’t just about theatre. It’s a journey with no script, and that might be the most valuable lesson of all. 

Ultimately, directing theatre is about guiding people through joy and heartache alike. And that’s precisely why the next lesson matters so much.

35. BONUS LESSON: Theatre is never just about theatre.

For many kids, the theatre is their safe place, their family, the one place where they feel they belong. It’s easy to get lost in the stress of budgets, deadlines, and perfectionism, but at the end of the day, this is about creating a space where people feel seen, valued, and capable of something bigger than themselves. That’s why we do this.

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One Last Thing…

Alright, I know I said 34, stretched it to 35, but I can’t resist giving you just one more… because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in directing, it’s knowing when to break your own rules.

Afterword: Directing is a Journey.

The biggest lesson I learned in 34 years as a director was that… well… I had to learn things the hard way.

I had great mentors, caring friends, and an amazing support team… and yet, I still had to figure things out for myself.

When Andrew, dear friend and technical director, would say, “You had a bad experience working with that person…” I still cast them.

When Jodi, costumer extraordinaire and eagle eye for detail, said, “That isn’t going to look good,” I replied, “Trust me!” She shouldn’t have.

And when Karen, sidekick and all-around “get shit done,” MacGyver, said, “There is an easier way, just let me do it…” I said NO, did it the hard way, failed spectacularly, and went back to her to do it anyway.

And when my peer, confidant, and one of the most talented directors I know said, “When you perform isn’t as important as what you perform. Suck it up and stick with the time you were given!” … well, that time, I listened.

And she was right. (We placed first in our festival.)

Sometimes, we ask for advice and then go in the opposite direction anyway, because directing is a journey. It’s an adventure. It’s both a team sport and a solo activity. It’s one where, in the end, we make the call.

We decide whether to take the easy three-pointer or go for seven. (That analogy is for my best buddy Erik, who played football before I roped him into acting…and now teaches theatre!)

As I look back at what I have written, I realize I could have directed another 30 years because I have so many more lessons and stories to share.

And that’s true for all of us—whether we direct, choreograph, conduct, or teach.

So, one last lesson: (this time for real)

Be your genuine self. Try to think with your head as often as you do with your heart, but realize that’s often a losing battle. Try to sleep (just not during tech week). And be comfortable with the fact that there is no science or easy process to directing—just the adventure of figuring it out, one show at a time.

And now… I can’t wait to read YOUR 34 lessons.

💬 Now it’s your turn

Share your own lessons in the comments below—or send them to us to inspire the next generation of theatre leaders.

*Don’t forget to read Part 1 and Part 2 if you missed them.