I have this ritual I go through the opening night of every show I’m in. It started with my school’s 9th grade production of West Side Story, and I’ve been repeated the process (more or less) with ever production I’ve acted in or directed.

It starts out with me getting to the theatre way before anyone else. In high school, our call for opening night was usually 5 or 5:30; I’d be at the theatre by 4 (after a quick run to Charlottesville’s favorite bagel bakery). Then, for the next hour or so (until we had to start getting makeup and costumes on) I’d wander aimlessly around the theatre, munching on my two plain bagels while being excessively perky towards the few techies or band members who were already setting up. This gets me in a good mood. I should note that the timing in eating these bagels is strategically planned - too early, and you’ll be hungry during the performance; too late, and you’ll feel full and distracted on stage.

Next step: laying down in the middle of the stage and closing my eyes. I’d call this “Becoming one with the stage,” but that sounds way too melodramatic and downright creepy. But I do feel like the single-most effective preparation I can carry out before a performance involves becoming comfortable with your acting environment. And no matter much time I’ve spent on the set before that (or how closely I’ve come to know it if I helped build it), it’s always just a set to me before that opening night. When your four hours away from the first real audience, with the worklights shining down at you from the grid and the final coats of paint still sticky from the last minute touchups, the set finally becomes alive. For some reason, laying down on the uncomfortably hard set floor in total silence without anyone else there gives me the peace and focus to go on stage and leave the outside world behind.

Finally, I visit tech land once again. Most actors ignore the techies either out of spite or lack of understanding, but I personally love the techies and find them to be the perfect way to keep from getting sucked into the overdramatic mess that is the actor collective pre-show. In may cases, I actually like the techies better than the actors (just don’t tell the actors that…).

Interspersed with the aforementioned steps, I generally lay down in the house seats, walk up in the lighting grid, and basically run amok through the whatever glorious theatre I’ve gotten to know over the past few months of rehearsal.

And somehow during this process, I manage to lose any nerves I might have had for the past few weeks as the clock ticked down to opening night. By the time I step on stage and the lights are shining down, I’m the happiest person alive.