PURSING THEATER IN THE WAKE OF STUDENT LOAN DEBT

Derpin' in Salt Lake City Utah
circa September 2012

Next week, I have an audition for Merry Christmas, Mulch Pile! with Mercy Street Theater Company. This is important for me to note because as of January of this year I was invited to come on board as an ensemble member. The day I was asked to be an ensemble member I was running late. As usual it seems.

Typically, if I have a city commitment anywhere after exit 44A/45A (that’s right where 90/94 merge) I know I need to leave the suburbs (anywhere from Vernon Hills to Wheeling to Schaumburg) by 4pm to get somewhat on time for a 6pm “theater thing.” I take 94 almost exclusively as it is deemed the “free” highway whereas, although supposedly faster 90 costs $1.90 each way. And if I have rehearsal everyday? And parking meters to worry about? A $1.90 adds up quick for me. So, no thanks.

I happen to be running late for a photo shoot no less, that Associate Artistic Director of MSTC, Jake Fruend, had asked me to be a part of. As I parked my mothers 99’ rusted Buick I received yet another text/call of, “how much longer?” The photographer and costumer had other engagements I convinced myself. I was ruining their day I told myself as I gripped the steering wheel harder tailgating every slow driver that always seemed to go below the speed limit. I was nearly an hour late by the time I met Jake on the stairs at the photo shoot location. I ignored any parking meters and dared to leave the car that flashed “low tire pressure” the entire freaking way there to chance with the parking authorities. Risking a minimum $50 parking ticket would be my punishment for my lateness because waiting at one of those kiosks for my little white slip would have added precious minutes to my already very late unprofessional arrival. I apologized profusely to Jake, the photographer and costumer and I tried to once again tie up my long frizzy unforgiving hair into a braid. The Buick had no A/C. It may have been January in the city of Chicago, but I was wearing all black and skinny jeans as I coming from my job in Vernon Hills. Red faced, out of breathe, feeling guilty, stupid too, Jake started to say some very simple, but wonderful things about me. How the company liked me. Liked how much I cared. How they thought I could bring something to the team. And just.like.that. Jake asked me to be an ensemble member of Mercy Street Theater Company. I was filled with gratitude.

I gratefully accepted the opportunity to be a part of this immerging company without hesitation. It was what I wanted. With the announcement on social media in full swing I noted on my profile picture of the photograph they took of me for the website that day: “I was running late as per-usual-- I'm the gal with city dreams living in the suburbs!” And that’s how I viewed myself. City dreaming. Suburban living.

Photo by Christopher Semel

Full disclosure: I had previously concluded my role as Mistletoe in Merry Christmas, Mulch Pile! and was excited to audition again, even though, I believed it to just be a formality. However for next weeks audition, I have nothing prepared. I probably won’t have or find or care to prepare anything. For tonight I was brought to my knees in tears as I have come to learn that I am nearly over $125,000 in debt from my student loans. To comprehend— yes. This number is real. As of September 7th, 2016 at 12:21 am I am over $125,000 in debt. It’s a ballpark number to sound fancier in writing, but true to a literal dollar amount. This is not a drill.

A collections notice dated 8.10.16

Collectively my sister and I have spent countless of hours on the phone with the Department of Education to figure out what the hell happened. My 15-minute breaks turned into crying fests and excuses to use the bathroom to weep in the stalls. My half hour lunch breaks were me telling co-workers, “Chipotle was so busy! I’m so sorry I’m late coming back,” when I was actually sitting in the parking lot on hold for 45 minutes and telling whatever poor soul was helping me that I would have to call back at another time. I guess to understand how I “allowed” this to happen it’s important to usually start these types of stories from the beginning— “Oh god,” you’re thinking. Maybe. I would be thinking that. But please bare with me on this journey. This is PURSUING THEATER IN THE WAKE OF STUDENT LOAN DEBT.

In high school— well even earlier than that I always loved reading and writing poetry. I found great joy and healing in writing. When I was six years old my brother, Christopher committed suicide. It is a theme I often bring up in much of writing and subsequent theater making. The first poem I ever remember writing was titled: White Water. I still have it. What a piece of shit poem it is, but I can point to that very piece of paper and say: there. That’s where it started.

Story Time with F-Word

"Christopher" written and performed by Sonja Lynn Mata

circa October 2010

Now. In high school— junior year I remember sitting next to a girl named Nicole (Full disclosure: not her real name). ACT’s were on the mind and curriculum. I remembered her because at just 16-17 years old she was losing her hair. Literally going bald in the center of her forehead. From the literal stress and pressure she was under to either perform well for her own goals and standards or her parents own goals and standards. I would sit next to her and try not to stare at her bald spot. I was never going to make fun of her. But I was curious. I was saddened. I vowed to never let a number determine the rest of my life. (Side note: I literally just cried writing that sentence).

Whatever amount of time later, I took the ACT in a quiet room with only one other person. I achieved gaining extra time on the ACT. I got extra time on the ACT because in 5^th grade I declared to a social worker that I wanted to kill myself. By 6^th grade I was in a Behavior Disorder program at Cooper Middle School. I did not mainstream until 8^th grade. In 9^th grade I was still seeing a social worker for all my anger issues and by 11^th grade I had to say in writing that I was emotionally disturbed and a poor test taker to get extra time. By that time I had really chilled the fuck out. I found Stage Crew, Fusion, Anime Club, the Circus Literary Magazine, Bowling, Spokesman and my best friend to this very day, Andrea, and a bunch of other shit to keep me happy. But in order to get that extra time I needed to sign my name to this official document saying I was all these things when in fact I wasn’t. A poor test taker, O.K. yes maybe in JUST math at this point. But emotionally disturbed? I was not.

Pencils down. Times up. The tests flew away. 

I got a 22 on the ACT. I saw that number. I accepted it. And I moved on. I wasn’t going to let a number determine the rest of my life. (Side note: I did by the way score an 11/12 on the writing portion of the ACT).

The summer between junior year and senior year I looked at over 300 college summaries on Fastweb. I was also looking for any sort of scholarship I could possibly even have the remote chance of getting. But you know— me and three other thousands of people. I was applying everywhere as a creative writing major. Naturally I was looking at all the top schools at the time: Bennington in Vermont, Ohio University in Athens and University of Iowa— the top creative writing program in the country. I applied to all three. Well, I never actually completed my application to Bennington. So it was either Iowa or Ohio. I was set on going out-of-state. There was literally no reason. Only that I wanted too.

Iowa rejected me.

Ohio accepted me.

I accepted Ohio as I had no plan B. Ohio even offered me the King-Chavez Parks scholarship of around $14,000k/year. (Side note: This I still need to fact check myself on and see if it was $14k a year or $14k in total. This is obviously important for later. UPDATE (9/10): I recently messaged a studio mate of mine from OU. She was also a KCP recipient. It seems she only received around $7k. I took her advice and I looked up my financial aid breakdown from My OHIO Portal. I can only access the years from 2011-2012. From that information, it seems I received around $9k. It’s all very confusing. Maybe I’ll remember to explain more on that later.) If I re-call correctly the KCP was the second best scholarship one could receive in the OMSAR/LINKS pre-matriculation program. With that in my corner I accepted without even visiting the campus. I’d bleed green. I was now an official Bobcat in training.

I graduated Wheeling High School as the only student attending Ohio University. Less than a month later I was on my way to Ohio to do an early start and take my first college classes. I wanted to hit the ground running. I wanted that head start

I was an English major taking English 151 and Psych 101. I earned a B and C, respectively. I met new friends that I carried throughout the next four years. I learned how to do laundry ahead of everyone else. I knew what dining halls were the best. I had already hiked— err trespassed to hike Bong Hill multiple times with Kelsey Keller and Chris Gold.

I came back to the 847 and then after Labor Day was back at Ohio University for fall quarter classes. I woke from Read Hall (the honors and scholarship dorms) the first day of fall classes and walked to Chubb Hall and changed my major. I went from English-Creative Writing to Theater. I had to pink slip into all of my new theater classes. No professor knew who I was. I distinctly remember walking in on Rebecca VerNooys movement class, pink slip in hand, where we had to be a paint brush on the ground. I recall thinking to myself, “What the hell did I just get myself into?”

Rm 306, Kantner Hall
Photo by Alex Beyer

I worked every year in college. Nothing major. I mostly worked for the University itself. I was working as a Peer Advisor to first generation and multicultural students at OU with the same program that I had received my scholarship from. I did that job for three years at $7.30/hr. It was definitely a labor of love over a paycheck. I actually almost didn't get the job. When I interviewed at the middle/ end of my freshmen year I was asked by the then Director, Stacey Brinkley, what my biggest challenge would be. I answered truthfully: time management. Needless to say, I didn't get the job. It wasn't until the very end of summer vacation in August (OU was on the quarter system so our classes didn't start until after Labour Day) I received a call from the OMSAR office asking me if I would be interested in becoming a Peer Advisor. It seems that OMSAR was under the impression that my former Peer Advisor, Aaron, would be returning for his job. Turns out he had declined to return for his spot, leaving it open for someone like me to take it. I partly was only offered the job because my major was in the arts. Something that the OMSAR does extremely well is match LINKEES to an advisor with a similar major. In my three years as an advisor I've had art majors, dance majors, fellow theater majors, music majors and even one sports medicine major. I supplemented other income by house/cat sitting for various professors. Most summer and winter breaks I was working with the Ohio Valley Summer Theater (OVST) as an actor, electrician and costumer.

First day on the job as a Peer Advisor
circa August 2009

Then all of a sudden, it was senior year. I applied for an additional senior only theater scholarship sponsored through the School of Theater. I got it and with that an extra $1,000. I graduated. I came back to the suburbs of Chicago. However, I soon whisked myself away to Northern California— deferring “real life,” for another as I set off to become a professional fool at Dell’ Arte International School of Physical Theater. I was 21. A year younger than my ACT score.

It's important for to note, that I almost didn't go to Dell' Arte at all. Much of it had to do with financial reasons. I remember pacing behind Elis hall one day crying on the phone to my mother. Dell' Arte needed their first installment of payment 4 weeks after your acceptance. And we didn't have it. We were, once again, in the midst of losing our home for what felt like the thousandth time. I don't know how, but my parents somehow managed to come up with the money. I also had a professor in not so many words tell me that they didn't think I would be successful at Dell' Arte. Over the next few months we had two guest artists: Bill Bowers and Drew Richardson (Drew the Dramatic Fool) visit and guest teach our studio.  Their opinions of me and the work I was going in their guest classes, seemed to be enough to convinced this professors that hey! maybe I could be successful at Dell' Arte. They told me so the day before the deadline was due. I spent the next 8 hours locking myself away in Kantner Hall Rm 306, scrambling to devise a 5 minute video application that essentially told my life story.

I raised $1,010 of my own on Indiegogo and Sonja’s Subaru Journey commenced. While at Dell’ Arte I knew I couldn’t have a job. Be here to be here. Physically there was no time to have a job outside of this demanding training program. But once again, I found odd jobs working as a figure model in Eureka and even did a stint trimming on a marijuana field, where I did in fact make bank. I would give nearly everything I earned back to Dell' Arte. During the school year, I went so far as to even collect cans and glass with my roommate. California is only a handful of states that honor the whole: HI ME 5¢! I saved everything and would often sneak a classmates discarded bottle or can. Anything to keep costs low.

I completed my training at Dell’Arte and I knew the clock was ticking. I knew my student loan payments would begin. I remember not knowing how to pay my loans BEFORE the 6-month grace period was up. I didn’t know who actually owned my loans. It never occurred to me to contact the Department of Education and find out what company took them. Once six months was up I found out that Great Lakes had obtained my loans. And I owed over $38,0000. Yikes! An overwhelming number. At the time. The dread we all know set in. I opted to pay the highest amount I could. That plan had me making $415.17 payments every month. I thought I’d be a smart (ass) cookie and pay $420 a month. Even a quarter over shows an “over-payment.” But I still had thoughts of: I’ll never pay these off! Holy shit! That’s a lot of money! Etc. . . Over the years I grew to realize—that O.K $38,000 is a lot of money, but it is manageable. I can do this. Over the years this number had always made sense to me. I thought I had “done the math,” over and over to know that this number made sense. Over the years I thought I had made it out easy! Compared to what I hear and read from all my other friends on social media and specifically from another studio mate of mine who to my understanding only took out private loans with ridiculous high interest rates, I thought, “Hey for a 4 year degree and one year extra training program? $38K is nothing!” How very wrong I am all these years later. 

I needed a job— any job. I remember applying to my first job at Family Video (Exactly like the good ol’ Blockbuster.) It was right near my old high school. I felt kind of pathetic applying there, because I didn’t want anyone from high school to know that I wasn’t doing anything “greater” or “grander” or “better” than this. But I had a friend working for the company and I used her as a reference. I got  an interview. And I thought there is no way I can’t not get this job. I left the interview thinking I had done well and I knew someone who already works for the company! I am a shoe-in! After the initial interview I was invited back to take an assessment test. I literally thought I needed to pee in a cup. So I was not prepared when I was placed in a desk in the middle of sales floor during business hours with a piece of scratch paper, a number two pencil and a test. This was Family Video. What the hell kind of company really needed these measures to assess a hopeful candidate to sort and rent out outdated films? It was strange taking a test in the middle of the sales floor. I felt stupid. I felt like everyone was looking at me. I think the guy Mike even said something to the effect of, “I did really bad myself on this. Don’t worry!” I think I literally handed him my assessment in tears and quickly flew out there from the sheer embarrassment of not knowing how to do long division by hand. Needless to say, I never heard back from them. And I didn’t follow up. (Side note: It is always interesting to see that every time I drive past that location there is always a perpetual sign of: Hiring! Apply Within! still laughing at me.) But I try to be tough shit about it and think I didn’t need that place anyway. But when I feel like shit—applying to “real jobs,” I always remember and tell myself how I wasn’t even good enough to get a job at Family Video. We are all in our own vicious cycles.

But I got a job. At Petland. In Round Lake Beach for $8.25/hr plus commission. It was about a 30 minute drive North of Wheeling. Essentially I tell people that it’s near the Wisconsin border. I do this because it indicates to those in the city just how far I drive to this or that function, rehearsal, audition that we are at. I don’t seem to understand how difficult it is to get to Logan Square, because I understand the city in a driving sense and those in the city don’t exactly understand the suburbs and its surrounding areas, so when I worked at Petland, it was easier to say “near the Wisconsin border” geographically so that people could understand how difficult it was for me to be right where we were in the city essentially. I started this job just days before my birthday in August. But I had a theater commitment already in place in Independence, Iowa for Wapsi Odyssey! with the Wapsipinicon Theater Festival. Petland was not happy  with me. In that essentially after my hire date I would be gone for 10 days. I didn’t bring it up in the interview. I was severely worried I wouldn’t have gotten hired otherwise. I had already had my blunder with Family Video. And no other places were even calling me back for an interview. (Side note: I should mention that during the group interview I was called on to demonstrate how to sell a remote to the owner of the Petland. I had never had sales experience in my life. So I stood there like a blundering idiot trying to sell the owner of this Petland a remote he was holding. And get this: I was only picked because I was the only one in the room with a theater degree. I guess it indicated that I could improvise something? To this day it has always irked me.) I actually loved working at Petland. There were aspects of it that I don’t think I’ll ever agree with, but I loved working with the animals. The commute was rough. We were not open for holidays, but the staff worked everyday, because animals needed to eat everyday. So I worked Christmas and Christmas Eve and New Years and New Years Eve. Every Sunday we had staff meetings and sometimes you had to open the store sometimes you got “lucky” and you didn’t have stay after the staff meeting. It was rough either way as these meetings started at 7-8 in the morning. And again, this was every Sunday. No exceptions.

Working at Petland as a sign waiver
circa September 2013
Photo by Tina Mata

I once wrote on social media: "I'll let you in on a little secret that no one else knows. Just because I'm not acting on the stage doesn't mean I am not practicing my craft. When I wave the PUPPY SALE sign for Petland I am practicing comedic timing in the span of a red light. I make myself trip and wobble in the fish department and blame it on the near-dry floor tile. At Brunswick's I notice what makes you laugh and mark it down in a little book and say to myself Save this and put it in a show. "- October 14th, 2013

Then a new business opened in just the next town over from Wheeling. Brunswick’s Tavern 45—oh the promises of everything it would be. On my best day working at Petland I was making $10.25 an hour. So when I applied to Brunswick’s they were hiring anywhere form $9-11/hr. I negotiated my rate. And I started at $10.25/hr! Gosh. I was really moving up. So I worked Petland during the day. Brunswick’s at night. The commute still remained a nightmare. I was terrified to tell Petland I needed to change my availability. No one but the top sales guy got to leave at 4pm. But I needed to leave at 4pm to make it to Brunswick’s by 5pm. I had a full uniform change as well. On the days that I had to work both jobs I would often sleep over at my sisters house who happened to live in Round Lake Beach. I’d wake up in Wheeling go to Petland then to Brunswick’s (then depending where I would be working the next morning I’d either drive back up to Round Lake Beach and crash on my at the time 5-6 year nephews bed or sleep in Wheeling). I was constantly living out of a suitcase. Because sometimes I would often drive from RLB to Chicago for an audition and then come back to Brunswick’s to help close. As in the beginning we didn’t close Brunswick’s until two in the morning and with an hour clean up we wouldn’t get out of work until three in the morning and then I would drive all the way back up to RLB for Petland the next day and start sometime at 8 or 9 in the morning. I was working 10+hr days nearly every day. My bank account never reflected that though. I was packing for two days away because I knew I wouldn’t have time to run home and grab an audition outfit. I also got these two jobs just before winter started. In Chicago.

My new car "Le Tigra"
circa November 2013
Photo by Andrea Levey
Note: See those khakis? I had just left work at Petland in RLB to hull ass to Schaumburg

These two jobs allowed me to save my first $1,000. I had never had this much money in my account- save for indiegogo champaign, but that check went straight to Dell’Arte. But it was a lot of money to me. I was really proud of myself. And with that $1,000 I put a down payment on a new car.  I should also mention that my best friends father was the original one to put down $1,000 on my behalf.  So when I actually saved a true $1,000 a couple of days later, I went and paid a little extra for a cashiers check. So that I could show how responsible and prove to my best friends father that I had the money to pay him back. I am incredibly lucky and blessed to have such a person in my life. I think by now we all know I was driving a 95’ Subaru that had no A/C, power windows or power locks. It had over 100,000 miles on it. And the speedometer was broken. I should also mention that when I applied to Brunswick’s I missed my first interview, because my car broke down in the Petland parking lot. My Subi would often shut itself off when I was at a red light or stop sign. In bumper-to-bumper traffic, I was always terrified of my car dying during rush hour and being that asshole blocking traffic. I thought once again, “I fucked up this interview! They won’t hire me now!” But one of the best people I have come to know in my life, Anthony Studnicka, had no problem rescheduling the interview.

And after a few months, I couldn’t handle it anymore. So in Mid-December I quit Petland as I was enjoyed working at Brunswick’s way better. And again, I was making more. Because commission just isn’t my “thing”— even with my theater background.

Employee of the month!
circa September 2014

Brunswick’s was on the up and up! I felt like a go-to person. In times, I was the go-to person. I cared a lot. Sometimes to the point of too much. I was serious. Sometimes I took my job too seriously. I don’t think I was the best co-worker all of the time. But Brunswick’s allowed me time for theater. And that is why when I was there, I wanted to arrive early and stay late. Because if and when I got cast in a show, I had all these favors built up in order for me to now all of sudden request multiple weekends off in one month to perform the length of a show. It felt satisfying to write on an audition form, “no conflicts.” I thought it would also make me oh-so more desirable when it came to making a decision about casting. I sometimes still believe, all you needed to be was more available over some other actor who is better for the part.

Memorizing lines while on the job
circa February 2015

In 2014, I was in four nearly back to back productions. And I thought—wow! I am doing it. I really am doing it. I am paying my bills. I got this new car that I am making the monthly payments for—with insurance! I hope I can move out of my parents’ house and get to the city! I am paying off my student loans while doing theater! I WAS A REAL WORKING ACTOR! BEHOLD! Between these four productions I was making anywhere from $0-400. I only did one production for free. I haven’t done any unpaid work since then.

A "tip" I received while working at Brunswick's

Nearly a year later, things were going downhill. Brunswick’s was changing as a business. They were bought out by AMF BOWL MOR, which changed things quickly and most of all— cheaply. Hours had changed, in my opinion, overnight. I was originally working at night while I was working at Petland in the mornings. When I quit Petland I moved to mornings, so that I could have most nights and weekends free. But when Brunswick’s was bought out by AMF BOWL MOR, we all of sudden didn’t open until 3pm— the middle of the afternoon. Essentially my job was being eliminated. In my panic, I started looking for a day job. We had a night staff already! That’s why me and several other people were the day shift people. I found a second job in Vernon Hills (the sweet spot between Wheeling and once upon a time Round Lake Beach; still North, but not as North) working retail at DSW. So once again, I was working two jobs DSW during the day and Brunswick’s at night, still pursing theater (most nights).

My socks after a 12.5 hour shift while working a Brunswick's.
I had just purchased these socks from DSW the day before.

After nearly a year of the same back and forth I had to call it quits with Brunswick’s. DSW was happy to see me commit more to them. (Side note: I was actually recruited months earlier from the store manager of DSW while working the front desk at Brunswick’s. I politely took her card thinking I would never call it, because I had already in my head invested in a future with Brunswick’s. Months later I still hung onto that card.) I was working 10+ hours with no breaks. Much of the original team had left. Tony had left. Geegee had left. My best friend had left to pursue her own amazing endeavors. I had three general managers by the time I called it quits. I hated the last general manager I worked under. He could not inspire a team when we were in the weeds. And that’s what I needed. I had worked my ass off for Brunswick’s. I had gone to the corporate office several times to help out stuffing binders and making checklists and a bunch of other remedial tasks in front of the big-wigs with the hopes of a promotion. I had out-performed one of my co-worker at these corporate visits and at our bowling center, but still somehow my co-worker got promoted over myself. This place had become a very toxic, poisonous, unhappy place to work. I quit two days before my 25th birthday to devise a clown show that I had an idea for since my time at Dell’Arte.

That show: Drunk Donkey! An ensemble devised clown play, came to light in October 2015. Anthony Studnicka was actually the main producer of that show. I had also created a second indiegogo campaign to help offset the costs of the show. We didn’t raise our entire goal, but it helped in paying for one week of rental space. Reflecting on this piece now, I understand that this is the true starting point of everything I am about to get too, but for me, it is still important to understand the beginning of how everything comes to be. The journey is sometimes greater than the destination.

The poster for Drunk Donkey!
circa October 2015
Starring Richie Schiraldi, Sonja Lynn Mata, Nicole Jordan
Stage Manager: Jamie Loy

Drunk Donkey: An ensemble devised clown play was another moment in my life where I can say: there. When I first started looking for venues, I was not satisfied. I wanted a space that could contain The Great Wall of China. I’m a little obsessed as it has always been one of my favorite world wonders. So when I discovered through thought and play that this show needed to happen at what I coined as: the beginning of the end of The Great of Wall China I knew that this could be a challenge. Even though it goes against everything I was taught and mostly believe, ascetics did matter to me. Ascetics of the space mattered to me.

It was going to be my first real true devised clown show in the real city of Chicago. My hand was in everything. I wore every hat. After months of searching I found Prop Thtr and instantly fell in love with the rear space, as it had a catwalk. I had many conversations with a gentleman whom I’ll refer to by his initials, S.B. We talked at length about the show and all of its potential tech requirements. Since, I was doing this show without a theater company backing me S.B was hesitant to rent to just me. I was hell bent on seeing this show come to light. I told S.B with great conviction how successful this was going to be. How committed I was to make this happen. I convinced myself that I didn’t need a company to back it. I convinced myself of a lot of things to the point of being blind to how incapable I was at producing and marketing and just about everything else that goes into framing a show other than the actually creating the show itself. How quickly I learned and realized how privileged I was to be in spaces and places like OU and Dell’Arte. How easy it was for those communities to enjoy and literally go out to theater. I once asked S.B over the phone something along the lines of, “What if we fail?” And in his gentle and guiding voice, he told me something along the lines of, “You still got to pay. We need to keep the lights on too.” I asked this question in reference to if I should rent the space for two or three weeks. I wanted to be taken seriously (by who?!) and opted for three weeks— like a real theater company would do for the run of a production. Thursday-Saturday night and a matinee on Sundays.

In a very humiliating way, that show in execution was a failure. Some nights we performed to an empty space. Not a single soul in the seats. Sometimes we performed just to my mom. As by contract with Prop Thtr I needed to have a house manager there every night. I was brought to tears so many nights after the show because I thought I had failed my ensemble and by silently all agreeing to still perform to an empty theater “meant something.” I made them go on without asking. I would get ready transforming my hair into a high top bun and swabbing little alcohol pads on my red nose. I was making it about myself. I was “proving” something to myself. It is still something I reflect on now, nearly a year later. How near the end of our devising period one of my ensemble mates would often refer to this as “your [my] show,” and how quickly I would throw it back with, “No. It’s our show.” In execution, it did become my show, because I failed to see how I was failing. Or rather, I was failing publicity. And nobody knew, but the most intimate people around me and that made it feel like the entire community knew. I was carrying the biggest facade that I had ever worn probably in my entire life. I knew I was failing. I knew I was making this show about myself. But what is the point of theater for yourself if there is no one to share it with? The answer right now for me is that it isn't. There is no point in making theater for yourself/about yourself. But every night I would go on trying to make myself laugh instead.

circa July 2015

There was an even bigger miscommunication between S.B and myself on concessions. Something I thought our show could do if we supplied everything. But I misinterpreted and misunderstood. Leaving me scrambling to figure out budget wise as I had counted on concessions to help pay for renting the space. In essence, a big dumb rookie move.
 
Our last or second to last day of the run, was the best we had every performed the show as we had an audience to play off of. It was nearly sold out too. We handed over our final rental check and turned the lights off. Nearly a month later Prop Thtr deposited our final check. It bounced. I had misread my statement. I had counted the second check twice. Thinking the third check cleared I withdrew money for other needs and wants. So when it bounced I was obviously contacted and was horrified. But I didn’t have the money anymore. Even now a year later, I still owe S.B and Prop Thtr $550. I have held onto a cashiers check for months now, but I am too terrified to enter that theater again and just hand it over. There were back and forth calls and voicemails and e-mails. Then they just stopped. I think Prop Thtr gave up pursuing and obtaining what is owed to them. But I won’t forget. I clearly burned what could have been a very good relationship. I have the money now in the form of a cashiers check. To prove that this one won’t bounce. I carry it around as silent punishment for myself. 

It will take a long time before I would every feel remotely O.K attempting to stand in front of S.B and apologize. But it’s sort of past that point. We are adults. Theater makers with open hearts. Theater makers that need to keep the lights on too. They just need to get paid and I need to grow up.

After leaving Brunswick’s I immediately knew I could no longer afford the $420 monthly payments for my student loans on top of a $300+ car payment, as well as $100+ car insurance bill, $60+ phone bill, $25 credit card bill and so on and so forth. So I switched to Income Based Repayments (IBR). Since I quit my highest earning job with benefits, I qualified for $0 IBR payments. I was only getting low 20-hour weeks at DSW. I had no insurance for almost 6 months. I lost Medicaid after only having it for 11 days.

A letter dated 1.16.16 (!!!)
informing me that I was no longer eligible for Medicad

It dawned one me how I was once approached by my store manager and operations manager of DSW about a promotion. I declined it as I once again saw my future growing with Brunswick’s. When it came time months later I mentioned that I was ready to actually commit myself to DSW. Very politely, but bluntly, I was told that I was offered the position months ago and because I said no, they were prepping another co-worker of mine for the job. In all honesty, this co-worker had worked at the company longer than myself and they wanted it more than I did. So I am not and could not be too butt hurt about the decision I made and the decisions that the company had to proceed with to fill where they needed. According to Medicaid I was making too money to qualify, but it was the holiday season and I was working in retail. Even though I had part-time status I was literally an hour under full time hours and therefore was making just enough money to push me over the maximum.

In December of 2015, I finally got another second job at a grocery store in the same town down the street from Brunswick’s. I just was not making enough at DSW alone anymore. I was a produce clerk making $9.10/hr. My goal was to stay there until I had paid off the remainder of what I owed Prop Thtr. But, I was never very good at saving any money. I borrowed $300 from my mother to give to Prop in good faith I would repay the remainder myself. 

My bank account on May 17th, 2014
Good afternoon, indeed!

I would write on social media that day, "I think I'm in the unknown part between laughing and crying." It seems to be where I land most of these days. A friend, Leean Kim Torske commented:" I admire your bravery for posting this. Most of us hide our financial states away like shameful secrets that burn us every time you get an alert from your app informing you just how poor you are. This is way more powerful for me than taking a selfie with no make up on." I suppose we can all see each other's face, but we can't see what's inside your wallet. Maxed out credit cards, a bounced check, the last dollar you'll have until next pay day.

The New Year began. I had felt a change. Something good was going to happen in my life. I just knew it. Things were turning around. In March of 2016 my vehicle was rear-ended by a drunk driver. And that’s yet another tick of where I can say: there. I felt triggered from my pervious drunk driving incident to say the very least. You can read a poem here and here from the first accident and a reflection piece about the second accident here. 

St. Patricks Day, 2016

I guess when you want to tell someone anything they want to know about you, but they don’t ask because you don’t you have connection or they don’t care, then what’s the point of sharing anything about yourself? If no one is asking the question, why are you answering?

So that’s where I am now.

Last night (Full disclosure: this “article” has been nearly a week in the making) I learned from my sister Ashley that our father has been hiding (that truly isn’t the right word, I think) that he has been delinquent on his Parent Plus Loans. If you don’t know what Parent Plus Loans (PPL) are, essentially they are loans from the federal government for parents to take out on behalf for their children. Parents often think they are just a co-signer for these loans—however that is false. These PPL’s are the parents’ responsibility and theirs alone. PPL’s are attached solely to the parent through their social security number. Since these are federal loans they cannot be transferred to the child. I think it’s important to note that even 10 years ago “we” (I mean “we” as society as a whole and we an in my specific family) didn’t know what we know now about student loans and how student loan debt would one day surpass credit card debt in this country. Student loan debt is the only type of debt that cannot be forgiven, as ironically (?) it is the only thing “they” cannot take away from you. It is still a privilege not a right.

Parent Plus Loans can be refinanced through a private lender like SoFi, but once they become private they lose all federal protections. I can only hope that in this upcoming election and many elections to follow we as a country will take the steps to reduce the burden of student loan debt. I personally, at this very movement would for vote any candidate in whatever party, if I believed they could achieve a strong solution for student loan debt forgiveness.  

Companies like SoFi do appeal to me as an option. Mainly because I would be in control. $38,000 with Great Lakes made sense to me. I was aware of it. This new situation I was completely unaware of. I was completely blindsided, backhand, backstabbed, stomped down, wind knocked out me, shocked. Blindsided. I think it’s easy to say now, years after the fact, a degree behind me, I can now say that if a parent takes out a PPL for their child their needs to be an honest and open dialogue about what that means. I think it means placing a very strange trust in 16-year-old child. Who will pay back that money? And when? And how? I look at my 15-year-old nephew now. And I just think how unprepared he is for the cruel nasty world out that. Even though at the same time, I know he’s a smart-ass passionate kid with a good head on his shoulders. To my knowledge he still doesn't have his own bank account.

Our family has never been good with money. That’s the simple truth. My mother gave her life to Kraft Foods Inc. and after it merged certain departments with Heinz after 36 years she was deemed “non-essential,” and lost her career. just.like.that. My father had taken all of the equity out of our house to become a partner in a roofing business. Within months of signing the contract, he became ill with colon cancer and his partners, his friends, bought him out. And he went from partner to sitting behind a desk doing payroll. They like drinking, smoking and lottery tickets. It is the only vices they allow themselves. I have always believed people will always money for the things that they are "addicted" too. I can have .01 pennies in my account, yet I'll still somehow manage in all my nothingness have $20 for a pizza delivery. We all have something like that. As a young child,  I was only taught a few things and that was: you tip the bartender and you tip the pizza delivery guy. Always. No exceptions.

Yet, if I can’t have an honest dialogue with my own family how can I have an honest dialogue with an audience member? I always wonder: how do other families talk about the hard stuff? Like the really shameful fucking hard stuff? How do children talk to parents about the hard stuff? How do parents allow themselves to tell their child that they need help? I think in a lot of ways situations like mine and maybe un-like mine happen over the course of a lifetime (duh!). But what I mean is, that things like this happen over many what I'll call subtleties. How today it was just this. Tomorrow is went away, but a year later it came back worse kind of subtleties. I can only think of this: most of you know I have armpit hair. I bring this up because even though I am a feminist and the natural look has always appealed to me more, I started to continue to not shave, because I didn't want to be using water at home. Our water every few months would shut off, so showering sometimes didn't happen for days. Therefore it's a like almost a choice to shave was taken away. I subtlety somewhere in the context of my brain decided to stop shaving, because I knew water cost money. Essentially money was determining very integral parts of what I project to others and the woman I was becoming. I of course, don't shave now because I simply don't want too. I'm just trying to peel back the layers of how that came to be specifically in my life. I try to never judge someones visibly unwashed hair while working in retail. I've been there. I am still there. These are subtleties I am trying to convey. Trying to explain my families intimacies is strange. Difficult. I don't know if I am explaining myself well as I have always lived this way. Because this is the life I have always lived. 

One of the only ways I know how to cope with personal tragedy is to creatively publicize it. I was originally a creative writing major—remember?

So this debt my father carried on his shoulders alone came to light and my sister and I are left to stop the bleeding. Because I vehemently believe that although my father is the one who signed those loans, I am solely responsible to pay them. My father only took out those loans so that I may attend college. So that I may have a chance at my dream pursuing theater.

My father always told my sisters and I to always do things ourselves because you can’t rely on anyone to do it for you. No one can do it better than you can. This time it was my father who we realized could not handle this. Nearly 8-9 years later I just wasn’t aware. I.just.wasn’t.aware. And that’s the biggest flaw to have in theater. Missing the beat. Dropping the moment. Forgetting your line—forgetting that owe a debt.

So while I was working my night job at the grocery store my sister laid into my father. She wrote me via text:

[sorry I still need to insert this photo!]

We discussed for 47 minutes our options.

I specifically had one PPL for $8,500. But due to non-payment it ballooned to over $14,000. Again, that’s just one of my PPL’s attached to my fathers’ social security number.

I don’t know exactly how my sister found out. Only that my father handed her a letter from a debt collector thinking it was hers—even though it was addressed to my father. In the past, everyone in our family had received debt collection calls for my sisters’ student loans. She, individually, was becoming delinquent due to her own non-payment. Perhaps, all those calls I ignored over the years were ones trying to reach my father as well. But that, I will never know.

A screen shot taken of my phone
circa June 2015
I wonder if these were debt collectors? How much sooner I could have known

She did the initial “investigating” and learned Windham Professionals were the fourth debt collection agency attempting to collect on my father. They had access to a lot of databases, but because our case has been transferred so many times, a lot of paper trail didn’t actually exist anymore. And the Department of Education was equally inept to answer all of the questions we had. We had one customer service rep flat out tell my sister that our case was one of the most complicated cases that he had ever seen in the 15 years that he’s been working with this company. I’m just going to assume he’s seen hundreds if not thousands of cases. He is a debt collector after all.

So we are working with this fourth agency, Windham Professionals. But again many records are closed and it’s hard to divvy up who owes what exactly. My sister and I have many discussions ahead of our already tumultuous relationship. Years ago, we had attached phone bills and I-Pass accounts. It constantly had us fighting. Then years later I became a co-signer on her vehicle. Because at 23-24 years old I had the best credit rating out of everyone in my family. Isn't that something? It has caused nothing but arguments and fighting. We’ve said very hurtful and poisonous things to each other. I declared to my entire family that if we attended family functions that I would not attend if she was present. We came together for Mothers Day for my late grandmother. We came together for her in hospice. We went right back to not speaking until August 13th, my birthday. I specifically invited many family members to attend brunch with me. No one was to her invite her. I was taking a nap on my bed when she walked into our parents’ home and into my room presents in hand. We had not spoken between that time. Not once. It was very kind. But also very awkward. I tried telling her that I don’t think she understands why I am so angry with her all of time. But it wasn’t the time. She was trying. But she didn’t want to hear it. I could see and feel that much. I didn’t need physical things from her. But in a deep seeded part of both of our hearts it is how we both show others that we care about them.

A collections notice date 8.10.16
The collections cost alone are nearly one out-of-state tuition year at Ohio University.
How are things like this legal?
Interest alone is more than one year on the masters track at Dell' Arte International

Collectively we owe over $125,000. We are able to see some of where these PPL loans went too. My school or her school. We have this very weird $62,000+ loan where we can’t figure out who it belongs too. Apparently sometime in 2013 it was consolidated. So technically that means it got paid off and become a new loan. My sister and I are once again on the verge of fighting, because we both have strong arguments about who owes this $62,000+ loan. I went to a public university and received multiple scholarships. I attended Dell’Arte for only one year and used indiegogo to help offset what I took out in student loans. But Dell’Arte was only around $12,500 for the year. My education was all very reasonable. My debt owed to Great Lakes made sense in a dollar amount. I have one undergraduate degree. My sister went to a private university where she got her undergraduate degree and her masters degree. We both were out-of-state students. However, my sister mostly borrowed directly from her school and not from the federal government. At least, not as much as I have. No one other than my sister and myself has gone to college. Therefore, these loans belong to no one else. We can figure out all of the other PPL loans. But this mystery $62,000+ loan is. . .is. And whose is it? We may never know.

So again, now what?

I will go to this audition.

I will tank it.

I will fail big—in the wrong kind of way.

I will resign myself to the fact that this loan will never actually be paid off during my fathers lifetime or my lifetime as I accumulate $4.00 in interest everyday on just my loans alone. My sister accumlates much more interest on her loans as they are "aged."

I will never be a homeowner.

I will never want to get married anytime soon as I would never be able to throw someone I love into the midst of this finical chaos.

I will continue to punch a bucket of water to find strength in this human condition.

I will create theater so that I may highlight a fraction of the vast abyss and void I continsouly free fall in.

I stayed nearly three and half hours after my double shift tonight to hand write 17 pages on the backs of inverntory logs so that I may attempt to not go to bed angry. Something I learned from one of my ensemble mates at Dell’Arte. Never go to bed angry. I nearly listened to Amanda Palmers “Smile (Pictures or It Didn't Happen)” on repeat for those three and half hours.

"the truth will follow you, the proof will swallow you." 

I will go home now—find my father sleeping on the couch and wake him up and say, “thank you.” Despite it all. I will kiss him on his cheek and hug him deeply with tears in my eyes.

College it worth it. Pursing theater in the wake of student loan debt is worth it.

Everything I do. Every decision I make. Every action is so that I can persure the craft of theater. I commute hours from the suburbs to the city, because it is worth it. I take on several jobs at one time, because when I am cast in a show it is worth it. Sometimes our water gets shut off and I have to dry shampoo clean my hair in the break room of DSW. And I still believe it's worth it. It's fucking hard.  My father has helped in giving me that chance. That opportunity. So yes—it cost him something. It may cost his health. It may cost him his tax return for the rest of his life. It may cost him his baseball collection. It may cost him the house. But only if I don’t stop the bleeding. Only if I don't keep surging forward. 

I think everyone constantly searches for "purpose" and the "meaning of life." Most days I can see how easy it is to see the world and what we do in this life doesn't matter. But it fucking does. I stand on the backs of people like Carlo, Dana Lynn Formby, Cecilia Copeland, this guy I sat next to on the Megabus one time, J.R, Kacie Smith, Drew Richardson, Brain Gulik, Dana Hudson, Emily Pennick, the entire Levey family, Christopher Kehoe, even my gym teacher from Mark Tawin and a bunch of other people I have already forgotten the names of. I stand on the shoulders of thousands of people so that I may rise. So that I don't ever fall. And we all have those people. Here is the truth: I am a terrible actor. I have understood this about myself for a long time. Michael Fields once said something along the lines of: "You can have duende up the ass, but if you don't have technique . .!"at which point he didn't finish his sentence, only shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. I lack a lot of things to be a successful actor in the city of Chicago. And successful to what I understand in my head to be successful. Because I don't have aspirations of Hollywood or Boardway. I'm much more concerned with companies like The Hypocrites, The Neo-Futurists, Mercy Street and Theater Unspeakable thinking I am worth their time. But what I do have is conviction. A refusal to go down. A determination and a stubbornness to collaborate with artists. Out of 7 billion people on this god damn planet, I only get these guys right here. That's it. And that means something to me. Therefore, I better make god damn sure I become the best listener, collaborator, artist in the room. And if I'm not, I better take notes. But that can only happen if I pursue it by, again, taking on multiples jobs, commuting to the ends of all the lines, living out of a suitcase for days on end.

Like it cost my father something, it will cost me something every time I enter that stage. And I’m beyond “suffering,” and “sacrificing,” for my art. I only work these "survival jobs" to the point where I run myself into the ground, so that I may charge back up in a rehearsal room with theater happening. There are many great articles from this exact topic that I can’t seem to find to reference during this re-write. But in essence busyness is a disease. Yet, somehow, perpetually late people are perceived as more optimistic. 

I will pay that money back.

And in that abyss I can hopefully illuimate the path for someone else. I will pursue theater in the wake of student loan debt.

I will not let a number determine the rest of my life. And neither should you.

-Sonja Lynn Mata