When you get to a point of intense specialization in one area, it’s almost impossible to keep everything in your life the way you used to. Hobbies are important for sanity, of course. But I finally reached a point this past year when the ways in which I spent my time became a little more important than I’m comfortable with.

If you know me at all, you know that I have very many interests in music. I spent undergrad heavily involved in a cappella, opera, choir, pep band, and basically anything under the sun that caught my interest. None of that would be possible had it not been for an inadvertent challenge made to me in 8th grade.

I didn’t have too many friends back then, but a few were in the musical - that year, it was Pippin. I was strictly a trombone player then, and had given almost no thought into singing. But I saw how much fun people were having on that stage, and I thought that may be a constructive use of my time. Until this friend of mine told me that she didn’t think it was my kind of scene. Then I knew it would be the right thing.

Ever since Joseph in 2003, I’ve never been the same. Being in a musical obviously meant I was qualified to sing in our male-deprived choirs, yadda yadda yadda, I’m studying Voice Performance at the Master’s level.

But even a Voice Performance degree is specialized enough. Forget about other areas of expertise that may interest you - even within the realm of performing vocally, we’re taught to nitpick and discern so much about vocal technique that there’s a lot to be missed in terms of sheer enjoyment for the art. I’ve done my best in attempting to remain marketable in most areas of live theatre, but the split between classical and MT voice training can make that so difficult.

It wasn’t until hearing a song I’m familiar with through this class and that revue, “If I Loved You” from Carousel, that I realized how much I love musical theatre, no matter how much or how little it’s included in my curriculum. The performing arts are where I get the most enjoyment, and there’s no feeling like having your life changed by a poignant piece of music, theatre, or both. So it’s only right that I go into every performance hoping to change someone, for better or worse.

I suppose that what I’m trying to say is, no matter what you do, don’t forget the simple things that drive you. You can’t take what you love for granted, because whatever that is, it’s truly the best work ever. When I say I can’t wait to go back to College Light Opera Company, where I’ll be performing 10 different shows in 11 weeks, sure, the social experience will be great. But above all else, I’ll be able to eat, sleep, and breathe musical theatre and operetta. And for me, there’s nothing else like that in the entire world.

Sometimes it’s just that one-song reminder that brings you back to your roots.

I don’t think they’re supposed to do this, but straight from Angel Stadium, a magical concoction: Garlic Sweet Potato fries.

Without a doubt, my favorite song to sing at karaoke.

I’ve been looking for an excuse to conform and start using one of these tumblr blogs. It’s been a fairly challenging 2011 so far, and despite all of that, I find hope.. and to start, a story.

I got my dog in 5th grade, against all odds and in spite of family attempts to curb my interest. But this ball of energy won everyone over in no time. He came with an array of health problems early on, but he beat each and every one and lived life like a puppy far beyond his years.

After some canine arthritis and old age, Buddy had slowed down and gotten fat. He enjoyed life while awake, although he would sleep probably somewhere around 16 hours a day. I’d moved from my family and my dog by then, but it was clear that, while he had the same enthusiasm, his body could only do so much.

This year started off with some kind of odd burglary in the California home in which some of my brother’s equipment was stolen (probably because he was a jerk to someone, but that’s another story). Coincidentally, Buddy could barely walk because of one of his hind legs. He required surgery in which there was a chance he wouldn’t make it.

He did make it and recovered, slowly but surely. But, seemingly unrelated to his expensive surgery, he started to become unresponsive and would stand around and shake. Even more than the physical injury, this made my family increasingly nervous. It turned out that he had some new digestive problems and his liver was failing, leaving him essentially lifeless and barely functional. He was prescribed medicine, but the recovery was not quick.

When my family told me about his illness, I worried that I would never see my dog again. I couldn’t help but be skeptical when my dad said he was doing “better” and “great.”

But when I got to the house last week, there was my Buddy, barking his face off and running around the house in excitement. He’d never been so thin and I couldn’t remember the last time he had so much energy. Even with a bum leg, he’d jump on the couch with all kinds of enthusiasm. And, most importantly, he remembered me.

I’ve woken up the past three mornings to find him next to my bed. This morning I got up and he followed me, and when I realized that I forgot something and went back inside, he stopped in his tracks and laid down. This may seem insignificant to you, but to someone who thought his dog might die just a month or two earlier, it was moving.

Why do I blog about this particular story, other than the sight of my old dog peacefully sleeping in front of me? Because it’s never too late to come out of a funk and enjoy life like you used to. I’m not sure what to think about the fact that I needed my dog to show me that, but I’ll take it.