I Don't Know How He Directs, Teaches, Raises a Toddler, and Still Finds Time to Run Marathons

About this Artist Caregiver

I am a freelance theatre director and professor in my mid-thirties. This past year I started a new job at a university on the West Coast as a tenure-line professor of theatre arts with an emphasis in directing. I am also the artistic associate at a local regional theatre.

I am Daddy to a small hurricane disguised as a preschooler: a charming, high-energy, triple Libra who recently turned three. We survived the so-called “terrible twos” only to discover that three comes with opinions, volume, and a startling talent for emotional negotiation. In truth, she is a joy—loving, curious, athletic, and wildly enthusiastic about most things, especially snacks. Like her daddy, she is stubborn. When the world does not bend to her will, she makes her displeasure known with a theatrical flair.

My partner works a steady full-time job with regular hours, providing the kind of stability theatre rarely offers: a predictable paycheck, health insurance, and evenings that mostly begin and end at home. During the early years of my daughter’s life, my work life consisted of freelance event producing contracts, part-time teaching, short-term directing gigs, and the constant hustle of saying “yes” to work that could fit within nap windows. Freelance artistry made it possible to be present during the day and still create at night, stitching together a career from weekends, evenings, and borrowed time.

Less than a year ago, our family relocated to the West Coast from New York City to be closer to relatives, trading one artistic hub for another. With that move came a dramatic professional shift. I now hold a full-time academic professor position alongside an artistic leadership role while still freelancing as a director. I am living the artist dream, but it would be so much easier to manage this many jobs if I didn’t also have an entire human life to care for.

Village:

Our kiddo attends preschool part time—a schedule carefully choreographed around teaching days and commuting hours. Each semester is a puzzle: aligning class times with drop-off windows, rehearsals with bedtime routines, meetings with nap schedules. (I’m trying to hold onto the midday nap as long as possible, but she’s already showing signs of resistance.)

Living closer to family has added another layer of care to the ecosystem. One weekday is lovingly claimed by relatives who whisk my child off to museums, beaches, and cookie-eating adventures, giving me a few precious hours to sit in a coffee shop and hold some semblance of office hours: reading plays, prepping classes, taking meetings without interruption. I am so grateful for my sisters, who have coined every Thursday “Auntie Day!”

Financial Impact:

My kiddo’s preschool is $1,200/month (a steal in our area). We may or may not be getting a diversity discount as the two gay dads with a Black adopted daughter, but we decided not to ask any follow-up questions. Our daughter’s babysitter is $20/hour (also a rare find—most babysitters in this town range from $35-$40/hour, which we simply cannot afford). Other than this, we have our daughter signed up for Saturday morning soccer camp (one hour each week for six weeks), which costs about $250. We’re spending somewhere around $2,000/month on childcare, give or take.

Because of this, there are jobs I am not taking. Regional contracts that require long absences. Conferences that would mean weekends away during formative years. For now, I am choosing not to chase them. The math rarely works out—financially or emotionally—and these early years feel too important to miss. It also feels like too much weight to put on my husband’s shoulders. It’s hard to parent alone, and we are spouses who are also best friends, so we just miss each other a lot when work becomes all-consuming.

The hardest part of freelance directing is the rehearsal schedule. Evenings pull me away just as my partner arrives home, and we become passing ships—one heading out as the other settles in. I miss shared dinners, bedtime tag-teaming, and collapsing onto the couch together at the end of the day to watch Survivor or RuPaul’s Drag Race. My partner carries those evenings with grace, even when loneliness creeps in. He knows how deeply the work fuels me, how necessary it is to my happiness.

I do try to manage our family calendar so that I’m not constantly working. We have to prioritize family. Our kid is still so young. Still, I do look forward to the day when my kid can join me in tech and see what I do. Or come to opening night. Or maybe even perform onstage herself.

Diary:

This is a snapshot of an especially full week. Not every week looks like this—but many do.

Sunday

I start the day with a twenty-mile run. I’m preparing for my fourth marathon, which is in one week, and this was my last long run. While I’m out running (about three hours of running, mind you), my partner holds down the morning with our three-year-old.

Later, we trade off. My partner gets uninterrupted time for his favorite Sunday ritual: watching the San Francisco 49ers game as I take our kid to the playground, handle lunch, and manage naptime. This kind of handoff is constant and necessary.

That evening, I attend an opening night performance of Cabaret at a local theatre alone while my partner stays home. I’m grateful for the support—and also a little sad. We prefer to see theatre together, but with as much theatre as I see, it isn’t always viable to get a sitter and go as a pair.

Monday

This is a teaching day, which means our kiddo is in preschool. We rely on part-time care that aligns with my work schedule. It’s what we can afford. Full-time childcare would make things easier, but it’s simply out of reach right now.

After drop-off, I drive over an hour to campus. The day includes meetings, teaching, and administrative work. I spend the morning doing a teacher observation for a lecturer, then head right into a recruitment committee meeting. Service is a part of faculty work and I am on six committees this academic year (too many). I call my mom because it’s her birthday and then head into teaching my two sections of acting.

In order to avoid rush hour traffic after I finish teaching at 5:45, I do a workout and go on a run, so that I am leaving campus around 7:45 and home by 9:00 PM. My husband handled afterschool pickup, dinner, and bedtime. We get about an hour together in the evening before we both head to bed. Mondays are exhausting, y’all.

Tuesday

I spend the morning with my kiddo—parks, errands, basic household tasks. During nap time, I take a Zoom meeting for my role as artistic associate at a regional theatre. This is how much of my freelance and artistic labor happens: carved into sleep windows.

When the kiddo wakes up, we take our doggo out for a walk. Then, as soon as my husband gets home, I hop into the car and drive to campus in truly awful traffic. It takes over two hours to get there, and tonight is night one of auditions for Hansol Jung’s Wolf Play, which I am directing in the spring semester. I park in the parking garage at 6:30 p.m. (which is when auditions are scheduled to begin) and then run (literally) to the theatre where auditions take place, apologizing to everyone for being about eight minutes late. Hey, at least I got a run in!

There’s no break for dinner. I eat whatever Trader Joe’s snacks I packed while we work straight through the evening. Afterward, I drive home and try to sleep, though my brain keeps running— casting ideas, rehearsal plans, the play itself. It’s impossible to turn your brain off after auditions.

Wednesday

My busiest day is always Wednesday.

Deep breath…

• 8:30 a.m.— Drop off the kiddo at preschool
• 9:00 a.m.—Faculty meeting on Zoom
• 10:00 a.m.—Drive to campus
• 12:00 p.m.—New faculty orientation meeting
• 2:00 p.m.—Guest teach a scene study class in the opera department
• 3:00 p.m.—Teach two back-to-back sections of acting
• 6:30 p.m.—Night two of Wolf Play auditions
• 11:00 p.m.—Drive home

There is very little breathing room today. The in-between moments are filled with coffee and food. I get home close to midnight. Preschool and my husband handled all childcare needs of the day.

Thursday

Thursdays are Auntie Days! My two older sisters drive an hour to our house to take the kiddo on a fun morning adventure at a nearby beach so that I can get work done. It's a luxury to be able to go to a beach in December in California because all you really need is a light sweater. Our kiddo loves the water. She loves finding crabs and shells and saying hi to all the friendly dogs on the beach. My sister always packs chicken and mac and cheese for Auntie Days, so the kiddo comes back with a full tummy, ready for a big nap.

While they’re out, I run four miles and then have a meeting with a designer to discuss a possible collaboration. During naptime, I have a meeting with another theatre company to discuss an upcoming collaboration in the summer.

The rest of the day, I am with my girl. There was a reading on campus tonight that I would have liked to attend and support, but I couldn’t justify another night away from my family. I’m tired, the commuting has piled up, and staying home feels like the right choice—for my family and for me.

I go to bed early.

Friday

I wake up at 5:00 a.m. to take the train to campus. I prefer to train when I can—there’s quiet, Wi-Fi, and time to prepare.

I teach a musical theatre class from 9:00 a.m.-12:45 p.m. It’s our final class day before we present a musical showcase of Act I of Into the Woods. We are in full rehearsal mode, trying to fill in the gaps, rehearse the tricky Sondheim songs, and get a run in before we have an audience.

In the afternoon, I sit in on a meeting with the on-campus theatre club. I am one of the club’s faculty advisors.

In the evening, my mom comes to our house to babysit the kiddo so that my husband can drive to campus and experience Into the Woods. It’s been an entire semester at this new job, and he still hasn’t seen the campus, my office, or met any of my students, so it is a big deal that he can come to this.

Because campus is so far away from where we live, hiring a babysitter for this many hours would have been hundreds of dollars; we are grateful to have my mom close by, willing to sleep on our couch and spend the night just to watch our kiddo.

Saturday

We made it through the week.

I didn’t train as much as I wanted. I didn’t sleep enough. I definitely didn’t eat particularly well. That’s often the tradeoff.

We drive about ninety minutes to the city that’s hosting tomorrow’s marathon and head to the expo where I get my bib and free t-shirt and am surrounded by other insane people who choose to put their bodies through months and months of grueling training.

We are joined my husband’s mom, “Grandma,” and spend the day with her. In the afternoon, we all go to Fairytale Land (our kiddo is obsessed with Humpty Dumpty), and then I turn in quite early. I have to be up tomorrow at 4:00 a.m. tomorrow to get to the transportation point for the marathon.

It was a big week.

Goodnight.

Reflections

Spotlight on Artistry:

Despite not having as much time to prepare for auditions and classes as I would have liked, I was able to rely heavily on instinct. On experience. On making decisions in the moment. This was true about casting Wolf Play and about where to focus for our final rehearsal of Into the Woods.

Yet perhaps this instinct is really just a result of many years of rigorous training and dedication to the craft of directing, dramaturgy, and teaching. Many years of preparation so that I can be present in the moment and make considerate, thoughtful decisions about the art I’m making.

Spotlight on Caregiving:

I try to cherish the moments I have with my daughter. We’re both getting busier—my work is expanding, and her world is widening too. Soon there will be more school, more independence, and eventually a life that belongs mostly to her. Even when I feel less like a parent and more like a maid or a macaroni and cheese chef, I remind myself that these are precious days. People say it goes fast. I don’t know about that. I feel every day. The days are long, and by the evening I’m exhausted.

But she’s mine. I love her more than anything. She is only this age right now—today, in this moment. She’s already growing, already needing me a little less. I try to stay present with her, even when my mind wants to wander to plays, schedules, finances, and coffee.

Spotlight on Support Systems:

The saying is true: it really does take a village.

My family shows up for us. Grandmothers and aunties who adore my child. The women in my life. They drive long hours, spend gas money, take us out to eat, and sleep on couches well past the age when that feels easy—all for love.

My husband is a gift. He steps up every time I need him and never makes me feel guilty. He understands how much my work means to me. Even when he’s lonelier at home, even when dinner is for one and solo parenting is both hard and dull, he says yes. That’s love. I’m quite lucky.