by Lucy McNees ’25
Alongside Marley, the Words also reached out to Lucy McNees ’25 about her experiences abroad! Lucy has been studying at the British American Drama Academy in London, and experience which she has also spoken a little bit about here. Here are Lucy’s thoughts on her experience:
I’ve played a lot of roles since arriving at my theatre program in London. The first was the starving yet witty doorman, Jeremy, in William Congreve’s scintillating high comedy Love for Love. In Shakespeare class, I attacked my dream role of Queen Margaret in Henry VI Part 3. I’ve played Amanda in Noel Coward’s Private Lives; Richard III (Richard III); Queen Elizabeth (Richard III); the old woman in Ionesco’s The Chairs; and most recently, Pedro in Lope de Vega’s 17th century play La Dama Boba. On the streets of North London, I play a local as often as I can – walking confidently into traffic, doing my best to smoothly navigate the tube, exclaiming wildly when the sun emerges and drinking my dark roast with Asterios, the owner of the coffee shop I frequent. There is, of course, no place in the world that compares to St Paul’s own Dunn Bros, but I’ve found routine and comfort in the strong Greek coffee and morning conversation. My favorite role to play is that of a writer in London. Is there a better place to write? Isn’t this where all the poets go to stay up all night, making newfound friends and drinking on the Thames river? Isn’t this where my creative world turns on its axis and I gain a new perspective on art and the self? I sit in quirky local coffee shops every day, I get lost in parts of the city I don’t know; I go for long walks in Regent’s park, reading and watching the leaves change color around me. It’s always solo trips to Europe that deliver the most profound literature. So why do I have writer’s block?
Maybe it’s the intense 2-hour acting courses from 9am to 6pm to which I dedicate most of my energy. Maybe because in playing Margaret, I was delivering the writing of one of the most brilliant wordists to ever live, and hardly had space for my own words. Maybe I am trying a little too hard to force the role of poet in London. Maybe I’ve been avoiding admitting to myself that the most definitive discovery I’ve made here, in my acting program, is that I do not want to be an actor.
Don’t get me wrong – I love the British American Drama Academy. I have met some of the most brilliant instructors and actors, young theatre makers and creatives imaginable. But, as with most things in life, study abroad is not what you expect it to be about. Perhaps the best thing about London is that it hardly cares who you are, or what you do. If you come to London to study acting, and end up spending every morning at boxing gym training with the strongest group of women you’ve ever met, nobody’s judging. If you stay in Friday night and take an early train to the countryside by yourself Saturday morning, nobody thinks you’re “missing out on the study abroad experience.” If the air starts to get chilly and you call home in tears over missing the holidays, it doesn’t mean you are ungrateful for the life you’re leading. London watches over its millions of residents with indifference: feeling small has never been so relaxing.
“In my small hometown in Greece,” Asterios says as he sits down across from me, “people are still talking about something dumb I did five, six years ago.” He sips his own coffee – “Here, nobody gives a shit. You can do whatever you want.”
So, I’ve been acting. I’ve also been walking aimlessly for miles a day; I’ve been boxing, meeting new people, drinking loads of coffee, going on dates for the joy of getting to know new people. I’ve been writing (sort of), and I’ve been letting my mind change. My goals, my dreams, my schedule for the day, my dinner plans, change all the time. London, always in motion, proceeds to not give a shit if I behave like a normal human. I cry, every chance I get, at how beautiful the pigeons on the sidewalk look today; or the leaves changing in Regent’s park; or at how absolutely terrified we are of change. In London, everybody is desperately trying to make themselves matter at every given moment. To be quite honest with you, it’s a daunting and impossible task to make ourselves matter in the way we think we need to: publicly, with such a grandiose presence. The truth is we make ourselves matter through other people – through learning someone’s name at a coffee shop, being present with someone who needs you, calling your best friend back home, and allowing yourself to change. I make myself matter through smiling and nodding at a stranger on the sidewalk, watching their eyes light up and the corners of their mouth turn upwards, and hoping it’s created a chain of smiles and nods all the way back to you in Minnesota.
Thanks Lucy! We can’t wait to welcome you back.