The Art of Going Solo: How It Started

I was 8-TEEN years old when I learned how to go solo.

I had just graduated high school and landed a gig as a background actress on the Disney television show So Random!.

Up until that point, whenever I'd acted or modeled, I'd been considered a minor, which meant my dad came with me everywhere.

He was stage dad. Bodyguard. Chauffeur. Personal assistant. Human Google.

"Go here."

"Do this."

"Who does what?"

Ask Dad.

So when we pulled up to Centre Stage Studios that morning, I assumed we'd walk in together like we always did.

Except we didn't.

We got to the security desk and discovered that only I had been cleared to enter the soundstage.

My dad's name wasn't on the list.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

And he said:

"Welp, this is as far as I can take you."

NOOOOOOOOO.

I needed him to at least get me to the front door of the stage.

He looked at me like, Girl, you've got this.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking:

FUUUCCCKKK MEEEE.

I didn't even have a car.

So I got out of my dad's car, grabbed my four different wardrobe looks, and watched the security guard pull out a map of the soundstages.

He started giving me walking directions.

It felt like the longest set of instructions I'd ever received.

And internally?

I was having a full-blown panic attack.

Because apparently I was now the independent woman my dad thought he had dropped off.

Except I was also very much still a kid.

My experience up until then was mostly school plays and musicals.

I'd never worked on a television show.

I'd never even heard of So Random! before getting the job as a day player.

But I knew one thing:

It paid more than my part-time cashier job.

And ya girl was trying to make enough money to help pay for her first year of college.

So I did what I always do when I'm nervous.

I arrived early.

I like leaving time to get lost.

With my heart pounding and my palms and armpits sweating profusely, I started walking toward the soundstage.

Part of me was convinced someone was going to stop me and say:

"Ma'am, you aren't supposed to be here."

But nobody did.

It was a ghost town.

I opened the door.

"Helloooo?"

Nothing.

Just an enormous empty stage.

No set.

No actors.

No crew.

The AC was booming and the smell of the soundstage was unfamiliar and overwhelming.

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

So naturally, I went looking for food.

And that's when I found crafty.

OMG.

Sandwiches.

Croissants.

Donuts.

Candy.

Everything.

I thought:

Well, if I hang out here long enough, somebody is bound to show up.

And eventually, somebody did.

I was escorted to the background actors' area, which was basically a little house of dressing rooms surrounding a common living space.

And that's where I met everyone else.

They were all over 21.

Some were well over 30.

And we were all playing high school kids.

They already knew each other from previous episodes, seasons and other shows.

I was the new girl.

The fly on the wall.

The fresh meat.

And I was happy to observe.

They teased each other, told stories, joked around and eventually put me on game about how the background acting world worked.

Many of them worked background during the day and had completely different jobs at night.

They knew everybody.

They had history.

They had stories.

And, apparently, they'd all slept with or hit on each other at some point.

I was 8-TEEN, fresh out of high school and trying to process the very grown up world I’d just entered.

And I was also the only Black background actor/actress in the group.

Part of me wondered if I was replacing someone who had booked a bigger gig.

But I didn't dwell on it.

I was just grateful to be there.

And honestly?

I loved it.

The day flew by.

The main actors were kind.

The crew was kind.

And for most of the day, I was eating snacks and standing in the background of scenes, pantomiming by lockers.

I'd graduated high school literally a month earlier.

So this wasn't exactly method acting.

At the end of the day, the 2nd AD came over.

"Do you want to come back tomorrow?"

Excuse me?

YES.

I said I was available.

He told me where to go to complete my paperwork.

And suddenly, my first day on a television set was turning into another day on a television set.

I called my dad.

"Dad! They asked me to come back tomorrow!"

I was overjoyed.

It felt like the best day of my life.

But what I didn't realize at the time was that this was my first real lesson in going solo.

Not because I was physically alone.

I wasn't.

There were people everywhere.

It was because I had to walk through that security gate without my dad.

I had to find the stage.

I had to ask questions.

I had to figure things out.

I had to introduce myself.

I had to make connections.

And I had to trust myself enough to keep walking even though I was scared.

There is one image from that day I will never forget.

The look on my father's face when the security guard told him:

"I'm sorry, sir. You don't have lot access."

😂

Dad had officially been benched.

And apparently, so had my dependence on him.

Contact

Email info@mayaemelle.com

© 2025 Maya Emelle | Private Gatherings

Privacy Policy Terms & Conditions

© 2025. All rights reserved.

Join Private Gatherings Waiting List

Partnership Opportunities