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Opera can change your life.

A bold statement, I know--but I believe it is absolutely true. I’ve been attending opera since I was in college, so that’s nearly four decades of opera-going so far. And while I attend now in my role as an arts professional as much as that of an opera lover, I still can leave the theater with a changed perspective on the world around me.

I think some of this for me may have something to do with my ethnic heritage. My ancestors came from Greece. From what we read about ancient Greek tragedies and comedies, it is clear that they were more like modern-day operas than what we would call today ‘straight theater.’ There was singing and dancing, choruses, solos and instrumental accompaniment. This coming-together of so many performing arts is at the heart of the operatic experience, and an ecstatic sense of shared experience is palpable in Music Hall when the stars align (both onstage and in the skies!).

But opera is not just for Greek-Americans! Opera is relevant for anyone today who wants to have their lives enriched by an experience that takes them out of their everyday routine.

Likewise, attending live opera is a community experience and a social event, as it was for the ancient Greeks. The pre-performance crowd at Music Hall is evidence of this. People dress up (or not). Date night is often in full effect for couples of all ages. High school and college students home for the summer flock to the contemporary offerings as well as the famous titles. This year in particular, we’ve worked to make connections with the LGBT and Spanish-speaking communities, and we’ve focused our education and outreach efforts to furthering a company-wide commitment to openness and inclusion.

At its heart, opera is about our life experiences writ large. Take the four operas we’ve presented this summer. They are all set against a backdrop of tremendous political upheaval or on the cusp of dramatic change. Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro is based on a French play that was originally banned by Louis XVI as being subversive. Don Carlo, Verdi’s grand and glorious tragedy, is set during the Netherlandish Wars, a conflict that rocked Europe for more than 80 years. Ainadamar tells the true story of the murder of the poet and playwright Federico Garcia Lorca, during the Spanish Civil War of 1936. And Carmen takes place in a highly militarized Seville, Spain, crowded with soldiers and peopled by gypsies and smugglers trying to circumvent the repressive regime of King Ferdinand VII.

But deep beneath the momentous events surrounding these stories are masterworks of human relationships: a brilliant and humane comedy, a titanic clash of wills between father and son, an undying love between performer and creator, and a love that was doomed from the start.

That’s the secret, if there is one. Take away the fancy costumes of the 18th and 19th centuries, strip the gods an goddesses of their supernatural powers, and they are all acting out our problems and celebrating our joys, but in such a way that the essence of the experience, whether it is happy or sad is magnified in such as way as to make it ‘super real’ for any of us. If we allow ourselves to be open to it, we too can walk away transformed.