Bring on the Blog

[taken in on a side street filled with flowers, downtown Iowa City]

For weeks now, I've been contemplating my inevitable return to my blog. Maybe inevitable isn't the right word; 'inevitable,' to me, summons up a great sense of foreboding. Let's go with .... highly anticipated? 'Highly anticipated.'

That's better.

The final days of my second summer with the Riverside Theatre Shakespeare Festival left a lump in my throat and unstoppable lightness in my heart. Though my first few days of post-grad life and my return to the glorious Iowa City filled me with trepidation - "what the hell am I doing? did I really just graduate? why would anyone give ME a diploma, and what am I supposed to do with that now?" - the summer proved to be a time of openness and of growth, of sharing and trusting. Those eight weeks played out in outstanding contrast to the muddied and exhausting months that passed during my last year of college; it's a time about which, even now, I can't remember much specifically unless I really sit and think about it. And even when I do remember, my memories of 'then' are filtered by the overwhelming influence of 'now'. Once again, I failed to keep track; once again, I find myself on a new precipice attempting to write, to remember, and to reflect.

So, about the last few weeks; about happiness:

The last four weeks have been, for many reasons, an incredible release of old demons that really, truly needed to take their cue and get the Hell out of my life. And now they have. Sometimes all it takes is someone from the outside looking in to remind you of what you've got going on inside of you. Perspective is a strange and complicated beast. I spent the last two years readjusting my perspective in an attempt to move forward and improve myself, to pull myself up off the floor and just 'be a better person' because I had been made to believe that I was falling short of basic satisfactory human standards. This very blog, in fact, marks the beginning of that journey for me. Just a few weeks ago I read my entire blog through from beginning to end. It's a pretty subtle (perhaps even uneventful) journey, but, man oh MAN can I see exactly what was going on.

Summer 2009 was when I started this venture in self-reflection. The posts are lengthy and complicated, often times trying so hard to be intelligent and make a point. When I read it now, I can recall that maybe I didn't realize at the time that I was pushing so intensely. But I remember what I was after during that first summer: I was trying to reinvent myself. In the wake of personal disaster, I was absolutely drowning in the unknown, feeling too insignificant to save myself and too stupid to think it was worth it. And so the blog became a place to explore my intellect and prove to someone that I was just a really insightful, profound person of worth, DAMN IT. I took up writing plays and short stories because 'I was inspired,' but really I was just sad and needed a way to deal with that. The plays weren't any good, and the short stories never amounted to anything more than a few lengthy descriptions of particular moments in my past life that I clung to in that new and lonely summer.

Still, I was making myself happy. It may have been forced, but I had to try out new perspectives and be something that wasn't quite 'me' (yet, or ever, or ... yeah). It moved me out of who I was and toward what I am right now, though, so it wasn't all bad.

When school started up again, the blog quickly dropped out, save for an entry or two about stress and self-doubt, the ambiguity of education and my inability to believe in myself (strangely enough, the SAME thing happened this past school year, too).

Summer 2010 was my first trip to Riverside. It was a time of breaking down personal boundaries and exploring as an artist again - and in many ways, for the first time - and finally feeling separated from everything I tried to run away from the summer before when I'd escaped to American Players Theatre to play in the woods. From start to finish, I was beyond happy to be a part of the Riverside Theatre family and feel comfortable in exploring creatively and fearlessly. My blog, then, became a place to ponder the insights I had gained. It was a place of saturation for new ideas. The blog was empowering. That summer was empowering; it was a period of professional and artistic growth, and I entered the following school year (my last, in fact) feeling more capable and aware.

The school year was another series of 'rinse and repeat' fears and trepidations (what a great word) that stood in my way as a student and artist. That, in addition to mounting graduation pressures and the anticlimactic end to my undergraduate career, brought me BACK to Iowa City in a strange haze. I'd lost a part of myself that I'd spent the last two years constructing; I would later discover that the part of myself I'd lost was something I'd forgotten had ever even existed. It's truly remarkable, the influence another human mind and heart can have on your own. That's a lesson I am so very thankful to have relearned, and am still basking in today. It's part of what made me want to come back to the blog and get my thoughts back on track.

I returned home at the end of my summer gig to find I had a potential job opportunity in Chicago, the very place I want to move to! I felt as if things really were too good to be true. There was a lot of happy going on in this young man's life. Oh, those ancient days of my youth... So, I went to Chicago to interview, I stayed with my dear friends Amy and Dylan, very quickly drawing up the plans in my head for what my life in Chicago would be like - runs along the beach, trips to the grocery store, and even the excitement of commuting on the train included - and all the while I'm thinking "It's time to get back to my blog and start writing again. I'm in a great place, I'm having a wonderful time, and life is changing so fast right now, I want to remember this exactly as it was."

And then I didn't get the job. It totally sucked. And every happy thought I had about a triumphant return to my blog, complete with news of my first job in Chicago and the beginning of my real 'adult' life, was tossed into Lake Michigan. Boo.

So here's the lesson: don't procrastinate, not even about stupid things like a blog update. My LAST entry was months ago, and it reflects a time of insecurity and doubt. And because of that, I think, I was unable to continue writing. As a dear friend has told me many times: You cannot grow from negativity. And that's why this blog update (which should have happened weeks ago) was so important to me. It was a chance to reflect on positivity in my life and nurture that energy in order to continue forward. My blog has been, almost entirely, a positive resource for me. Even the entries that tread that line of 'emo Livejournal rant' are fighting to find a silver lining, to glean something from the wreckage of whatever mundane BS is blocking my way. But now, here I am, compelled to write because of stress and doubt; because something went wrong and I'm feeling worse off for it.

BUT IT WILL NOT CONQUER ME, DAMN IT! Ha. Which is WHY I've returned now. I figure it's now or never and, quite frankly, the last few days of uncertainty have been so stressful that writing about it seems like the only thing I can do to keep myself from falling into a a paranoid daze and giving myself 12 ulcers and a heart attack. In real life, in the moment, uncertainty terrifies me -- but when I can reflect on it, I can see it for its actual size and get a grip on myself and the situation... and that, my friends, is a way out of negative energy and into something positive.

Right?

So, let's take a look at what's happening: Money's running dry. No job possibilities on the horizon (save for the 12 or so applications I've completed in the last 48 hours following my Chicago job interview), and I have a goal of moving into my own apartment in Chicago on November 1.

There it is. My problems can be summed up in three lines of text. That's it. Just three. And the goal?: To be ready to move in November, to be prepared for hardship (because none of this has really been hard yet), and to never lose sight of what I'm going after. If anything, my three day trip to Chicago reminded me of how important this move is to me. It means artistic opportunity, personal challenge, and, obviously, a great, big, new adventure. Those are all really cool things and, by achieving them, I'll become a cooler person. At least to myself... and that will be awesome!

So, no more procrastinating. Not with job opportunities, not with risk taking, and not even with this silly blog. Ted told me this summer that it was time for me to redefine progress in my life. I couldn't agree more.

Bring on the part-time job apps. Bring on the challenge. Bring on the Blog.

I know it ain't easy giving up your heart.

If there was a time to write, tonight would be the time.

I cannot, cannot, CANNOT ever update this thing when I'm in school. If I attempted to count up the number of unfinished draft posts I've accumulated on this account this semester alone, I'd run out of fingers to do so with.

Each time, I sit down to write. Each time, I get a start; I see some sort of 'goal;' I feel some kind of emotion that begs to be tackled.

Each time, I give up. And why?: Because I tell myself it doesn't matter. The words don't come to me and I say to myself "It's all good. Just go to sleep instead. Just do your homework instead. Just stare at the wall instead. It's just your blog. It doesn't matter." Well, as I'm sure all we 'educated' folk know, NOTHING really "matters" at all - it's all about personal perspective. And that, my friends, is just relative anyway. Personal importance is relative. Personal significance is relative.

Personal progress is relative.

And mine, at some level, has been brought to a dead halt. I don't know what it is about being in school that just lays on the stress to a debilitating degree, but my ability to process stimulants in a productive manner goes out the window. What does this mean in relation to my little blog, here? Well, each time I've sat down, I do so with a certain topic or theme in mind; something's been on my mind for the day, or that week, or a matter of seconds - whatever - and I need to work it out. But as soon as I start, I get to root of the problem: frustration. Ultimately, I find myself in some predicament of frustration or depression about some aspect of my life that's going down the hole and I cannot bring myself to take it on.

Why?

This blog has been, ultimately, positive. When I was in Iowa City, my posts were expository reflections of my personal growth as an artist. When I was at American Players Theatre, my posts were about the joys of new surroundings and people. When I was home, my posts were about reconnecting with a part of myself that had been lost and, in doing so, finding my way back to my family.

The last few years have been a period of personal hardship, gratification, discovery, and risk-taking. I am trying to find a way into myself. I am trying to find a consistent sense of ownership in my work and in my thoughts as a human being. Writing about positive experiences in my life has helped me work toward that. Or, at least, I had thought it was. But now, at school, in an environment which has become in some ways monotonous - while in others still quite challenging - I am lost in critical introspection that I cannot seem to touch.

What I realized today while I was driving in circles by the lake after sunset was that its about time I began taking on that darker stuff. Yes, I must own my artistry - it is a positive part of myself. It is, perhaps, one of the most valued facets of myself (for me personally), and it is also what I am most afraid of. Ergo, I've attempted to stay positive and avoid dipping into the rants and self-destruction; the unabated insecurities that actually follow me every day, no matter where I go.

But this avoidance has done me a great disservice. Here I am, preparing to graduate, and what I've done for myself this year is build a protective barrier that's only paper thin - yes, I've encircled myself with a wall of meticulously crafted (and unbelievably fragile) self-worth, but, I'm still stuck in the middle of it with all this shit that bogs me down and stops me from actually, truly, really putting one foot in front of the other and saying goodbye to the crap and hello to something better.

If I expect to own anything about myself - my creativity, my compassion, humility, intellect, drive, WHATEVER - then I have to own the bad stuff, too. I have to acknowledge it. I cannot let 'frustration' turn me down side roads that only keep me from reaching the finish line.

Right? Something like that.

Organized Chaos

[organized chaos. no particular method to the madness, but I know where everything is]

***note: THAT'S the desk I salvaged and refinished this past summer. Not too bad, if I say so myself :)

I've done a lot of documentation of my thoughts recently - completely in my head. Each time thinking to myself "Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold onto that thought; you'll write it down later."

Well, here we are.

And here I am.

...but where did those thoughts go?

And where have I gone/did I go/am I now? In a very literal sense, I am currently at my desk, in my room - at about 2am - attempting to process both the freshly-ended weekend and plan out the upcoming week. (Mental preparation is key.) We are THREE rehearsals away from the sitzprobe and proceeding tech weekend for Company, which means that we are 11 days away from opening, 14 days away from the first rehearsal for Hamlet, and 19 days away from Company's closing performance. There are 71 days until I turn 23, and 96 days until graduation.

But who's counting?

So far, I'm much more sane than I thought I would be at this point in the semester - we're three weeks in, but, it feels like it may as well have been three years. Or maybe three hours? I'm not sure. At any rate, being enrolled in two classes is definitely a major factor in my higher-than-average sanity level. But there are many other contributing factors as well:

1) Physical discipline (which was almost the title of this post, but felt too thematically constricting). A dancer, I am not. A sword fighter, I am not. And yet, this semester finds me attempting to do both of these things. The result?: soar ankles, tight thighs, and an overwhelming awareness of my own lack of coordination and physical prowess. There's clearly some sort of short circuit between my brain and my limbs; it's a bit embarrassing, but, I'm powering through AND I JUST DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE THINKS SO THERE.

That being said, I'm a bit disappointed in my inability to execute synchronized kicks and pull off a casual-yet-sophisticated jazz square without nearly tripping on my own feet and impaling myself on my cane. Thanks, Company.

So what's the solution to all of this? Well, mostly it's all about really trying to focus (what a concept) during class/rehearsal and repeat repeat repeat repeat EVERYTHING until it feels "natural" - or at least not like an out of body experience. But really, what this run-in with my physical self has done for me is remind me that I really miss being physically active and, oh yeah, physical activity is GOOD FOR YOU. In response to this delightful realization, I'm working myself back into a nice work out routine and (!!!!) I'm running again. And it's been a long time since I've done that. AND... it feels great. I've only been running for about a week now, but, already I'm at a point where I look forward to going out and getting a run in before classes every day. The first day was more work than anything, but every day after that has been an incredible release of emotion. The days are more vibrant, I feel focused and energized, and everything just seems easier after a cathartic run (albeit under the dismal fluorescent glow of our gym's track lights). Aside from production work, this addition to my daily habits is the highlight of each day. I am thrilled, thrilled, thrilled to be challenging and taking care of my body this way, for the first time in so long.

2. Company has, so far, been an escape from stress, rather than a source of stress. Maybe I'll feel differently when rehearsals are ending and we're really getting to the wire, but, for now each rehearsal is a welcomed challenge. For that feeling, I owe the most thanks to our incredible music director. This man has given so much to the cast - so, so much. Everyday he reminds me what the term "artist" truly means; he carries more energy, vibrancy, and love within each of his strides than our cast could muster in an entire day. He doesn't take no, or, I'm afraid for an answer. And from that I have learned that there is truly no limit to what you can do when settling for less than your absolute best is completely ruled out as an option. The man is 66, and he leads our rehearsals like a freight train from beginning to end; how do you say thank you to someone who brings so much to the table in that way?

3. I love my friends. I'm not sure what else to say about that except that I am truly blessed to have each and every one of them. The trust and unending support we share is invaluable to me (and hopefully to them). Both new and old, I just cannot - say - enough - how - happy - I - am - to - know - these - people. To work, live, and play with them is what gets me up every day and keeps me pushing ahead through the snow, the work, and the angst of life's daily blizzards of catastrophe.

You may have heard that there was a blizzard last week (what?!). In those three days that Parkside's campus sat dormant in the drifts, I spent my time on campus with my friends; we cooked and cleaned together, dug cars out of snow banks, drank hot chocolate, cuddled during movies, and, sometimes, sat in complete silence, basking in the glow of 72 hours of absolute nothingness. As I was cleaning the stove the first night of the storm, watching some folks tidying up the kitchen as others simultaneously prepared food for the group, I thought about how wonderful it is to work with the people I love. Some of us spend nearly every waking hour together - we go to class together, have rehearsal, and go home to the same apartments, always together... and it just feels right. How often can someone say that their job is where their passion is? How often do coworkers and friends become family in the truest sense of the word? Maybe it's more often than I think, but, nonetheless I can't help feeling incredibly special when these days and nights arise when we become our own commune of escape from all the junk that's constantly knocking us down.

Anton Chekhov said: Any idiot can face a crisis; it's this day to day living that wears you out.

The man knew what was up (duh). And I, for one, would like to say it is my friends (coworkers/family/commune) that get me through the day to day living. Each and every time.

Well, them... and the vodka. We're talking about Chekhov, after all.

[I love the way the paper from these sketches has aged over the past year. I also love the middle sketch's absolute refusal to sit parallel to the others. It's the little things, I guess.]

The importance of breathing; or, moving on.

This may or may not have anything to do with the title.

[EDIT: okay, it does, but only subtextually. so, sorry about that.]

We've just returned from ACTF at Michigan State University. It was a whirlwind of a week; we had quite a few successful designers and actors which kept us all bouncing from presentation to presentation, squeezing in workshops, productions, and (sometimes) food whenever possible. It was my last ACTF, and only my second, but we've had a good run together - great people, great theatre, and great inspiration.

There's not much else to ask for, is there?

Dean joined us briefly during our time in Michigan because he was being honored with the KCACTF Gold Medallion Award for service to the program. I haven't seen Dean in so long; his stint as the interim Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at UWP has shut him away from the theatre program pretty much entirely. But getting to hang out with him, see shows with him, and having him at my final design presentation for support was absolutely wonderful. That man inspires me like no one else and, as scary as it sometimes is to contemplate, I can see myself being very much like Dean when I'm a 'grown up.' I am forever indebted to him for accepting me into this program and challenging me on stage, in the classroom, and in life in general. People like Dean Yohnk come along only every once and a while, and I am forever grateful to him.

*abrupt shift*

"Company" begins in a week. That's 7 days. We're to arrive off book, music memorized, ready to hit the ground running (perhaps breaking the sound barrier?), and I have to say I haven't been this anxious about a rehearsal process before. It will be my first real musical experience, aside from understudying the illustrious Harold Hill in The Music Man, and I have to say I'm not sure what to expect quite yet. Except that I will have my butt kicked. At the same time, though, I feel ready for it... Or, at least braced for it. Is that the same thing? I know I'm going to have a handful of my own personal barriers to break down during this process, but, what better environment to do that in than one in which no other choice is really acceptable, right? Over the last few weeks I've been reading and rereading the notes I took this past summer during my classical acting classes with Ted Swetz. Over and over again, I return to the idea of greatness. Ted spoke to the interns extensively about the importance of abandoning the term 'perfection' and replacing it with 'greatness.' Theatre is not about being perfect. Theatre is about being great. It's about making exciting choices and taking risks and knowing that failure is inevitable in the face of exploration. Fear of failure only holds us back from finding the truth.

I have feared failure in nearly every area of life since the moment I appeared on Earth. I'm not sure what that's all about, but I've always felt that an inability to succeed or complete something 'perfectly' not only let myself down, but disappointed others around me, as well.

I know I've contemplated this idea too many times to count, so, I'll just move ahead: I am ready to kick my own ass and really rock it this semester, in every way possible. I've had almost an entire semester off from doing what challenges/scares/inspires me the most, and now I've got two amazing opportunities in front of me during my final semester in college to learn and do as much as possible before I'm catapulted into the big, scary, unforgiving world of professional theatre and part-time jobs. Yeesh.

As a capper to this emptying of my thoughts, I'd like to say that I'm feeling really happy right now. There are a lot of complex layers and facets that accompany this blanket emotion, but, on the surface of it all, I'm feeling refreshed and overjoyed at the prospects of the immediate future. I've finally really (like, as in, actually for real this time) let quite a few big chips fall off my shoulder and I feel, for the first time in a long time, alive. This past week was a big part of that - being somewhere new with lots of foreign stimuli is always good for getting oneself to shake off old junk and become more open to what else is out there - and the next week will be, too, as I very completely dive into preparing for "Company" and "Hamlet." I'm hoping to have some camera adventures this week, too, so I can start figuring out this fancy new lens I got for Christmas... photo adventures are always a good mood booster.

And finally, in the words of Neil Patrick Harris: When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. Seems like a good mantra for the semester.

2011 is knocking. Well, actually, he's already on the couch with his feet up on the table. My move...

Introducing my anticlimactic return to the blog-o-sphere...

I keep dreaming about Lawrence University - it's amazing how much the mind is able to forget remembering... until some bizarre dream brings it back to the forefront of your thoughts. At least I was recalling happy memories, right?

So, today has been a bizarre sort of looking-back/looking-forward sort of day, which I guess is what this entire break (thus far) has been about.

This past semester of classes totally owned me; definitely a lot going on, at times bordering on too much going on, but I made it through and have spent enough days sleeping, vegging, and being non-active that I can now start feeling like I'm up to trying to get back up on my feet again. Dramaturgy was a great, productive exploration, and definitely stretched some parts of my brain that don't get a lot of use, but being in rehearsals and watching the actors and, toward the latter part the semester, getting out into Milwaukee for auditions really got me itching to get back on that side of things. And this next semester, I will be. So there.

Speaking of this next semester... it's my last semester. Of college. Ever. Unless I fail Astronomy of Non-Western Cultures, I'm pretty much guaranteed to walk across that little stage, shake some hands, and get a piece of paper that says the last five years of equal parts stress, glory, angst, ambiguity, and blind faith have been totally worth it.

I wonder what a college education is actually worth? Especially in an arts field - well, any field really. Everything I've learned in school could have been learned independently through a variety of venues. My mother worries that I didn't get my English or Digital Arts degree to accompany this little 'theatre thing' I like to do, but, I figure that with or without that extra degree, I'm going to know what I know and, ultimately, be just as capable of reading, writing, or digital art-ing (okay, not true - just stick with the reading and writing part) as I would be otherwise. Right? Ah.... subjectivity.

Here's a thought: Why don't they give a free apartment to every person who successfully completes a BA degree and promises to try their best all time in life, regardless of the outcome? Then I definitely could say that all the stress, glory, angst, ambiguity, and blind faith has been totally worth it.

This picture is neat for a variety of reasons:

1) It's a clock from the 50's that I salvaged and gave to my dad for Christmas.

2) I took this photo with my NEW CAMERA LENS that my parents got me, a lens that I actually haven't a clue about using correctly. It's very fancy. ....too fancy..

3) Clocks are the most blatant symbolic representation of time passing... because clocks were made to show that time is passing.

And guess what? Time is passing. !!!!

I really don't have a lot to say (obviously)...

Just reminding myself and others that I'm not dead.

More to come.

lake michigan

Nothing to say at present. I spent some time on the water today. Took some pictures. Here are a few of the highlights. Great colors, beautiful clouds, and endless waters... pretty relaxing Sunday.

- untitled.

[This photo has nothing to do with the following entry.

That being said, I need to get out with my camera sometime soon]

I want to start a photo blog. But 1) Allison Hipple just started a photo blog. Do I want to look like a creativity thief? 2) I'd really have to challenge myself to get into a routine. I can't even keep track of updating THIS blog.

The neighbors are screaming. Possibly jumping.

Actually, it sounds like they might be herding elephants.

I must be back in Racine.

Why do people blog?

I just finished watching Julie and Julia this morning, a movie which I referenced well over a year ago in one of my first blogs. I believe that at that time, I was contemplating the usefulness of blogging as a means for developing my skills as a writer. Over a year later, I've finally seen that movie and, between then and now, have written a very unsubstantial amount in comparison to the type of venture Julie Powell undertook when she began cooking and blogging her way through Julia Child's cookbook over the course of 365 days. I guess I'm not the kind of person who can stick to any sort of regiment without some outside force breathing down my neck and making me feel more guilty than I usually do at any given time through my own self-demoralization. Oh well. I think most people are that way, until the day when some particularly ass-kicking event comes along and, well, kicks them in the ass, and then they suddenly realize: "By golly, I've gotta pick myself up and stop being so lazy or some loser is going to step all over my face and leave me on the sidewalk to die!"

I continually wait for that day to come, some kind of devastating "I told you so" circumstance delivered directly to my doorstep by the cosmos, but, here I am... still kind of floating without any real attachment to any concrete goals. And I seem to be just fine.

In answer to my own question: I don't know why people blog - I guess some people, in the dawn of this fantastical Facebook/Twitter/yesofcourseyourfriendswanttoknowwhatyou'redoingateverymoment world we've fallen into, think it's really important to let everyone on earth have access to their day-to-day collisions. I have a hard time writing that way, or thinking that way. I usually sit down determined to write about what has happened since the last time I blogged. Instead, what comes out tends to be some sort of repetitive, open-ended or otherwise rhetorical examination of my own ponderings about why I'm here (both here, and, you know... here) and what the Hell I want to do with my life. It makes me feel like I'm not making any progress, but, I guess I am. Both with this little blog and in the real world, too. Right? Either way, it's nice to be able to look back and remember what I was feeling on that warm July afternoon in 2009, rather than recalling some completed to-do list or activity. Give me the consequences of action to consider; I'll fill in the rest. Or something.

School started on the 2nd. Or the 3rd. It was one of those early dates in September at any rate. In that time, I've read enough history books to fill my personal quota (though there are SO many more on the horizon, it's actually a little bit daunting), played the role of Benedick in a two-weeks-of-rehearsal-production of Much Ado About Nothing - complete with post-rehearsal breakdowns in a dark and empty theater - I've settled into a new apartment, been angstfully torn between the past and present, and, of course, looked toward the future with (albeit positive) uncertainty.

I just invented the word "angstfully."

I went to The Steppenwolf yesterday with Karl, Maddie and Allison. The entire venture was executed on a whim, with hopes of snagging discounted tickets to a show called Detroit starring Laurie Metcalf, among others. Happily, the whim proved fruitful, and we had a pleasant afternoon in Chicago and, on top of that, saw a pretty great piece of new theatre. Detroit took some time to settle with me, but when it did, I just thought: Man, that was us. This play was onto something, both relating to the state of the world today and the state of theatre -where it must be headed in the decades to come. Seeing good theatre has a completely paradoxical effect on me. On one hand, it inspires me to great heights; it makes me feel like anything is possible here - that we, as people; as a community of human beings - are capable of achieving anything, of communicating, connecting, and living boldly in the face of so many terrifying outside elements which threaten our humanity every day. On the other hand, great theatre always serves as a reminder for the greatness I must achieve if I ever want to be a part of this community of artistic gurus. I am constantly reminded of the hard work and dedication that is demanded and required in the theatre and, as always, I feel terrified that I may not be able to stand up to that. I've never been capable of owning my own artistry. Granted, I'm getting better about it, but, there's still a part of me that always feels so hesitant to bravely state, "I am an actor." I often feel undeserving of that title - not that it's a title, per say, but you know what I mean - and shy away from that spotlight for fear of being called a phony. Why?

Pursuing Dramaturgy has been the equalizer for me. It's a form of artistry, yes, but there's something concrete about it - you can be good at it or not, and you can easily see what is a success and what isn't, and there's something about that certainty that makes me less afraid of tackling it. I can read a history book and I can analyze information. I can put it on paper and know immediately whether what I've said is useful or not. It demands a lot of work, but not in the way that acting does. I hate it when people assume acting is just some really easy pastime, because it can just be utterly terrifying (and beautiful and wonderful and completely mysterious and rewarding). I am always afraid. At least this summer I've had a chance to face those fears in a different arena. And that experience has given me more confidence, more understanding, and a better grip on myself than I had ever had before. Maybe returning to school just brings back old patterns of behavior and thought, and in a few weeks I'll get back into myself and let that new-found part of myself shine through. I can tell that this semester, serving as Dramaturg for two shows in a row, will leave me aching to get back on the stage for whatever inexplicable reason there is; but getting on that stage isn't guaranteed, and there's a lot to accomplish between now and then. As there always is.

Until then, though, I'll just keep thinking and (hopefully) writing, reading, watching, listening, and whatever else I/you/we do when caught in a sort of inexplicable limbo. I feel like I'm on the very edge of my next big self-discovery - just looking for the right combination of steps that will give me the courage to jump off.