My goodness, time does fly, doesn't it? I apologize for the long time between this post and the last; so much wonderful stuff has happened, and in the rush and hurry of it all I left this to languish. Life happens like that. As this post is both a summation of the past 15 months and a comment on the progress in my life over the same amount of time, let's get right down to it, shall we?
2013 became a year of monumental change. I gathered my belongings into two suitcases, a backpack, and three cardboard boxes, left my mother's house, and drove across the country to move and start graduate school in March at the Savannah College of Art and Design. With that one enormous physical and psychological shift, I took my first step in taking responsibility for my own learning, creativity, and success. I had been afraid of my own creative voice for much too long, and I had been so subconsciously terrified of success that I would self-sabotage during auditions and work. Succeeding meant owning my art, putting it up for scrutiny, and being okay with others depending on me, whether they be other artists, collaborators, or family. I hadn't ever felt ready, and I wasn't certain I was, but I was no longer willing to wait to find out. I had to take the jump, and I tried to do so with open arms and faith. I only had a mantra: Get out of my own way, let go of my ego, and stay open. Sometimes I was very mindful of that, and it helped me immensely. Other times, I would forget it, get in my head, and spiral down a road of self-doubt and anger that would only serve to lead me back to it all over again.
I started my time here going right into a show, and I loved performing in it, but the main takeaway from the experience was the incredible talents that I met, and the realization that I could like it here. Truth be told, I wasn't certain if I would. I was moving from the breezy, sunny Los Angeles to Savannah, Georgia, a place I knew very little about, and would seem (from the outside) to have a completely different set of governing social mores than most of the cities I'd lived in. I knew that what I felt were assumptions, but I felt them nonetheless. However, the city grew on me, and I certainly got the warmest welcome imaginable when I rolled in, my sober father in tow, the night before St. Patrick's Day, and encountered my new landlords more than slightly inebriated and downtown in full alcoholic swing. The five-hour parade the next day, and my father's first visit to a gay bar more than sealed the deal.
What also sealed the deal, and gave me a sense that this was where I needed to be was the wonderful faculty I encountered and my rediscovered thirst to learn. I wanted to do well because I wanted to be better, and I had learned to forgive myself if I failed, because it was part of learning. As anyone who is close to me knows, and anyone who went to undergrad with me can attest to, I was an enormous, unfocused fuckup at UCLA. I learned a great deal to be sure, but I as I've written before, I couldn't get out of my head, and I used my ego to hide the fear I had of not being perfect. That, in turn, made me incredibly lazy, because if I failed, and I hadn't really done the work, than I could blame it on my lack of preparation and not myself. But I couldn't let go of the shame that that attitude engendered, and ironically enough, that attitude came roaring back to life in a way I had not anticipated or imagined.
I recently directed a play here at school that I am both enormously proud of and incredibly hard on myself for. How so? The production came of stunningly well, with the actors doing beautiful work that hopefully pushed them and stretched them. But I didn't push myself as far as I needed to or should have. I was terrified of not getting it right, as the style was so specific, and in the surmounting fear of not getting it right, I pulled back. I didn't prepare like I should have. I directed in a way I normally wouldn't have, and didn't come at it from a place that was organic. I was falling on my old habits, and I wasn't proud of myself or the work I was doing. About halfway through the process, I had a moment where I had to take stock. I couldn't change the process up to that point, but I could approach it differently from then on. I decided to let go, if not of the fear but of the end goal, and try to focus just on the task at hand each day. I gave myself something concrete to focus on: the actors, the text, the
show. If I was at a loss, I admitted it, asked for help, and tried something else. I wanted to focus on them, because it's not, and shouldn't be about
me. I wanted to encourage the actors' creativity as best I could, and I worked hard to remember that theater is always collaboration. In the end, it all came off beautifully.
It brought to mind a piece of advice that Gary Busby, my voice teacher from UCLA, gave me that I carried with me, but had forgotten recently: Any choice made in fear is the wrong choice. I was making choices completely rooted in fear. It made me insular and cold, like a deer caught in headlights. I wasn't open to letting the show inform me on how to direct it, or the wonderful creative instincts that my actors were bringing to the table. But when I finally remembered to breathe, let go, and take it step by step, I removed fear from the equation, and I saw the actors soar. I was also reminded of taking responsibility, and understanding the consequences, both good and bad. Most people learn that at five, but I seem to need the reminder every few years, or months.
I realize that goals will always carry with them the terror of not achieving them, of not owning them with a completeness and confidence that one expects. We are struck with the fear that we'll not amount to what we firmly believe we are capable of, and truth be told, we won't always succeed. We will fail at times because the fear is always there. But you learn to mitigate it and speak kindly to it. You still get up, reflect and learn honestly, seek to make amends when necessary and move on. At the end of the day, each goal is really a series of steps, some small, some monumental, that form a path to getting there. For me, I know now that if I just focus on the step at hand, I'll get to where I need to be. I can take responsibility for that. It may not actually be the goal I originally set out to achieve, but it will be just as wondrous.
