The tough get creative.
Over the last couple of weeks, it has dawned on me that I feel . . . different. For one thing, I’m better able to stand being at work, and people at work (i.e., attorneys). Why, suddenly when I smile at people who usually get one of those “smile therapy” smiles from me - you know, the kind that don’t actually reach your eyes - I’m actually
smiling at them. And it’s easy and, dare I say -
sincere? No really! I’m even able to engage in conversation with some of these people and feel authentic, not just as if I’m being requisitely cordial. Huh.
What’s different, you ask? Maybe it’s partly because my body is feeling better by degrees. But I mostly attribute my rejuvenation to my
mind feeling better. To changing my narrative. To giving myself the gift of getting back in touch with my creative self at
the class I recently finished at The Guthrie.
My monologue class at The Guthrie ended last week and it was all I’d hoped for. As I’d expected, terrifying, exhilarating. Just walking into the theatre after all these years without a ticket in hand felt so odd. It gave me a stomach ache, yet at the same time, I was deeply at home. Traveling up that 4-story escalator into darkness each Monday night became a transformative ritual - ascending out of mundane, everyday meaninglessness back to the world of emotion and exploration.
It was a joy to talk the talk and walk the walk again. But it did take a few weeks to get my brain to work down those pathways again. Even longer for me to completely free up enough to play without being too cerebral and watching myself, critiquing every word and movement. But little by little the door creaked open. I had SO much fun.
I worked on two pieces. My classical/comic piece was Shakespeare’s Rosalind, from “As You Like It,” and my contemporary/dramatic piece was from “A Narrow Bed.” As I’ve always loved language, performing a Shakespeare piece was magical and an adventure, with its rhythm, imagery and breadth of emotion. My contemporary piece was a joy in its relative simplicity of language. It was also a piece I connected to immediately upon reading it for the very first time. Our rhythms of speaking were so alike I could have been reading my own dialogue and I completely understood the quirky poignancy of the character.
The week before the class was to end, our teacher surprised us by saying he was inviting guests to our last class session. He asked us to bring people as well. I was horrified! I’d become pretty comfortable performing before my classmates. However, having strangers in . . .. This was simply playtime for me, and turning it into a performance sounded like my worst nightmare. Just the idea made my heart pound.
An attack of illness, including a nice case of laryngitis, made my last week of rehearsing a bit of a challenge. I had at most 15 min per night to work before descending into coughing fits and losing my voice entirely. A ha! Maybe I wouldn’t be able to perform my pieces on “graduation day” after all? To my surprise, having an excellent excuse to sit out did NOT give me any kind of solace. Huh - turns out I was absolutely KEEN to get up and perform!!!
Finally, it was my last Monday going up, up, up into theater heaven. I nervously hoped I would have enough voice and fend off a coughing fit long enough. We all sat in the lobby, waiting for the “stage manager” to call us into an unfamiliar room and “audition” for the strangers. One by one we were called into the dance studio - much bigger, different acoustics. What fun!! My pieces went very well, and I had an especially wonderful time with Rosalind. Having a bigger space helped me bring her to life even more.
After receiving both glowing comments and helpful pointers from our “auditors,” it was all over. We all bid one another adieu, wished each other well. One of my classmates encouraged me to get out there and audition, because, he says, I’m “great.”
Well, I don’t know about that. But I really enjoyed this foray back to myself. As always happens after I perform, I find myself wondering, seriously, how I have lived without it. I’m definitely still in love.
Damn it.
