This past weekend, I wrapped up the play that I've been acting in for the last seven weeks or so. Closing a show is such a bittersweet thing: you know the rest you so desperately crave is on its way, and yet it's so hard to part with a director, cast, and crew that have become such a special part of your daily life. It's hard to say goodbye to the singular feeling of being in the moment with a talented group of actors in front of an audience that's right there in the moment with you. I feel so much richer for this experience and feel like I not only grew as an actor, but helped to grow my Boston arts community as well.
Whether you are an actor or not, I truly believe there's a wealth of wisdom that we can learn from the theatre that we can then use offstage in our daily lives. Over the next week or so, I'll be running a little blog series on life lessons I've learned from the stage. Each day I'll share a new lesson or realization I've had during this production that is giving me food for thought on how to approach my offstage life. I hope you'll join me as I reflect on some of these ideas and insights, and that you might find one or two of them that you connect to as well!
Keep reading after the photo for the first post...
Whether you are an actor or not, I truly believe there's a wealth of wisdom that we can learn from the theatre that we can then use offstage in our daily lives. Over the next week or so, I'll be running a little blog series on life lessons I've learned from the stage. Each day I'll share a new lesson or realization I've had during this production that is giving me food for thought on how to approach my offstage life. I hope you'll join me as I reflect on some of these ideas and insights, and that you might find one or two of them that you connect to as well!
Keep reading after the photo for the first post...
Cast photo before my final performance.
Life Lesson #1: Show Up With What You Have and Use It Well
When I found out I was cast in this play, I wanted to clear my schedule completely for the next seven weeks, eliminating all emotional baggage, physical limitations, and stress of any kind. I wanted to work on this show entirely free of any anxiety, pain, frustration, and sadness in order to focus and really do my best. Are you laughing out loud yet?
Because it's impossible for anyone to wipe their emotional and physical slate clean at the wave of a wand, I did the only thing I could do. I chose to show up every night as me, complete with the range of emotions that we all feel-- joy, pain, fear, wonder, and anger. It felt like I was pushing an invisible luggage rack that groaned under the weight of my thirty plus years of life baggage, and wheeling it into the lobby. But once I reached the door to the theatre space itself, I reluctantly shoved the luggage rack into the corner of the lobby. As tough as it was, I tried night after night to leave these things at the door of the theatre. Don't worry, I told myself, they'll be right here waiting for you when you're done. And they were.
The only prospect that was harder for me than letting go of my baggage for the evening was the thought of letting it come with me and detract from the deep sense of joy I get from acting or let it affect how I work with my fellow actors. Can you imagine rehearsing a scene with a fellow actor and lashing out at them when they miss their entrance just because you had an argument with a friend over the weekend?
We can't magically banish all our stress, hurt, and worries when we walk into the theatre, but we can decide not to let these feelings control our experience while we're there. This idea could also apply to how we approach time in our homes, workplaces, subways, and grocery stores.
When I found out I was cast in this play, I wanted to clear my schedule completely for the next seven weeks, eliminating all emotional baggage, physical limitations, and stress of any kind. I wanted to work on this show entirely free of any anxiety, pain, frustration, and sadness in order to focus and really do my best. Are you laughing out loud yet?
Because it's impossible for anyone to wipe their emotional and physical slate clean at the wave of a wand, I did the only thing I could do. I chose to show up every night as me, complete with the range of emotions that we all feel-- joy, pain, fear, wonder, and anger. It felt like I was pushing an invisible luggage rack that groaned under the weight of my thirty plus years of life baggage, and wheeling it into the lobby. But once I reached the door to the theatre space itself, I reluctantly shoved the luggage rack into the corner of the lobby. As tough as it was, I tried night after night to leave these things at the door of the theatre. Don't worry, I told myself, they'll be right here waiting for you when you're done. And they were.
The only prospect that was harder for me than letting go of my baggage for the evening was the thought of letting it come with me and detract from the deep sense of joy I get from acting or let it affect how I work with my fellow actors. Can you imagine rehearsing a scene with a fellow actor and lashing out at them when they miss their entrance just because you had an argument with a friend over the weekend?
We can't magically banish all our stress, hurt, and worries when we walk into the theatre, but we can decide not to let these feelings control our experience while we're there. This idea could also apply to how we approach time in our homes, workplaces, subways, and grocery stores.
The second part of "showing up" has to do with trusting that I will use all the deeply imprinted joy, pain, fear, and worry that I possess to feed my work on my character and the story. My character struggled with the fear that her life's work as an abolitionist and women's rights activist was all in vain and that she didn't make any kind of a difference at all. I can totally relate to fear of leaving this world and having made no impact--I think we all can. Instead of cursing this fear of mine though, I realized I was grateful to be familiar with that feeling--it was going to help me to crawl inside this character and find a way to connect to her, which was going to make the whole play more powerful.
Without fear, pain, disappointment, sadness, and longing, how would I ever hope to emotionally connect to a character who also feels these things? It would be boring to watch a play that has only squeaky clean, happy moments and no conflict.
Once you start to look at your own scars and triumphs offstage in this way, you realize that these qualities are no longer as ugly as you first thought, but they are in fact beautiful and universal. What if we tried to see these feelings as invitations to make connections and cultivate compassion? I am still not sure how to do this in the non-theatrical part of my life, but am convinced that it's a worthwhile cause to see how I might try to learn.
Coming up tomorrow is Life Lesson #2: Everyone Matters. As always, leave me a comment below if you want to chime in with any thoughts!
Without fear, pain, disappointment, sadness, and longing, how would I ever hope to emotionally connect to a character who also feels these things? It would be boring to watch a play that has only squeaky clean, happy moments and no conflict.
Once you start to look at your own scars and triumphs offstage in this way, you realize that these qualities are no longer as ugly as you first thought, but they are in fact beautiful and universal. What if we tried to see these feelings as invitations to make connections and cultivate compassion? I am still not sure how to do this in the non-theatrical part of my life, but am convinced that it's a worthwhile cause to see how I might try to learn.
Coming up tomorrow is Life Lesson #2: Everyone Matters. As always, leave me a comment below if you want to chime in with any thoughts!
