Explorations

There is something so ephemeral, I think, about my blog posts. This only crosses my mind now, looking back on this semester while going through my blog drafts.

‘Blog Drafts’.

It’s a phrase that throws my short comings in my face. Haha, ok that was dramatic–but looking at all my blog drafts remind me how strongly I start a post, and then let it ’sit around’ until I edit it. Normally the time passes and with it my energy and passion, until the post no longer seems relevant; and then it’s lost forever in the annoynomus ‘your drafts’ tab. I feel guilty about it for a while and then come up with a new, relevant blog post…only to have it doomed to the same fate. It’s an endless cycle really, so to break that cycle today’s post is dedicated to showing those ‘blog drafts’ the light of published day.

This one is a mere week old:

It happened on a cold, gray, spring afternoon five some years ago now. I had some how convinced my Dad to skip work and come to the beach with me to go surfing. New Hampshire in April isn’t exactly pleasant surfing weather, in fact it really isn’t pleasant anything weather; and I remember that day being particularly cold. We spent most of the afternoon huddled together in a mass of blankets trying to warm up in a simple and futile attempt to brave the cold surf again. I was miserable: My feet were scraped and bleeding, my wetsuit was letting in water, it was all going wrong. My entire body was numb. I was numb. There was something more wrong with me than not being able to feel my toes, something deeper and more emotional to my numbness. I felt truly and genuinely lost. I know I said something like that to my Dad, and I can still remember his efforts to look straight out into the Atlantic, because he knew I would refuse his eye contact.

He pulled the blanket closer to our chins and replied, “You need to let that happen then. You know? Let yourself be lost… Hope isn’t about everything turning out ok, it’s about being ok with how everything turns out.”

I only remember and subsequently blog about this event now, after the dinner with Nancy Robinette. At one point she had remarked ‘that as artists we need to give ourselves the permission to fail’ and ‘permission to do the work’. I don’t often think of giving myself permission when I choose to do something-it simply happens and becomes something I’ve done. Though when I compare Nancy’s remarks with my Dad’s advice, it becomes clear: it’s about letting go.

I understand in way larger than I could have at 16 that my Dad’s advice was to let go. He had the foresight to stress the importance of being ok with feeling lost rather than stress the importance of ‘finding’ myself or a solution, so that I could eventually overcome the situation. To really feel lost I had to let go of my need for control, my fear of failure, my fear of judgement…I needed to grant myself the permission to feel lost. Nancy’s remarks about allowing ourselves the ‘permission to do the work’ stems off the same, simple idea. As artists we need to let go of a lot (fear, inhibition, failure, judgement) to be able to do our work. We have to free ourselves to allow ourselves to create.

This one hails from the 4th week of the class:

Gregg keeps asking the group about our collective fears towards the up-coming trip to NYC. I may stand alone in this statement, but I am not at all afraid. Afraid about the possible living situation? No. I’ve lived out of a tent for 4 straight weeks on the Costa Rican shore while trying to gain surfing sponsorship. There was no running water, no electricity, and no sense of safety. I made it work. Afraid about the food? No. In those same 4 weeks, I lived off of bananas and Slim-Jims. I made it work. (It wasn’t actually that bad if you didn’t mix the two together.) Afraid about transportation options? No. I’ve roughed it on dirty, smelly trains before. Afraid about finding contacts? No. The city is home to more than 8 million people, I’m sure one of them will have an interesting story. Afraid about what? Gregg has asked this question like 4 or 5 times now, and I’m almost tempted to make up something, anything, so that the next time he asks I can contribute something to the class discussion. I can picture myself half-heartily saying ‘I’m afraid about finding theatre contacts in the theatre capital of the world’. I would be sure to emphasize the ‘theatre capital of the world’ bit, just as a way to disclose my sarcasm to the few that might catch it. Gregg has asked this question so many times in fact that his frequency in asking what I’m afraid about, is what’s scaring me. Does that count as an answer?