As I make my way back into blogging, I have found that I am kind of operating more like a public journal than a topic-driven blog right now. Just so you know. This is what my actual brain sounds like.
Here I am in the week-before-production week for this show that I'm in, and the lessons continue to deepen for me. Lessons about committment and focus and tone and operating under pressure. I realized two things tonight...one, that for better or worse, I take every single group note totally personally. And often, it is personal, because I am personally not where I should be, despite my cheat sheets and highlighted index cards in my pockets. Sometimes it's not personal, though, and I still can't keep from internalizing everything, just like I do when I'm on the other side of the process. I eat, sleep and breathe the shows that I direct, as these directors do, and just being *in* the cast does not seem to change that fact. It seems to be built into my wiring now. So, this is a great reminder to me that when I direct, there are very likely cast members like me taking things on their shoulders that may or may not be theirs. And...that getting legit pissed off from time to time and telling people to get heads in the game is an effective tool to light a fire under people's arses.
And... I still can't dance. Even with remedial Maxi Ford for Dummies lesson from a super nice dancer this evening. Not even kinda. Hopeless case.
On Wednesday, I have to go to this Teachers Write writing workshop, and I have no idea what to bring. I've been sifting through some past writing - blog entries, a bit of a chapter of something I wrote about my grandmother's brother and sister in law, a thing about being beaten up by bullies in 5th grade. I have no idea what to share, or even if I should. No one at my school knows I have this blog, and I can't imagine that my "Dear Sixth Grade Boy" posts would go over so well with the administration, should they stumble upon it. I mean, I don't think I have ever posted anything totally inappropriate, but still...in public education, one does have to err on the side of caution. Not sure what to do about this.
Which leads me to the concept of censorship. Both my own self-imposed censorship, and that which is imposed upon me by outside forces. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I ever really let loose...put out into the world everything I write...decided that there was, in fact, no such thing as an "acceptable level of truth..." except the raw truth itself.
It'll never happen. I believe in relative truth...and that some things are for certain eyes only. I have written plenty of things that I would not want my mother to read. I have written plenty of things that I don't want ANYONE to read, all the manic ravings and shameful confessions of my dramatic, hormonally imbalanced spirit. They're in my journals, but don't make it here, generally. In flipping through these blog entries this afternoon in search of something to bring to the workshop, I'm struck by the rosy, optimistic, upbeat sort of personality that is so prevalent in these postings. I'm also aware, though, that it's only part of the story, and I can only hope that people who know me...or even readers who don't...will know that just like everyone else, I have so many shadow sides. I'm cranky and petty and jealous and snappish and lazy and moody. Sometimes. But I don't want the world to read all of that. Is that a gross lack of authenticity, then? If my blog sounds like Mary-Freaking-Sunshine all the time, is it actually a portrait of a real person, or just a caricature of the person I want everyone to think I am?
The optimism is real. The gratitude is very, very real. The appreciation of my friends, my amazement at my daughters, the sense of mission and purpose I feel in my life as a teacher...all real. But that's not all of me. Not nearly all. What is my "all?"
I have no answer to this. Just pondering the question.