Beginnings, and Things I Love to Hear
It's been literally years since I've written here, but I've found myself back a few times in these past few weeks looking for a quote from an old friend or something I thought I'd parked here to save. I've been wishing I had somewhere to park my more intimate throughts that let me feel like they were going out into the Universe without burdening people I know with them ("Read my blog! Check out my website!" Like, nothing I have to say is that interesting.) and, while I love my Tumblr, it isn't really the appropriate forum for lengthy explorations - it's more of an add-a-little-anecdote-to-someone-else's-thing forum rather than a space to generate content. And I've gone to make a quiet little blog a few times, but nothing's stuck, and I realized - I still have a LiveJournal. And I don't think anyone I used to know here still uses it, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. So here I am, ready to continue the trend of navel-gazing that I just don't want to cramp my hand by putting in a proper, private journal where it belongs.
This week I've had an unusual number of those moments where someone says something and you're just like, yes, you see me!, and I spend so much time here feeling invisible and disconnected that I wanted to hold onto them and reflect a little. I got spoiled in undergrad, and even at PFCT and in New York, with people seeing me. I've felt invisible for a lot of my life, or at least like the good qualities I hoped I had weren't visible to anyone else, and it took a long time for me to find ways to let go of protective outer layers and let other people in, and I felt like a lot of those layers were back, so people telling me that I was still on the right track to someone meant a lot.
The first "yes!" moment is the only one from a while ago. The cast of the show I was directing had a sleepover and played a game of Truth, like seventh graders, and the question came up, "What is the best unexpected compliment you've ever been given?" And I reflected that once a guy friend had called me "rough and tumble" and I'd loved it, and the whole group was immediately like, "Yes, that's a perfect description! That's exactly what you are!" And I valued that a lot. I don't want or need to be seen as, like, emotionally-unavailable-tough-chick, and I don't want to be not-like-the-other-girls, because A) I don't think there's a way girls collectively are and B) if there was, there's nothing wrong with being a girl, and I certainly am not trying to distance myself from that identity category. But that go-with-the-flow, let's-do-this-shit, ready-for-adventure image (and, obviously, the truth behind it) is something I'm always actively seeking, and I loved that getting tucked into a descriptor and that other people agreed.
Spiderwoman Theatre's founder, Muriel Miguel, and a lady named Jean who's a 2Spirit theatre scholar, came to the school to do a series of workshops and visit classes. There's one class I'm in where I am constantly, desperately uncomfortable - it doesn't feel safe, I don't feel like the instructor especially cares for me (like, I don't think she especially likes me, I think she finds my contributions kind of banal), it's just stressful. And, of course, that was our first interaction with them in an applied way. We did a little workshop in that class that involved some acting games, and I worked really hard to let go and throw myself into it even though tension remained. (I hold tension in my face, so a big tell for me is whether I can do the horse-lips thing when it comes up in warm ups, and I couldn't.) But I played hard. Well, the next day I took my class to a workshop in something else, and the Jean lady came over to chat since she recognized me, and I explained that I was taking a class the day before but taught this one. And she said, "I knew you were one of the theatre people. She said it was a mixed class, and I was watching you and thought, she's not one of the cultural studies people, she's a theatre person, she's not afraid to do anything." And I honestly almost misted up on the spot, because I feel like fear is choking me here so much of the time, and being perceived in the opposite way by a stranger was just...really special.
Then, last night, I was hanging out with some friends (my D&D group, which are all undergrads, who I connected with through my show), and one of them - who is 19 - said, "You're my favorite GTF in the universe. You're like a real person, and you're teaching me things - like, it's because of you [something I helped her with]. You're actually involved in our lives, which is what, in my opinion, a GTF should be. You're doing a really good job." She mentions that she looks up to me fairly frequently, but this is the first time it hit me that I wasn't operating as a GTF with my class and as just a person with my friends - I'm both, simultaneously. And I have those relationships - my mentor is very much both fully a friend and fully a person from whom I learn things and to whom I look for wisdom - but it didn't occur to me that I was in a place where I could be on the other end of them with these smart, driven, totally adult people. Like, I know that's why I do what I do, but it was kind of baffling, and really touching. I really appreciated her saying that.
It's just felt like the Universe is going, "I see you. You're okay. I see you." And I love it so much.
This week I've had an unusual number of those moments where someone says something and you're just like, yes, you see me!, and I spend so much time here feeling invisible and disconnected that I wanted to hold onto them and reflect a little. I got spoiled in undergrad, and even at PFCT and in New York, with people seeing me. I've felt invisible for a lot of my life, or at least like the good qualities I hoped I had weren't visible to anyone else, and it took a long time for me to find ways to let go of protective outer layers and let other people in, and I felt like a lot of those layers were back, so people telling me that I was still on the right track to someone meant a lot.
The first "yes!" moment is the only one from a while ago. The cast of the show I was directing had a sleepover and played a game of Truth, like seventh graders, and the question came up, "What is the best unexpected compliment you've ever been given?" And I reflected that once a guy friend had called me "rough and tumble" and I'd loved it, and the whole group was immediately like, "Yes, that's a perfect description! That's exactly what you are!" And I valued that a lot. I don't want or need to be seen as, like, emotionally-unavailable-tough-chick, and I don't want to be not-like-the-other-girls, because A) I don't think there's a way girls collectively are and B) if there was, there's nothing wrong with being a girl, and I certainly am not trying to distance myself from that identity category. But that go-with-the-flow, let's-do-this-shit, ready-for-adventure image (and, obviously, the truth behind it) is something I'm always actively seeking, and I loved that getting tucked into a descriptor and that other people agreed.
Spiderwoman Theatre's founder, Muriel Miguel, and a lady named Jean who's a 2Spirit theatre scholar, came to the school to do a series of workshops and visit classes. There's one class I'm in where I am constantly, desperately uncomfortable - it doesn't feel safe, I don't feel like the instructor especially cares for me (like, I don't think she especially likes me, I think she finds my contributions kind of banal), it's just stressful. And, of course, that was our first interaction with them in an applied way. We did a little workshop in that class that involved some acting games, and I worked really hard to let go and throw myself into it even though tension remained. (I hold tension in my face, so a big tell for me is whether I can do the horse-lips thing when it comes up in warm ups, and I couldn't.) But I played hard. Well, the next day I took my class to a workshop in something else, and the Jean lady came over to chat since she recognized me, and I explained that I was taking a class the day before but taught this one. And she said, "I knew you were one of the theatre people. She said it was a mixed class, and I was watching you and thought, she's not one of the cultural studies people, she's a theatre person, she's not afraid to do anything." And I honestly almost misted up on the spot, because I feel like fear is choking me here so much of the time, and being perceived in the opposite way by a stranger was just...really special.
Then, last night, I was hanging out with some friends (my D&D group, which are all undergrads, who I connected with through my show), and one of them - who is 19 - said, "You're my favorite GTF in the universe. You're like a real person, and you're teaching me things - like, it's because of you [something I helped her with]. You're actually involved in our lives, which is what, in my opinion, a GTF should be. You're doing a really good job." She mentions that she looks up to me fairly frequently, but this is the first time it hit me that I wasn't operating as a GTF with my class and as just a person with my friends - I'm both, simultaneously. And I have those relationships - my mentor is very much both fully a friend and fully a person from whom I learn things and to whom I look for wisdom - but it didn't occur to me that I was in a place where I could be on the other end of them with these smart, driven, totally adult people. Like, I know that's why I do what I do, but it was kind of baffling, and really touching. I really appreciated her saying that.
It's just felt like the Universe is going, "I see you. You're okay. I see you." And I love it so much.