"Why Do You Miss When My Baby Kisses Me?"

A lot of things make my heart beat (well, besides blood and oxygen and impulses from my brain). Cookies (my love for cookies is a blog post in itself, More on that later). My kids. God. Being mistaken for younger than I am.

I like seeing what will happen when the plan is that there is no plan. Par example: I've been teaching a course called Adapted Theatre for the last 3 weeks for kids with various special needs. There are 13 kids in the class and about 7 adult assistants. The course will continue until the end of June and they will perform for the public in late May.

Perform for the public. Not quite sure how to go about that. In the past (under direction from folks other than myself), this group has mounted shows based on familiar stories, such as Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland. They've combined Black Light puppetry with film and live action. It's been successful in the past and the community has been very supportive. And I think that's along the lines of what the kids would like to do this year, too.

But I just think there is so much more here that could be so much better.

To be clear: the past was great. But it wouldn't be as great with me at the helm because I don't find those types of stories all that interesting. What I find interesting is a person's own story: I want to walk in the shoes of another for 10, 45, 60, 90 (no more than 130) minutes at any given time. Whatever we create will be no more than an hour, I'm sure. I haven't come right out and said it, but this is the direction I'm trying to steer the group in. One might call it manipulation. It is manipulation, but I think it's for the best.

I've been inching my way toward getting them to tell their stories: what's it's like to be them, with all their fears and challenges and whatnot. Really. I mean, the things that the rest of us don't have to worry about at all. I got close to the gold mine the other day. We were talking about fears. I told them that I have a fear of failure. One of the fears that seemed to recur among them was that of being misunderstood. So, I went there. I asked them about their experiences with that. They mostly skirted the issue to start with, talking in gross generalities, and then one of them actually got real. She talked about the fact that she is blind in one eye and that when she asks about things and people point, she can't see where they're pointing and it just gets awkward. Another talked about his speech impediment and how people used to really misunderstand him, but how a former teacher complimented him for his progress in his speech.

That's about as far as we got for getting real in our discussion. But the room was hushed and I looked about and saw a few watery pairs of eyes belonging to kids who had something to say but weren't quite ready yet. Their day will come. It was all very Oprah-y. Which I totally dig, because it means that we can peel artifice away and get to the things that truly matter. Which is what great art is all about.

Anyhow. We've been working away, making scenes, generating material, and I gotta say, these people are entertaining (the students and their adult assistants). They have things to say. They're funny as hell and I LOVE working with them. I come into that class every day, not knowing how anything will turn out, but never failing to be delighted and surprised by what comes of it all.

So, we're building a show. The kids don't really realize it yet, but they're writing and acting toward something completely unheard of - for me and for them, anyway. I. can. not. wait to see how it all turns out.

I don't know what's ahead. When I go into a situation like this where the rules are that there are no rules (i.e.: we have dates and a venue, but no script), I hear this voice, a deep, masculine kind of voice like a sports announcer, that says, "This could go terribly wrong!" It could. I mean, what if we work hard and get a bunch of brilliant material, but they don't want to do it? Or, what if we work hard and it's brilliant, and it falls flat because the community just wants another fairy tale? Or what if I think it's all brilliant, but it really isn't? Or what if we just can't get it together somehow? Or we lose faith part way through and just want to give up?

I don't care. My heart is beating about this one in a way that forbids impediment in all its shapes and forms. Let's see how this turns out, shall we? I'll keep you posted.

Mortal Coil

We all suffer and suffering is relative.

I wish that weren't so. I wish suffering were on a scale that we could all agree upon. Like, "Surviving a tsunami" - 1000 points. "Getting home from work and there's no wine" - 10 points. Under that arrangement, those who have never survived a Tsunami or any other kind of 1000-pointer are off scot-free.

But, no. I've never survived a tsunami. And though I would categorize the no wine thing as a mere disappointment (annoying, but easy to get over), it seems I agonize over things that are really really insignificant to, say, everyone else.

Looking at it from the outside, it's easy to rate these things. But when we're going through it, it's amazing what can keep us up at night.

Some years ago, I read a book by Alfie Kohn called NO CONTEST: The Case Against Competition. Kohn is a  bit of a radical - not everyone would agree with his extreme perspectives on parenting and education, but I'm not everyone, so I dig him. In the book, he identifies a phenomenon he refers to as MEGA - Mutually Exclusive Goal Attainment. Simply put, it means "My success equals your failure." In order for me to be good at something, you have to be less good, at least a little bit. There is a best and only one person can be that best. He goes on to pulverize that mentality and urge his readers to consider a world where we can all be stars.

And I agree with him. When I go to a show that one of my peers has written or directed, I arrive with a twinge of "I kind of hope this isn't good, so that whatever I do will look better by comparison." I would like to be a better person, but I'm not, so that's how it goes. However, I am always overjoyed when it's good. I'm glad my time wasn't wasted and that I could be inspired, or be brought to learn something new. So, I do think that we can all be stars and that there can be an infinite amount of excellence in the world.

But. When it comes to teaching, I have to be the best. As in, it's not cool if someone is better than me. Correction: it's not cool if someone is not better than me but is perceived to be. Full disclosure: I have to be the favourite.

Ugh, right?

Most of the time, this is not an issue. I'm a busy gal, so I go about my day just trying to get 'er done. And I love the work, so it's all good. But we're leading up to course selection for next year at school right now. Where kids decide what classes they're going to take. I'm telling you, it's having its way with me. The other day, we had to stand up in front of everyone and talk about our programs and why they should take our classes. I hate doing stuff like that. Kids should take my classes because Drama class is the best thing in the world and I, for one, would die without it. And I want them to feel the same way.

And in situations where there may be external limits on awesome, like the timetable will only allow for so many classes, or in the case of theatre production world, there may be only so much grant money or roles or audience appeal; competition may be inevitable.

My agony was over the question, "What if they like some other teacher or class or program better than me/mine and don't take my class?" I get bent out of shape about that stuff. As in, can't sleep -feel like my soul is being crushed by a vice grip- kind of thing. Wake up in the morning with my stomach in knots. A mortal coil, if you will. Sounds about accurate.

A mortal coil. Because, "What if kids don't want to take Drama next year?"

So, I need to remind myself that there is enough awesome for everyone. We can all be stars. To me, this is like, 500 points, but to anyone else it could be as few as 0 points. And I'm glad that as humans, we all understand affliction to one degree or another and that people have written about it so we can buoy each other up with our shared experiences of what it means to suffer.

And the mortal coil is easily sloughed off when I get back into that classroom and beam with joy because some kid did something awesome.  And, it's okay if they like something/someone else sometimes. Sometimes. I'm working towards being okay with it ;).

It's okay, I don't need a tsunami to teach me a lesson. Let's be stars, you guys. All of us. At anything we want to be.