I went through a period of feeling "foggy," especially in social situations. I had this feeling that I was kinda just floating through it, not connecting to anyone, and longing to get back to the quiet of my home.
The fogginess might have been caused by a vitamin D deficiency, which my doctor diagnosed at my annual screening. She prescribed some vitamin D. It might have also been caused by my tendency toward introversion being thrown into uncomfortable territory. This one surprised and slightly concerned me since this happened at outings with close friends, where I usually feel upbeat and positive.
So I sank into a sort of self-created very comfy trap.
In March, I took a risk by going on an audition. I don't audition much anymore. I decided to take a chance on this one. The theater was packed. Everyone was fantastic. I had to fight off some negativity. I didn't always do well fighting it off. Days went by, and I heard nothing, so I decided that it would be my last audition, and that I did it well and bravely and didn't quit without trying. But then I got the call from the director who offered me what I consider the best parts/roles in the play. This was Love, Loss, and What I Wore. A friend I adore but don't see often enough was cast as well as an acquaintance who has played many of the same roles I have albeit different productions.
Three of us wound up car pooling to rehearsals, which made the drive so much more fun, often more fun than the rehearsals!
I enjoyed digging into characters and developing new skills and new ways of getting to a character. One thing I tried seemed to really pull it all together for me. I had a talking-to with myself. I said, you've read them, memorized them, felt them, rehearsed them, researched them. You sound great,b ut could you connect more meaningfully? And then this question: "Have you LOVED these characters?" I realized I had not. I had not given them sympathy and affection as if they were a dear friend or sister or MYSELF. That night, everyone heard and felt a difference.
To be learning and growing so late in the game--this is my what 40th play since my late 30s--was just what I needed to break through that cocoon I'd been weaving for several months.
My mom and her best friend-since-she-was-four Donna came to the show on Mother's Day. They drove from Michigan taking the same back roads that Donna's father took back in the 40s and 50s. Donna's extended family lived somewhere in Indiana, and my mom was always invited.
It was so exciting having them in the front row. I could feel my mom's presence, heart, and soul. I found myself in new territory--feeling empathy the way I imagine someone else might. I could hear my words coming out so true and deep. I could feel sorrow and feel empathy. I never had this happen in theater.
Here's a good reminder of why I should not worry about other people and how something affects them: I was a little unsure of what they would think of the play. It's not Hallmark or Lifetime. It's real women talking frankly about life in all its glory and guts. I wondered if they would be uncomfortable with my character who spoke about getting raped or the character who was about to her marry her female fiance. Well, they both LOVED the play. Said it was like nothing they'd ever seen. Said they talked about it the whole four-hour drive home. My mom told me she was proud of me and how well we did, adding in that "You look so pretty." In short, I underestimated them. I was afraid they might be offended. Well, they weren't! They were perfectly capable of taking in the play on the whole and grasping exactly what it meant.
My mom's astute observation: "Gingy" more than anything, more than hardships and missteps, and heartbreaks, and betrayals, more than anything else, she valued her life.
That was my gift from my mom.
The whole play was a gift to me from Jim, the director, from Larry, whom I didn't even tell I was auditioning, from Adrienne, Denise, and Alyssa, and Molly. Larry attended twice. Many friends attended. My mom attended. It was also a gift to me from me. I took a risk. And then I dug deeper into gratitude. And I had a little mantra before I went on stage: be present, be grateful, and be generous.
I said throughout the play that it might be my last, and that was why I wanted to dig deeper than I ever had. And now I don't know if it will be my last. I may never want to audition again. I may never want to be committed to a schedule again. But if I do, it will be a play that is worth my time, like this one was. It ended on a wonderful note, with a fantastic audience full of friends, perhaps my best performance of the run, and a fun party
