I've been thinking a lot about these guys lately:
He actively pursues these things. Now of course he and I do bear some fundamental differences which would still stunt me in the theatrical field even if I wasn't married and child-rearing. For one, I am a woman. It's just a fact that there is more competition out there for female actors--not that I'm intimidated! The other is that he doesn't have the same strict moral standards I have when it comes to selecting worthy performance material. That would be my biggest brick wall for sure, if I were trying to make it as an actor. And also, he travels a lot, and I'm not sure I would enjoy that as a long-term arrangement.
Still, sometimes when I see his seeming constant success, I suffer a moment of envy. But you know, because of all those things listed above and also because I know I have lots of time to pursue these interests in the future, and because I know that life could never provide me with the fulfillment this life does, that envy isn't what gets me. No, the reminder of my college friends, and my college teachers, and my college classes--that's what gets me.
We had a small class in college--only ten graduated third year. But these two always stand out for me--Matt and Alex--because of the intellectual connection I felt with them. I have not yet made friends whom I could goof around with, and banter with, and be creative with, and improvise with, in the same electrically satisfying way I could with these two. I have no clue if I meant to them what they meant to me. But the thrill of creation is indescribable and incomparable, and I experienced it ALL. THE. TIME. when we hung out or did classes together. They just matched me intellectually and creatively, brain for brain--and they were as passionate about acting as I was.
So I've been thinking about some of that stuff: about the movement class projects Matt and I did together (teacher always partnered us); about the Commedia Dell'arte and dramatic mask work; about the contact improv classes; about the powerful scene from The Seagull between Arkadina and Trigorin that Alex and I tuned into; about the Risk nights at Alex's where we danced to Dr. Worm and played the ridiculous and invented game, "Central Room Standing"; about our Voice class production of "The Fantasticks" where I got to sing the opening song "Try to Remember" (incidentally, Brad and Evelyn brought home a porcelain doll on Saturday which winds up to play that song--talk about reminders); about the strange and hilarious play I put together for Cabaret one year with Kelly and Chris Moore; about everything. And I've got to tell you--it's kind of bumming me out.
When I was in college, I had the incredible foresight to realize that those three years in all likelihood would be my "Golden Years". "It is unlikely," thought I, "that I will ever again have this much concentrated fun in my life. Probably I will have much more excellent and meaningful experiences. But never this many for this long." And so far, my prediction has proved right. I love so many things about my life and who I am and what I have to look forward to. But I long yet for that level of creative and intellectual fulfillment. Community theatre usually doesn't cut it at all, and at best only scratches the surface--satisfying momentarily a much deeper itch. One day I hope to find a group of people. Perhaps in an improv club; or a masks workshop; or perhaps if I can manage to stick around one place long enough I'll slowly accumulate enough people to make my own little club of actor geeks like me who I once again feel match me in that most satisfying way.
In the meantime, I sigh, take another long look at that photo, then try to put it out of mind while I plug along in the Scoship.
Delivering your uplifting message of the day,
Love,
Jacqui.
