Acting Without the Drama

August 24, 2008.  Even reading the word feels weighty, doesn’t it?  Responsibilities.  Duties.  To-do lists.  Chores.

The weight of the world.

What if that word meant something different to us?  What if instead of something that must be faced, as one would face an opponent in a gladiator’s ring, it’s simply something to be embraced as a part of us.

I have responsibilities as a husband, as a father, and as an artist.  I have responsibilities in my job.  I have responsibilities to my friends, to my extended family, to previous and present students.  That’s a fairly long list (and not anywhere close to complete), and if I’m not careful, I can start to feel burdened by it.

But let’s talk about what that list really is.  I am madly in love with my wife.  There is no one on this earth that I would rather spend time with.  So my “duties” as they relate to her are ones that I want.  I chose them, didn’t I?  My duties to her are about putting our relationship first above all others, treating her with love and kindness, staying faithful to her.  Those are all things I get joy out of doing.  Where’s the burden there?

As I go down that list, the same thing holds true for everyone and everything that’s there.  There might be some individual tasks that I don’t think are much fun.  I don’t particularly like to change diapers.  But I love to spend time with my daughter.  The latter usually outweighs the former.

All of the weights that I’m desperately trying to hold above my head don’t actually weigh anything, when I truly put them on the scale.  The only thing that weighs something is the weight of my fears.  I’m afraid I won’t be a good enough husband, father, artist, son, teacher, friend, etc., etc., etc.  That’s what starts to pull me down.

Fear.  It comes back to that a lot.  When I’m afraid that I’m not a good enough husband, I pull away from my wife in order to protect her from myself, thereby making me the kind of husband I’m afraid to be.  I’m completely ignoring the pain I’m causing her in that moment because I’m thinking only of myself and my fears.

As artists, we’re afraid to put both feet in because we’re afraid of how much it will hurt if we fail.  We’re afraid to risk being vulnerable for fear that we’ll be misunderstood.  We’re afraid to share our gifts due to the panic that we’re not really any good.

Doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter if we’re any good, or if we’ll be misunderstood, or if we’ll fail.  If we choose not to try, we deprive the world of our unique voice, our special “take” on the universe.  And that’s tragic.

I used to think that it would be much easier if someone would just tell me that I wasn’t good enough to pursue acting.  Then I’d be off the “hook.”

There is no hook.

I have been surprised too many times by students that I thought had no talent.  All of the sudden, something would click, and I was weeping as a result of watching their fully connected and committed performances.  I no longer give up on students.  If they want to stop, that’s their choice, but I’m not going to tell someone not to continue. That’s just not part of my job.

My responsibilities are a gift.  They are a joy.  They are a blessing.

And the weight of all my fears is a burden that I can choose to put down.

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