When I was working on my BFA, I had a professor say something that I would remember forever:
"You're only as good an actor as you are a liver of life."
(I scribbled it on a Post-It and kept it above my desk for the rest of my college career.)
Mind you, this woman's class was brutal and lasted the entire year. I cried in her presence more times than I can count because she just pushed us so hard. She knew exactly where all of my most vulnerable spots were and got right down to business dismantling all the coping mechanisms I'd developed over the years to ignore them. In front of my classmates. Repeatedly. Her class was grueling, to say the least, both technically and emotionally. So it was surprising when she offered up this advice. It was also a relief. Because what I heard - as this overwhelmed twenty-year-old barely keeping my head above the water - was that mastery of technique alone would not make me a good actor. All that hard work had to be accompanied by a deep sense of humanity, and that's something that can't be learned in a studio. I had to get out there and live my life. Because the more I experienced; the more I allowed myself to feel; the more people I engaged; the richer and more authentic my work would be.
"You're only as good an actor as you are a liver of life."
(I scribbled it on a Post-It and kept it above my desk for the rest of my college career.)
Mind you, this woman's class was brutal and lasted the entire year. I cried in her presence more times than I can count because she just pushed us so hard. She knew exactly where all of my most vulnerable spots were and got right down to business dismantling all the coping mechanisms I'd developed over the years to ignore them. In front of my classmates. Repeatedly. Her class was grueling, to say the least, both technically and emotionally. So it was surprising when she offered up this advice. It was also a relief. Because what I heard - as this overwhelmed twenty-year-old barely keeping my head above the water - was that mastery of technique alone would not make me a good actor. All that hard work had to be accompanied by a deep sense of humanity, and that's something that can't be learned in a studio. I had to get out there and live my life. Because the more I experienced; the more I allowed myself to feel; the more people I engaged; the richer and more authentic my work would be.
(I was a lion, and I was living the dream. Photo credit: The Waterbury Republican-American)
It's been fourteen years since my last acting job ("A Midsummer Night's Dream," if you're curious), but I find myself holding on to my professor's words even now. I see so many similarities between my work as an actor and as a teacher, and the advice feels just as relevant in my life today. Granted, some things are different. Now I'm reading Piaget, not Stanisklavski. I'm studying Vygotsky instead of Meisner. But, like that undergrad struggling to conquer technique, it's still so tempting for me to focus entirely on the academic world of teaching. To tell myself that, if I just understand the material really, really well, I'll be good at what I do.
It's not enough.
I know I am doing my best teaching when I'm leaning on my knowledge of theory while bringing my full self to my students.
But how do I do that? When I'm tired, stressed, preoccupied, or otherwise cranky? How can I bring my truest, most alive self to my work when there are so many reasons to be depleted?
I bring myself back to simply being "a liver of life." A liver of life outside of the classroom. A liver of life as a dynamic, complex, passionate woman who also just happens to be a teacher for a portion of her day. I squirrel away these moments whenever I can. It might be during a great podcast on my morning commute, sleeping in on a Saturday, or chatting with my favorite barista. Breaks away from teaching are sometimes short (mindful breaths at the water fountain while my class is in art), sometimes long (a family trip to Disney World), but they're always opportunities to be a liver of life.
This summer, I plan on doing a lot of life-living. For me, that looks like...
This time away from work is essential because these are the moments when I become myself. It's when I cultivate the unique individual that no other teacher in the world can offer.
Be sure to live your life, teacher, and cultivate yourself in whatever breaks you have. Your work will be better because of it.
It's not enough.
I know I am doing my best teaching when I'm leaning on my knowledge of theory while bringing my full self to my students.
But how do I do that? When I'm tired, stressed, preoccupied, or otherwise cranky? How can I bring my truest, most alive self to my work when there are so many reasons to be depleted?
I bring myself back to simply being "a liver of life." A liver of life outside of the classroom. A liver of life as a dynamic, complex, passionate woman who also just happens to be a teacher for a portion of her day. I squirrel away these moments whenever I can. It might be during a great podcast on my morning commute, sleeping in on a Saturday, or chatting with my favorite barista. Breaks away from teaching are sometimes short (mindful breaths at the water fountain while my class is in art), sometimes long (a family trip to Disney World), but they're always opportunities to be a liver of life.
This summer, I plan on doing a lot of life-living. For me, that looks like...
- going makeup free, air-drying my hair, and being barefoot as much as possible.
- listening with borderline obsession to various original Broadway cast recordings (I'm waiting, Hadestown).
- reading lots of deliciously distracting novels that I can devour in a day.
- wine at dusk on the porch, waiting for the fireflies to come out.
- brightly-polished toes in cool water.
- long talks with my mom over coffee.
- late nights watching weird documentaries on Netflix.
- new adventures with my daughters that are just a drive away.
- practicing yoga, going for an early-morning run, and maybe even trying out an aerial class (because, truly, my secret wish is to join the circus).
This time away from work is essential because these are the moments when I become myself. It's when I cultivate the unique individual that no other teacher in the world can offer.
Be sure to live your life, teacher, and cultivate yourself in whatever breaks you have. Your work will be better because of it.
