It seemed like a risky choice at the time, but my degree in acting has been more useful than I ever could have imagined. Every day, both personally and professionally, I call on the skills I learned during that time. I was recently setting up a little area in my home so that I could record remote read-alouds for my preschool class, and I thought about how lucky I was to have some of my undergrad classes to help me through this new and unusual territory. After all, I knew how to connect with a camera, how to assume different character roles, and how to articulate sharply. And I did rely on that knowledge as I talked to the tiny black screen on my laptop. What surprised me, though, is that I'm finding an entirely different performing arts skill is helping me the most as I shift into distance teaching:
Leaving it at the door.
Leaving it at the door.
My kids are really good at implementing this advice. Literally.
I heard it over and over again during those four years of training. Whatever you have going on in your life - whatever stress or baggage or distractions you're bringing with you - leave it at the door. For the time you are working, commit to being fully present. Commit to being fully available to your partner, fully open as a channel for the energy in the space. All of the "stuff" you left at the door will still be there at the end of class. But, for now, there is only now.
This is not easy to do, of course. It takes discipline and surrender and courage. There are plenty of times I didn't succeed in leaving my own personal chaos at the door, and my work reflected it. But there were also times when I was able to do just that; times when, looking into my acting partner's eyes, time ceased, and there was nothing but the shared experience of living this exact moment together. The words would flow without effort, emotions would surface unbidden. It wasn't acting, it was just being - with an audience. And not performing as some separate, imaginary character, but simply revealing my own humanity.
This is not easy to do, of course. It takes discipline and surrender and courage. There are plenty of times I didn't succeed in leaving my own personal chaos at the door, and my work reflected it. But there were also times when I was able to do just that; times when, looking into my acting partner's eyes, time ceased, and there was nothing but the shared experience of living this exact moment together. The words would flow without effort, emotions would surface unbidden. It wasn't acting, it was just being - with an audience. And not performing as some separate, imaginary character, but simply revealing my own humanity.
To say I am distracted these days would be an understatement. I am perpetually preoccupied and anxious, pounding together jigsaw puzzle pieces that aren't designed to fit. In the span of a day ( sometimes just hours), I am angry, grateful, heartbroken, hopeful. My "stuff" feels really big and messy right now, and leaving it at the door feels hard. But when I look into my students' eyes through the screen (or even just imagine them while I am recording), I know I want to try. I tell myself I can. I can leave that bag, bursting at the seams, right at the door to wait for me. I can breathe with them. Be with them. Hold space for them.
Just for now, we will be in the right now. Together.
Just for now, we will be in the right now. Together.
