I think whats most interesting about recent events in local theater is how the discussion surrounding them is unearthing long-buried hurt and unexpressed love and admiration, reviving and resolving old disputes, confirming and erasing tribal boundaries. Touching to see us elevate our heroes in an attempt to keep despair and anger at bay, and interesting to see how that brings its own kind of hurt, as some wonder what more they could have done to secure the admiration of others; interesting to see, especially if not solely in myself, a festering guilt that I should crave recognition and admiration at all, be hurt by its perceived absence, or, worse, be indifferent to its honest and heartfelt expressions because it wasnt the kind of recognition or admiration I really wanted, as though Id gotten a kitten when Id asked for a puppy and failed to notice the little furball had fallen asleep, purring, on my lap. Ill probably be second-guessing everything Ive said on anyones page for weeks, months, even years to come; I cant but wonder if every role I never get or every audition notice that never even reaches my inbox is revenge for a perceived slight on someone--directly, or simply by way of elucidating some idiosyncrasy of my taste or worldview--by whom Im certain I could be forgiven if I could just offer the right apology or a classically Lyam-esque wordy, circuitous, poetically rich, philosophically loaded (and utterly undisciplined and confused) explanation/diatribe/manifesto. Its how my mind works (or fails to work) now, and Ive really only given it more material to work with--more truths (or what may only have seemed like truths at the time) that couldnt remain silent that, once spoken, could be used against me, and every time I dont get precisely what I hoped for, I will wonder whether it was my gifts that failed me or my tongue (and know, deep down, that neither answer will feel very satisfying). But what I know is that all of this angst in me, flavored with the inevitable autumnal melancholy (and bogged down by the powerful fatigue borne of just plain having too much to do, all of it wonderful), is filled, just at this moment, with all kinds of love. Love for the only city where Ive ever really felt at home, the only community where Ive ever, in those moments when my insecurity doesnt win over all other impulses, felt like I belonged. Its hard to say what, exactly, Im thanking you for, but thank you seems right, appropriate, true.
Posted on: Fri, 26 Sep 2014 23:31:32 +0000
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