The Performer, The Mask

People who know me will say I'm honest to a fault. I'm not bragging, it's true. Ever since I was a kid, I loathed above anything else a liar. I would probably give more grace to a murderer than a liar. Of course, since I hated liars so much, as I grew up I came to understand that if I hated it in other people, it should absolutely not be present within me either. So I make the effort to be completely, sometimes overwhelmingly, honest (as longtime readers of this blog can attest). It's been a way of life for long enough that I suck at pretending anything.

And yet... my dream is a career in the arts. Hm.

This has been probably my single biggest barrier to the stage. I probably could be a fairly good singer/actress/dancer, if I could just emote. I have heard from so many dance teachers that I have great technique, but I need to smile more. They tell me that 'that's the first thing people notice,' but I could never understand that because when I watch someone on stage, I'm watching the body language. I'm watching the dazzling footwork, the graceful line of the neck and arms, the hand gestures, I'm hearing the rise and fall of their voice. I'm not looking at their face.

But it's becoming more apparent to me that even if I don't actually smile, I will still have to do something to infuse my dancing with emotion. I'm aware that my performing is flat -- in my head I'm jumping up and down, screaming with excitement over the mere act of dancing (heck, just being on the stage), but in my actual face and movements, it's all just sterile technique, carefully meted out according to the beat. And I've finally clued in to why it's so hard to add the emotion.

It's because of my (by now) hard-wired hatred for lying and deception. Yet the very nature of the stage is deception. We put on makeup, we wear period clothes, we jump the same height every time even if we're exhausted... it's all deception. Yes, the audience knows it's deception, but it's still deception. Honesty has been so hard-wired into me that even acting is difficult -- it's like it goes against everything in the universe. How do you pretend to be someone you're not? How do you pretend to feel something you're not?

I spent years disconnecting my outside from my inside and the result is that my body is an emotionless mask -- like the mannequin on the Doppelgänger artwork -- as the mind within whirs and buzzes like the electronics in Youth With A Machine. I spent years separating the two (silencing the truth rather than changing it -- so technically not lying), and now I've been trying to make them line up again so the honesty is richer and deeper. I still haven't figured that out. And then, when I perform, I'm expected to show emotions I don't feel and sometimes haven't shown outwardly in over a decade.

Dance, I think, is the hardest because you don't have words to fall back on. In a song, you have the lyrics to help fill in some of the blanks. In acting, you not only have your lines, you have dialogue between you and another person, which fleshes things out even more. But in dancing you're on your own, and often there isn't even a basic plotline written out anywhere like there is for a play or a film. You kind of have to make up your own. This had never even occurred to me until last autumn, and I still have no clue how to go about doing it since it was only mentioned in passing.

It seems strange to me that I would find this so hard. Since I know I can effectively separate my mind and my actions, why can't I take it one step further and raise the actions from a mere empty shell to something with intent -- even if it's the intent of a character?

The Jealousy In Me

Someone from our church was recently in an accident.
She's the associate pastor's wife and a very sweet person, but for some reason I'm jealous.
Everyone in the church has sent out emails and posted on Facebook to pray for her.
Last year I was in a very serious accident. My life (or at least the use of my legs) was spared by five inches.
Aside from four cliché comments on my status requesting prayer for the baby in the other vehicle, nobody gave a crap about it.  'Oh did you hear Kate was in an accident?' 'No. How is she?' 'Fine.' 'Hmph. Figures.'
I realise this person is a lot more popular with the general congregation (not to mention more widely known), but this bothers me. Why does everyone fret about her and not me? All I got was a couple of half-baked 'oh yeah sure, glad you're okay' from everyone who heard about it (save one close friend who actually was concerned) and this person gets dozens of people sending out petitions through various mediums to pray for her plus people saying 'Oh no! I'm so glad you're okay! We love you -- take it easy!' and similar sentiments.
You know, when I was in my accident, I was basically fine -- the standard whiplash and some recurring breathing problems but nothing too serious really. But was it too much to ask for a little sympathy? How would these people feel if I had died that day -- ripped out of the world at such a young age?
Apparently they wouldn't have missed me.
I know it's ridiculous to suddenly get all offended about it nearly a year later, but would it really have been too much to ask to get an 'I love you' or a hug along with one of those 'glad you're ok' clichés? Was the only reason they were glad I was okay because since I was okay they wouldn't need to feel guilty about wishing me dead and then having it come true?
If I bring so much to the world as they say, why then were they so blasé about it? Certainly, this person in the church is lucky to be alive, just as I was, and I really am glad she's all right, but... how come everyone loves her and not me? Have I alienated that many people already? Have I hurt so many by careless words (the last of which were spoken almost three years ago, prior to this being brought to my attention and the subsequent efforts I've made to curb my tongue)? Have I ruined the lives of so many by simply existing? Is my perfectionism (which I'm openly trying to tone down) that intimidating that people would find it a relief to have me wiped off the planet?
Perhaps I should have died in that accident, because apparently nobody needs me here no matter how much they say they do.

Justice, Sweet Justice

Do you remember the party I mentioned the other day?
The primary reason nobody responded (I found out later) was because of the annual paintball tournament put on by the church. I had completely forgotten it was this weekend until I'd already sent out invitations to my party.
Oh well, I thought. Even if they come late, they can still come.
So I changed the information in the Facebook event (and made it known to those who aren't on Facebook) to make it clear that if you had to come late, it would be perfectly all right.
Still no one responded, except the youth pastor heading up the paintball event. He and his wife would most definitely be there, he said, but they would be a bit late.
While I appreciated that, it frustrated me quite a bit to know that the youth pastor was willing to take the time to attend, but no one else was. They were going on the same paintball excursion; they would be arriving home on the same bus; for the most part they all live within the same town; yet the youth pastor was willing to come and they weren't.
They didn't say they weren't willing, of course. Those who I asked point-blank said something along the lines of 'I'm so sorry, I really wanted to come but I can't because paintball day is a big tradition for us so yeah...'
No, you don't really want to come. You aren't sorry at all. If you were, you'd come out for at least the second half of the party.
So I simmered, although the sudden availability of two close friends who had previously been unable to come eased the pain a little.
But now, today -- paintball day and party day -- it's raining, twelve degrees (Celsius), windy, and muddy. Less than an hour ago, paintball day was officially canceled.
And all those who thought paintball was more important than one they call their friend (and who even went so far as to lie to that friend) will now spend their afternoon sitting at home refreshing Facebook and/or mindlessly watching crap on YouTube while my real friends and I laugh together and enjoy steak and crisps in my house.
Sweet, sweet justice.