Stage Fright? ...Now?

I am two weeks away from tap dancing in an established music festival which could draw up to 450 people. I am high enough in the billing that my name actually appears on the poster that's plastered around town and circulating social media. As far as I know, nobody has tap danced in this festival before.

 

I am rather terrified.

 

This is strange for me. Even as a kid, I never got stage fright. As I waited backstage for my first ever dance recital performance, I waited for the nerves to show up, but they never did. Twenty-five years of performing and they never have.

 

I've tap danced in front of bigger crowds than this. But usually those performances are in darkened theatres with audiences who came fully expecting to see dance. An outdoor mostly-folk music festival that's marketed to a somewhat faith-based and generally older audience is NOT the same thing. When I submitted my proposal, I half-expected to be laughed out of their email inbox. Instead, they offered me a slot.

 

I have spent literal months agonising over which songs to use. They had to be pieces I either already knew or could memorise thoroughly enough to perform comfortably (which limited my options severely), and they had to be accessible for an audience that has almost certainly never seen tap dance before and is at this event for the acoustic guitar music.

The day before the performers were publicly announced, I finally settled on my final set list.

 

I'm starting them off simple, with some classic, upbeat Michael Card. Then we're moving to a similarly upbeat-sounding Steve Scott (but with more pensive lyrics). After that, there is the obligatory DA song, which will make absolutely no sense to anybody in the entire audience (but the tap dancing sounds cool), and then I'll hit them with the biggest risk -- an NF song. Like an honest-to-goodness rap song (*clutches pearls*). It's a huge risk, given the target audience, but my choreography for that song is absolutely show-stopping. I cannot follow that with anything else currently in my repertoire. I have to end off with this one.

 

I keep reminding myself that I have spent my entire adult life launching myself off artistic cliffs... and surviving. I keep reminding myself how so many people look at the barriers I've pushed back on and how they've called me courageous, with a blush of awe in their voices. I keep reminding myself of all the other faith-based audiences I've accosted with my art and how many of them actually loved what I did, even though it was (*gasp!*) dance. I remember how my most recent tap dance performance (in Newsies) brought down the house every single time.

I can do this. I have done this.

 

But I'm still terrified.

Meds And Gym And Shows And Van

I didn't realise it had been so long since my last post.

I'm still on the meds. No side effects, and the faintest whisper of actual effects. The pharmacist told me straight-up when I filled the prescription that I probably would need to bump up the dose. I did notice slightly less resistance to switching tasks in the beginning, and I have managed to stay on top of the household chores since I started taking it -- this is something that has never happened for longer than two weeks. I had a doctor's appointment on Monday, and we have increased the dose slightly.

I also got a gym membership at the end of January, and have kept it up so far -- I'm literally only using it for access to the dance studio. Tap shoes aren't allowed, but $48 a month is still a MUCH better deal than the $40 PER HOUR that it costs me to rent the local dance studio.

 

We are officially halfway through our current show -- my first show in the major city I've been trying to break into since 2018. My husband is also in this show and he's grown so much already as a person and an actor. It's in a beautiful old venue (over a century old) that's just packed with character and stories. The people have been lovely so far and I'm having a lot of fun.

 

An undercurrent to all this has been vehicle drama.

 

On 15 February, on a routine trip to the grocery store, my van suddenly gave a 'reduced engine power' message and did exactly that. Even pressing the pedal to the floor barely coaxed it up to 40 km/h.

 

I limped it home and my father-in-law (our unofficial mechanic) took it to his garage, where it sat in varying states of disassembly for over a month while he cleaned, fixed, tested, waited for parts, installed, tested again, repeat. In the meantime, he graciously lent us his old truck (which, it should be noted, has SIGNIFICANTLY more kilometres on it than the van does) as I was opening a show the following week and was in rehearsal for two others.

 

This was all well and good until the truck requested an oil change. We returned it to father-in-law's place, where he discovered a bad axle and recommended that we not drive it on the highway.

 

Not a single one of these shows are in the town in which we actually live. The literal only thing I was doing with that truck was highway driving.

 

He gave us this diagnosis on a Saturday afternoon. We had a rehearsal 150 kilometres away in less than 24 hours -- the final rehearsal before tech week, and our first in the performance venue. We couldn't miss that rehearsal. My husband despaired, and I, out of some old dusty reflex, began praying of all things. This is something I have not very seriously done since the night my cousin died -- fast approaching ten years ago.

That same Saturday night, I had been asked to work an event (in town, thankfully) at a performing arts venue I occasionally pick up hours at.

 

My former boss (from my last fast food job) was attending this event, and over the course of conversation, our vehicle troubles and the impending rehearsal came up.

 

"Do you want to borrow a vehicle?" he asked.

 

Arrangements were made, and the next morning he dropped off a very nice GMC (which, I noted, also had a lot more kilometres than the van). We made it to rehearsal and back, and within the week the truck was highway-driveable again (which was more than could be said for the van, which had already been declared repaired and highway tested once only to melt down dramatically again the second I touched it).

 

As I write, my father-in-law has taken the van to two separate repair garages in an attempt to figure out what's wrong, as by this time he's replaced almost every component in the thing with no success. The first garage followed a red herring, but the second garage discovered a catastrophic electrical failure (I'm surprised the van was even turning on at all based on the description I was given) and, at last report, were waiting for a replacement part to come in. We will be on the hook for over $800 by the time that part is installed (and we can only hope that solves the problem). That old prayer reflex kicked in again.

I put out a single plea on my social media, linking to my Ko-fi page. We received a decent donation right away, but then it sat for a week... until I woke up Sunday morning to a $500 donation.

All these years I thought maybe I had misunderstood God's calling -- that I had mistakenly attributed my love for performing to Him when it wasn't from Him at all. But He got us to that rehearsal, against all odds. He has brought us over half of the amount we will need to pay for that repair, and is there really any reason to believe the remainder isn't forthcoming?

And, looking further back -- He has provided not one, but three pairs of tap shoes when I needed them. I have not paid for tap shoes out of pocket since 2012.

I let that stupid 'Christian' college convince that God did not care about my pain and was only interested in my pre-existing happiness. I let the ones who claimed to trust God tell me that my 'talent' was only in my head and that I'd never be any real use to anyone -- in performing or otherwise.

 

This does not mean I'm over my cousin's death. I don't think I ever will be. But maybe I can find a way to live -- albeit differently -- in a world without her.

Creative Residency Update

I'm now two months into my God-sponsored creative residency.

 

I'm over three-quarters done my next major dance work (Smaller).

 

I've managed to get into four shows so far this year, with two more pending.

 

I've read three books so far.

 

I've started drawing in earnest, especially in these past few weeks.

 

I've done a lot of cross-stitching (on both my theatre jacket and my husband's).

 

I've noticed my memory is getting stronger. I'm in my biggest post-pandemic acting role yet, and... I wasn't even the last one off-book. It feels -- at this exact moment, anyway -- that maybe I can still have a viable theatre career despite everything. And maybe I don't have to destroy myself to do it... theatre is no longer my only reason for living. It's a huge part of keeping my mental health in shape and it still brings me much joy, but I don't have to be in four shows at a time to earn the privilege of breathing oxygen.

When there are no shows, I can spend time with my husband, and I can draw, and I can read. I also discovered the Sims, and that's the first computer game besides Spider Solitaire, Ultimate Yahtzee, and Minecraft that I'm both competent in and actually enjoy.

I have been very productive (see above), but I have also managed to learn to ACTUALLY relax, for possibly the very first time in my entire life. I'm a little worried about how re-integrating into the workforce next month will go (especially with my two biggest shows of the year so far ramping up around that same time), but these months off have been a much-needed break so far. I don't think I have properly let my mind, soul, and body rest since I was 18 years old. That was... well over a decade ago. I still wake up in the morning and have to consciously remind myself that I don't have any looming deadlines or responsibilities that day and that I can relax.

I do wish I was doing more creative things sometimes, but at the same time, I'm happy with what I've accomplished so far, and am happy to carry that momentum forward.

I'm also somehow less stressed about money? I did apply for (and receive) unemployment benefits from the government and what they're paying me is comparable to what I was making, but somehow we don't seem to run out of money as quickly. I don't know if I'm just less stressed in general which is carrying over to our finances or if we're being more responsible, or what, but I'm not going to argue. I'm just hoping that peace continues even after I go back to work.

 

The only thing I haven't done yet that I still want to establish before I go back to work is a dance studio. I want to start ACTUALLY moving my body again. I can feel it locking up, and I hate that feeling. But the only way out from stiffness is to get moving.

Film, Musicals, And Teaching -- A Performing Arts Update

I suppose I should do an update about the thing that drove me to start this blog in the first place -- the arts. Specifically, dance and writing.

 

Right now, I'm actually choreographing my second full musical. This one has a much larger cast (50 people), so I finally get to do big group numbers, like I've wanted to do ever since I first started making up dances in my head in the early 2000s.

 

There's a certain level of fear that comes with choreographing for a group that big in real life. You simply are not going to please everybody. In a group that large is that the gamut of dance experience/ability is quite wide. This is further complicated by the fact that the show is double-cast... and they double-cast all the best dancers. Which means I can't rely on them, as they will only be in half the shows.

 

My husband and I were also in a short film, which was shot this past month, with a tentative release date of next spring. This was our first time on a real film set. It is very different from live theatre, and it does move a lot slower, but the other cast and the crew were all great people, and we had a great time. It's surreal to actually put a real film credit on my résumé after 24 years of almost-exclusively live performance credits.

 

Both of us also just finished up a live show this week, and I have a readthrough on Monday.

I'm also still working in the theatre industry (on the front end), and that has helped my mental health and peace of mind SO much... knowing that my career and my dreams are no longer completely out of alignment. The only wrinkle is that once this theatre's Christmas show wraps, I will be laid off until the end of March, when the 2025 season starts up. I have a very part-time/casual substitute dance teaching gig, but it will be once a month, if that.

As for my own choreography, I have a film in mind that I want to make and I've already cast the dancer for it, but I just have to carve out some time to actually finish choreographing the piece. This is a piece very much made for the dancer and her abilities (that is to say... way too complicated for my own abilities). I am considering having this piece be the first to bear the name of the dance company that I want to start.

There are some teaching opportunities that I am thinking about pursuing, and I have gotten wind of a potential dance space where I could rehearse pieces (lots of things still need to fall into place for that to work out though).

And still I am afraid. I'm afraid that I'll mess it all up somehow. It was so much easier to create when I was the only one taking the fall if it was terrible. But if I start actually choreographing for other people and start making bigger works, then other people's names and reputations are also on the line. It's so easy to look at myself, at my neurodivergence, and think that I have nothing whatsoever to offer this neurotypical world, and how dare I rope other people into this who could have better chances with a neurotypical creative, who has all her emotions in order and a more consistent stream of motivation and is not constantly sidetracked by worrying about money (because for some dumb reason we have to eat food, which costs money, to survive).

More Of The Dream

I guess I can now officially announce that I am choreographing my first-ever theatre musical!

This is a HUGE step, one that I was starting to think I would never get to take. This is a major milestone on my journey to fulfilling my lifelong dream.

I've done a couple of 'assistant choreographer' things, but this is the first one that is both 1. all mine (not 'assistant' or 'guest'), and 2. not also performed by me, myself, and I.

I remember being seventeen and my parents, my extended family, and my church despairing when I told them I wanted to be a choreographer. How they told me it was a pipe dream and I would be wasting my life and should just get a 'real job' (side note: the real job is trying to kill me. It has destroyed my body more in three years than dance EVER did in all twenty years put together). How hard I had to fight to get anybody (including performing arts profs) to take me seriously. How everybody thought I was too stiff and graceless (and don't forget stubborn and stupid) to be a dancer and would never amount to anything in the performing arts.

Here I am, lead choreographer for a musical theatre production.

Are there other, bigger steps further down the path that I want to take? Absolutely. But this is an important one, and this is one that not one person was convinced I would ever take.

Years ago, back when I was only just beginning to admit to myself that I felt a calling to be a choreographer, I named my Instagram account 'dancer by grace.' I saw myself as a dancer who was called and equipped by God's grace. And there are many stories (many of which are on this very blog) of God's provision along the way. I have not paid out-of-pocket for tap shoes since my first-ever pair in 2012. God led people to gift me the money for all the shoes since then. That's just one example.

They say that the foolish things of the world would shame the wise. I guess I am one of those foolish things.

Dance Film? Part 2

I filmed the thing. A casual perusal of the footage looks good, though I haven't checked the sound. But at this point, what I have is what I have and I'm going to have to work with it. If I absolutely have to, I can rent the studio for an hour and record an overdub (though I'd rather not).

I'm glad I did it. Once I actually got going, I was at peace. Peace is so hard to find for me nowadays (working in fast food and walking on tiptoes around my in-laws every second of every day are not exactly peace-inciting activities), and it's been so long since I was in a regular dance class that I've forgotten what it's like to just lose yourself in dance.

I have said many times that dance was probably the reason nobody ever cottoned on to my ADHD -- it gave me an outlet for my physical energy and quieted my racing thoughts for long enough periods of time to keep me from spiraling into madness. (Dance has quite literally saved my life on suicidal days.)

But when I was dancing on Monday, despite thinking about the choreography and the music and the timing and the dynamics, all other thoughts were gone from my mind. My mind was active -- thinking about dancing -- but calm. I wasn't chasing threads of half-formed ideas crisscrossing just out of my reach and despairing that maybe I just lost The One -- the Big Idea that finally gets me out of this rut. I don't ever -- EVER -- get that calm anywhere else. I was well and truly in the zone. Despite having to re-start over and over (because my memory unfortunately is still trash even when my mind is at peace), I managed to not get frustrated (filming outside in 10 degrees and light rain probably helped too because I wasn't dying of internal nuclear meltdown #sensoryissues).

I still don't know how it looks. But as I wrote in my journal on Sunday night, somewhere in the midst of all the despair: 'any footage is better than no footage.'

Now to get my iPod to remember that AirDrop is a thing so I can transfer the B-roll...

Dance Film...? (An Update And Small Vent)

At the beginning of the year, I swore to myself that I would ACTUALLY make two dance films this year.

I knocked out one (Sottovoce) almost immediately, and allowed myself to do a smaller, simpler one for the second. I finally picked one, and have been trying to memorise the thing since July.

It's still not memorised.

This is the only weekend I can film it, as this will be the last weekend of the year that I have access to this location and I REALLY don't want to film it indoors (in the same studio as Sottovoce to boot). I want to infuse colour and life into this dead town and filming outside in the fall leaves is the best way I can see to do that.

I also can't break a promise to myself again.

The only promise to myself I've kept this year so far is to finish the Kyrie rewrite. Don't get me wrong, that was a MASSIVE accomplishment, but I don't want the rest of this year to be a total washout.

I've been doing all the right things. I've been running this piece every spare second I have for three months. I didn't have access to a tap floor until tonight so I've been drilling the choreography into my head, knowing that only goes so far but wanting to give myself the best possible advantage.

I wanted to film this thing tomorrow. But it SUCKS.

The choreography is (mostly) great. But my memory -- apparently now my achilles' heel -- is doing its best to sabotage me at every. single. turn (literally and figuratively).

I don't want to fail yet again. I've broken this promise to myself so many times. I don't want to fail again. I don't want to fail again. But it looks like I may have no other option.

Follow Where?

I'm starting to get restless.

I'm almost three years deep into a 'normal' job. And while I'm good at it and enjoy the actual work... I'm tired. It's that bone-deep exhaustion that I've learned should not be ignored. I only work one day this week because it's tech week for the show I'm in (we open Friday!), and I'm so excited to just... not wake up at 6am. I would turn in my notice this week if I could -- despite the fact that they just announced all employees would be making one extra dollar per hour during the summer.

Maybe it's because I'm in a show -- a rare occasion here in the desert. I know I'm not star material and maybe I never will be, but I am now more happy being a one-line character than I would have been five years ago. I keep thinking of Jesus' words, "Follow Me."

I want to. But where is He, that I might follow? And what must I leave behind -- my job that's paying our bills or the dream I've been clinging to for nearly three decades? Of course my bias/special interests say to leave my job and follow the dream, but is it too soon? I want to follow God's timing, but I don't know what that is. How can I follow a guide that I can't see or hear? He says things like 'love your enemies,' and 'bear witness to the kingdom of God' and 'repent,' but that doesn't tell me whether or not I should be leaving my job or if I should be pursuing this dream of mine.

I want to be self-employed somehow. I miss being able to set my own hours. Even at college, I had control over when I did things as long as I attended classes. Classes were only an hour and fifteen mintues. They were just a part of my day, not the whole entire day like a day job is.

My husband is self-employed now (though it's commission, and he's not 'big' enough yet to maintain a reliably sustaining paycheque), and I'm really kind of jealous. Kyrie is so close to done, so hopefully publishing (read: maybe a small income) is in the not-too-distant future, plus I have two dance film ideas that can hopefully happen by the end of this year, but I can't assume both of those will sustain us. There's no money in dance films unless those films bring in choreographer contracts.

The other day, I remembered for the first time in a long time how my dad, a self-employed contractor, has never lacked for work. Whenever he started getting to the end of his bookings, the phone would start ringing again and he'd suddenly be back to booking six to eight months in advance again. He did no advertising, but he never ran out of work. God always brought more contracts. And I wonder if that's what I -- what we -- need to do. I never realised till now how frightening it must have been at times to know how completely our family's lives were in God's hands, how the only reason my dad ever had work was because God brought it to him. It's completely possible -- I lived it. Everything I ever had as a child -- food, lodging, clothing, lessons -- were as a direct result of God's provision. But my dad is also a much more righteous person than I am. God has blessed him, a righteous man. But I -- I am not the good Christian I used to be. My mid-to-late twenties were a very dark time and I made some very poor choices in those years when I thought God had abandoned me and nothing mattered anymore.

I am less than a decade away from the age my dad was when he started his business. It's not too late. Maybe it's the perfect time. I am in a more calm place now than I was in 2019 when my mindset was 'theatre professional or bust'... and I almost quite literally busted. I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps for every audition, every gig, every piece of choreography, every show, and I almost literally died. The only thing that stopped the madness was the pandemic and even then it was years before I properly acknowledged that I was burnt out and that I needed to breathe in for a while without pressuring myself to create -- at least not at the level I had been.

Or maybe it's too soon. Knowing I have a neurological condition that sets me up to do things before thinking them through is making me paranoid that I'm missing something vitally important and I'd be rushing into things if I quit my day job now. There's also the fact that every time I even think about coming close to broaching this topic with my husband (because isn't a good wife supposed to discuss these kinds of things with her significant other?), he suddenly relapses back into the angry person who rages at me for hours over literally nothing and of course I have to put my life on pause and sideline all my exhaustion and all my needs until I can talk him into being a reasonable human being again.

Again... how on earth am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to follow a leader I can't see? How can I follow the timing of a clock that doesn't exist?

Nachmo, Day 16 - More Fear

So, uh... the fear didn't go away after one week. In fact, we are minutes away from closing out Week Two and I'm still just as afraid -- if not more so -- than I was before.

The fear has shifted, though. I am no longer afraid that I will not be able to finish choreographing. I am now afraid that I won't be able to learn the choreography.

On one hand, this is silly. I used to be in (read: memorise) three shows simultaneously. As soon as one would end, I'd roll in another. I have memorised entire pieces in a single afternoon multiple times. My entire Instagram page used to be basically me performing stuff I'd only memorised ten minutes earlier. There's no reason for me not to be able to do this.

But on the other hand, it's been nearly three years since I was in the middle of three simultaneous shows. I have been diagnosed with ADHD since then. I went through one of the worst periods of my personal life and am missing literally two years of memories from that time -- and because I'm only just coming out of it, a lot of conversations I have now still include the other person saying, 'don't you remember...?' Which, of course, I don't. Hearing, 'don't you remember?' multiple times every day does not exactly instill confidence in one's abilities to remember any new information.

This is silly, I tell myself. This is film. You can cut and piece together as much as you need to.

But, whispers the fear, you having to re-memorise everything right before you shoot it will waste time -- and dollars -- on set. You need to get in, shoot everything in one, maybe two takes, and get out. Your sound, light, and camera people are not going to sit around forever for free while you dilly dally about memorising stuff that you should have had memorised weeks before.

And I don't have an answer for that.

This is exactly where I'm stuck with my other dance film. Choreographing the thing is zero problem. Actually filming it with any amount of confidence is a much different story.

Your stupid sparse sound design is going to strangle you, the fear says. You're taking away the one thing that could possibly help you.

Fear doesn't like to hear that if there's little to no music, nobody will notice if I missed a phrase anyway because the music won't betray me.

But you'll know, it says. You'll know.

I'm just so tired.

I'm tired of having to fight through this voice every single minute of every single day. Memory loss is hell. I can see why depression is so high among dementia and Alzheimer's patients: memory loss -- and how people treat you when you have it -- strips away every single ounce of confidence you might have ever possessed. When you tell people you forgot, they take it personally -- 'if you really cared, you would have remembered.' And once they get that thought in their heads, there is literally nothing in the world that will ever convince them that you really did care about the thing you were supposed to remember. And then they decide that you just don't care about anything, including them, and they abandon you. There are no 'correct' words for the memory-loss patient to say that will make the other person understand that it wasn't intentional. Those words simply don't exist. So we get cut off by our friends and family, one by one. By the time the memory loss is stopped or slowed, it's too late: everybody's already gone, and they're not coming back.

And as I know all too well, the fear of abandonment is crushing.

New Professional

 Last night, I officially signed the contract for my first-ever paid acting gig.

It's such a surreal feeling. It's an honourarium (plus transportation costs) for a small local show, but it's still a paid gig. This is exactly the thing I was striving so hard for between 2018 and 2020; the thing that literally every performing arts authority at college said I would never be good enough for.

I have officially exceeded their expectations of me. And I'm only going to go farther.

This wasn't a fluke either. I have worked with this director before (as an ensemble/nonverbal character actor), so he knew exactly what I'm like to work with -- and still hired me. (This was something that my college professor was VERY clear on -- that nobody would want to work with me because I 'don't take direction well/am too stubborn.') Not only did this director hire me, he gave me a character with lines. I would also like to point out that I did not audition for this role -- I was personally invited by the director to be a part of this production.

This show is a production associated with a MAJOR annual summer production that is known internationally (that I've also been in twice now). It's a smaller show that they've never done before, but it's well-known that the venue wants to make this production an annual one as well. The show is already completely sold out.

So I guess if being paid for my work makes me a professional (I know it's attitude more than money that makes one professional, but it seems nobody outside the industry knows that), then that means I am OFFICIALLY a professional actress.

And everybody who said I couldn't do this was -- as I suspected -- extremely wrong.

Semi-Annual Update

Thought I'd do an update on my goals for 2022. The National Choreography Month update is here, but for the rest, read on.

- 14 dances in 12 months.

Just finished the fourteenth dance yesterday, 1 July. My subgoal of this was to choreograph at least sixteen counts every single day this year. So far the streak is unbroken -- yesterday brought it up to 182 days. I'm currently trying to decide what song to do next. I still plan on choreographing sixteen or more counts every day this year, and now my motivation is to see just how much choreography I can do in a year at that pace. Sixteen counts is a challenge (but not an insurmountable one) for choreographing tap dance, and it's a breeze for a moderate-tempo ballet piece. I seem to be alternating between choreographing ballet and tap, which is keeping the challenge level up but also balancing it with some-lower brainpower times. I think (hope) it's keeping me from burning out. At least, it seems to be working so far.

- Publish the Patreon.

I had a launch date set and everything. I had even cleared it with my husband's caseworker, which I thought was going to be the worst part. And suddenly I wondered if I was ready... if I could justify asking people for money for something I have not properly done in years, if I could make it worth their money. I am now focusing on re-building who I am as a producer and artist, strengthening my work so they can feel confident that I and my work are things worth investing in, especially with the cost of living as high as it is.

I'm doing that by forging on with producing the dance film I want to do this summer. I am also currently performing in an internationally-known show, so I've been doing promotional posts for that on my social media, reminding people that I am back and I am still doing this.

I'm also praying a lot about this. My dad and I had a long talk when I last visited my parents about God's timing, and this has been a big factor in my decision to hold off on this for now. I'm not convinced I'm in God's timing if I publish the Patreon now. It may still work out, but perhaps not as well as if I wait -- however counterintuitively -- for Him. It's hard... I haven't listened to God in close to eight years, and I'm not sure I remember what He sounds like. I'm not quite sure if I'll know His voice when I hear it. I'm hoping He has somebody (who doesn't know I already have this set up) literally tell me I should publish a Patreon, otherwise I'm not sure I'll catch on.

- Take some dance classes.

In January, a well-known figure in the tap dance world (who I auditioned for an age ago and follow on Instagram) contacted me saying she was running a rep class right at my level and would I be interested? She was willing to work out a payment plan. So I got to participate in the class -- learned so much about both myself and the art form -- and have already registered and started paying for another class session with her (takes place later this summer). I would still love to audition for the ballet company in the closest city for the 2022-23 season, but the fees are quite high (I would use Patreon to cover this, but see the discussion above about God's timing).

- Make at least two dance films.

This was supposed to be done by the end of last month, but I chickened out. After the projected film date had passed, I contacted the dancer and asked if she was even still interested. She was, so I sent her the choreography and she's currently rehearsing it. My job is to develop my character's costume, buy a fill light, and pick a shoot day/location. I have a couple ideas for the second one, but I'm trying to really focus on this one first.

- Do a live performance of my choreography, somehow/somewhere.

This is kind of on the back burner for now. I would busk at the farmer's market, but that currently runs the same days as the show I'm in for the next month.

- Actually (re)learn some of my pieces. Make a rep-building schedule and stick to it.

Struggling with this one yet again, for the same reason. It's just not fun to re-learn old pieces (says ADHD). Haven't figured out how to make it fun yet. I've relearned Emotional Tourist and half of two other pieces in spite of myself though.

- Busk at the farmer's market.

See above. I NEED to learn rep for this to happen, but I just... can't. It's so frustrating.

- Do at least one theatre show.

I guess you already know how that one's going. This is my first full show since February 2020. It's been rough but mostly due to administrative issues. The actors are great, and the show itself presents beautifully. I'm proud to have my name attached to it.

- Continue posting on this blog.

A little disappointed here, but not overly. The lack of posting here is because I'm putting in so much work on choreography, performance, and writing. At least that time wasn't spent scrolling social media.

- Do NaNoWriMo again.

We'll see come November. I'd still like to do this. I'm thinking of some kind of space story, but I haven't figured one out yet. There's one in my 'story ideas' file, but I'm not sure that's the one I want to do yet.

- Publish a short story.

This is way on the back burner for now.

- Write a short story in German.

Also on the back burner. Still learning German, but I've taken the pressure of writing a story with it off myself for now.

- Actually finish a Kyrie revision.

Believe it or not, this might actually be the year. I am some 10k words deep into this thing (the farthest I have ever gotten), and have managed to put in at least a couple sentences of work almost every day since 30 April. Having a timeline of events have helped infinitely. (Also watching a good friend of mine publish her own book and wanting to have that experience is a good motivator right now too.)

- Be more intentional about reading the Bible and praying.

Currently in a dry spell here, but this was going decently well. I've found that walking to work is a good time for praying, so at least I pray a little on the days that I work. Still haven't figured something out for my days off though.

- Pick up an instrument.

Back burner. Mostly pending money.

- Save up a $1000 emergency fund.

Not quite halfway there.

- Make myself a sweater.

I think this might be a winter project. It's so hot here in the summers that the absolute last thing I want is a heavy sweater on my lap while I work on it.

- Make birthday presents for my siblings.

I am three siblings behind. One is in progress. One I have an idea for. And one I have no idea what to get her.

Overall, I'm proud of where I am, especially in terms of the daily choreography streak and the Kyrie revision. I'm happy with how I've prioritised this list -- there's nothing on the back burner that I regret putting there. Once this Kyrie draft is finished, I'll pull something off the back burner (maybe publishing a short story?) to replace it while I wait for beta reader feedback. That'll be a while yet. I am intentionally moving slowly with the rewrite so I don't fall into the 'quantity over quality' trap and have to rewrite the thing again.

Also, I think while writing this post I may have picked my next song to choreograph. Let the streak continue!

Vulnerability

In years past, I was known for my bluntness and honesty, in all situations, 'socially acceptable' or not. This kept the weird neurotypicals at arms' length and brought the neurodiverse people who actually tell you exactly what they're thinking into my circle.

Then I went to college.

A common theme among my directors and professors was vulnerability. "You need to be more vulnerable." "You need to be more open." I couldn't understand what they were on about. I asked them so many times to define, to explain, to give an example of what they meant, but none of them could. The main one would smile sardonically and say, "I think you already know." But I didn't. How could I be vulnerable? In all my brutal honesty, what had I missed? What was I hiding that they didn't already know?

And the other day while doing the dishes it hit me.

They wanted me to be honest.

But there was a fatal flaw in their logic -- they assumed I was not already being honest. This was why I could not understand what they wanted -- I was already doing it, but they wouldn't recognise that and instead kept telling me I was wrong. The fact that they could never once explain to me over the course of five years what I was missing/doing wrong should have tipped me off that I was not actually doing anything wrong. But I knew I was inexperienced and I was trying to trust their 'experience.'

I went through an obscene amount of emotional pain in college. The death count alone from those years of my life exceeds the death toll of friends of people twice my age. I drew on that heavily for my first character -- Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden. The child loses both parents and the only home she's ever known to cholera. Surely she's haunted and grieving when she first arrives in England. I think this is what made my performance of that show so great. I could relate to the emotions of the character. And yet, I remember the director telling me that the character (at the beginning) needed to be 'happier.' He gave no reason for this. I ignored him, of course... even then, my acting instincts kicked in to save the show from his incompetence. While that's not the way I should have gone about it, he was also at fault for not being willing to acknowledge the emotional states of all the characters at all points of the show. He used this incident as proof that I was 'too stubborn' and 'refusing to be vulnerable' and ultimately used it to justify actively preventing me from getting my diploma.

To him, 'vulnerable' meant 'happy.' To me, 'vulnerable' means 'honest -- no matter what.'

To be happy at the exclusion of all other emotions -- no matter how valid -- is to skip over at minimum half of the human experience. To be vulnerable is to be honest about every emotion, not just happiness.

I maintain that I am more vulnerable every single day of my life than he perhaps has ever been at any point of his.

Return... To What?

Yesterday was my first live performance since February 2020 -- twenty-seven months ago. It was my first performance as a married woman, the first since my ADHD diagnosis, and the first performance where I didn't know a single person in either the show or the audience.

This was a curated show for National Tap Dance Day, and my class learned our entire piece over Zoom specifically for this show. I didn't meet a single one of my classmates till the day of.

I also had nobody come to see it. My family and my best friend couldn't afford the gas money (who could, really?), my in-laws were camping, and my husband stayed home as a precaution because of his health issues. I didn't have a single person the audience to greet me after the show.

This turned out to be a good thing, as it was far from the triumphant return to the stage that I hoped it would be. Dress rehearsal went well... too well. I tried to push the apprehension out of my mind, but when I pushed the apprehension away, I apparently also pushed away all memory of the second half of the dance. It was an absolute train wreck. It probably sounded like one too. I skipped huge chunks of sounds all while trying desperately to make it at least LOOK like I was doing the same thing as my classmates.

I know it's been a long time, but watching how well everyone else was doing in dress rehearsal after the same two-year interruption that I experienced made me feel even more like a has-been who really never was. I had thought -- or maybe hoped in vain -- that the long sabbatical would refresh my mind and my muscles. Apparently this was not the case. And I don't know how to come back.

So much has changed-- not just in the world, in me. I don't know who I am anymore. I was thrust so quickly into this identity that I never expected -- a wife -- in a time where not a single speck of the rest of my life was 'normal.' I had no anchor on which to build my new identity, so I cobbled together some scraps ('ADHD,' 'forgetful,' and my so-called 'friends' supplied the ever-popular 'too negative') the best I could. I tried to return to the old one -- to 'dancer' -- and my brain said 'no matches found.'

I don't know what to do. Do I try to get it back? I want to. But how?

Goals 2022

This is probably the hardest goals post I've made. Last year I skipped it entirely because pandemic, but this year CoVID-19 vaccines are a thing and things are opening up a little bit. And that means more opportunities are coming back.

So. Goals.

- National Choreography Month in January (more on that here). I'd ideally like to choreograph at least two pieces this month. I've almost certainly decided on one of them.

- 14 dances in 12 months. Managed 12 in 12 almost by accident in 2021, and I'd like to do that again this year... but up the challenge just a little bit. No sense getting stagnant and predictable.

- Finally publish my Patreon page that's literally done, just sitting and waiting to be published. I've been putting this off because I would first need to research if income from a Patreon page would affect my husband's benefits and that is a very daunting task, especially given the lack of communication we get from his case worker, not to mention the insufferably condescending attitude they give us when we finally do get through to them. But I'll need to publish this page, especially if I want to get the training necessary to pull off a full-length show by the time I'm thirty.

- Take some freakin dance classes. Do them online downstairs in the apartment laundry room if I have to.

- Make at least two dance films. Preferably at least one of them with more than one dancer (or at least with a dancer who isn't me).

- Do a live performance of my choreography somehow, somewhere. Enter stuff into showcases and competitions that I can find all over the province. Stretch goal: stage a full-length (possibly recital-style) show.

- Actually (re)-learn some of my dances. Make a learning/rep-building schedule and actually stick to it this time. (The main goal here is to have a full-length show at least learned, if not completely ready to stage, by the end of the year.)

I really don't know how I'm going to do this one. I've tried this every year since 2018 and it still hasn't stuck. I get frustrated with myself so easily and when I do manage to focus and silence the self-hatred long enough to actually learn a piece, I get bored of doing the same dances over and over. It's also really hard to practice consistently enough to learn rep when you have no consistent practice space and work saps all of your energy.

- Busk at the farmer's market this year. It's extra cash, plus practice. It's perfect -- if only I didn't have this crippling self-doubt (thanks, college) that makes me think literally everybody at the market is going to think I'm just an annoying untalented poser and an embarrassing waste of skin. (Plus, this might also throw a wrench into my husband's benefits and dealing with his case worker is not a fun time... see above.)

- Do at least one theatre show. Last time I performed onstage was February 2020 -- less than three weeks before the shutdown. Auditions are starting to open up, slowly. I did one this past spring, but then Alberta locked down again so the show got cancelled.

- Continue posting more on this blog. I'm liking the pace I've been doing lately and I'd like to keep that up. Some of my struggle with that is just a mental block that anything I post will just result in more emotional abuse from extended family. I've really pushed this blog back into hiding to avoid some of those repercussions, and that's okay. I would rather write freely on here than have to censor myself and my work to make random people happy.

- Do NaNoWriMo again in November. I'll have to come up with an idea though.

- Publish a short story.

- Write a short story in German.

- The perennial favourite: actually finish a Kyrie revision.

- Be more intentional about getting back into the Bible and praying. But more than that, actually implementing things that it says, like being thankful, not complaining, doing justly, loving mercy...

- Pick up an instrument. Either bass or piano. Learn enough to enjoy noodling. Don't get caught up expecting to become famous.

- Save up a $1000 emergency fund -- and then only touch it for ACTUAL emergencies. Remember that 'chips' or 'I forgot to take hamburger out of the freezer so I don't know what to do for dinner' is not an emergency.

- Make the sweater that I've been meaning to make for myself.

- Make birthday presents for all my siblings as needed.

We're already off to kind of a rough start, as I've managed to get a concussion and have missed all but two workdays of this pay period. We're just barely treading water financially, and now this. Is it madness to start dance classes on 8 January -- both from a concussion standpoint and a financial standpoint? Is my dream dead in the water -- again? I've already missed two years of dance, and I'm tired of not having it in my life. But can I really justify signing up for dance again when we're going to be late on our rent and I'm going to be getting less than $230 on my next paycheque?

I guess it's still better than the annual lung infection I used to get every single year at this time. Thanks, masks.

National Choreography Month - Preamble

Written 10 December 2021, 7.45pm.

In addition to individual dances, I also have varying full-length dance shows in varying stages of completion. There's the solo tap show (written loosely around a theme of escaping this world, but mostly created as a way to do the recital that my college program director cheated me out of doing -- which, by the way, means the college will not release my diploma to me because I 'didn't fulfil the program requirements.' Because the literal program director who KNEW I needed those credits for doing that recital hated me because I wasn't the sweet perfect little pushover he wanted. There's a whole rant here, but that's not the point of this post), there's the 'character vignettes' show, there's the shows I've written (or at least sketched out) based on Crumbächer's Escape From The Fallen Planet and Daniel Amos' Doppelgänger, there's the video album concept that's been written out for over half a decade and exists in pages of Benesh notation but not much else.

A few months ago, I had a flash of inspiration. I'm reluctant to share too much because it's the first pure idea I've had in a very long time, and I don't want to get caught up in trying to make it marketable like I do with everything else. It's a very close and personal topic for me, and the whole point is to celebrate that specific, personal experience, not to strike a common chord with the masses. It's a show directed to a very specific person and if nobody else gets it except that one person, I will still have succeeded.

I have already set a opening date. It's nearly five years into the future, but honestly I'll probably need that long to get my act together. I will need two children and one extremely good adult male dancer and one relatively simple-yet-large set piece.

But more than that, I need choreography.

I've been going through songs in all genres (even country, which I notoriously strongly dislike) and cherry-picking the best ones for this show. I'm shooting for roughly an hour and a half show, and I have 35 minutes of music already (and literally two full pages of music suggestions from my music nerd Facebook groups to listen through). I was just listening to the first rough iteration of the playlist tonight and it brought tears to my eyes and chills down my spine. This is shaping up really well -- I wasn't quite sure what to expect or how it would go, but I'm pleased at my preliminary progress so far.

So for Nachmo, I'm hoping to start choreographing these songs. I already have an idea of who's going to dance what (character-wise), and the staging is fairly simple -- which is exactly the point. Conveying this special relationship is absolutely key, and if all goes well for this one, I want to do another show for my husband -- and I've already got a bit of a playlist going for that one as well.

My problem will, as usual, more likely be in actually staging it rather than choreographing it. There's the part where I will have to learn the choreography; there's the part where I will have to find (audition?) dancers; the part where I will have to secure the venue and sell tickets -- unless I make it a private showing (which is also still on the table); the part where I will have to actually build the set and hire lighting and sound techs...

I'm trying not to focus on all that for the time being. I can almost guarantee that my biggest problem will be learning the choreography and rehearsing the dancers. And this doesn't happen until I can clear that hurdle.

There is a selfish part of me that wants to stage a show before I'm thirty. The show described above would, assuming it goes ahead on the projected date, happen when I'm thirty-two. I'm still considering staging the aforementioned 'escape' show before my thirtieth birthday (that's such a big number, good lord). It's already mostly choreographed, and if I can manage to conjure up enough discipline to get my lazy butt in the dance studio on any kind of regular basis (and convince my husband that I'm actually not avoiding him, just working on the dream that he 100% knew about from day one), I could theoretically learn it rather quickly. I'm not sure what venue I would use or if maybe I would just busk it and livestream it or something...although it would feel more official if it was in an actual theatre. If I still lived in Saskatchewan, I'd just book the theatre/practice space in town for a couple of nights. There is a theatre about a twenty minute drive away from where I live now... I've never seen it, nor do I know how much it costs to rent it, but that might be something to look into. There's a theatre being built in the town where I live, but there's no ETA on when that will be completed, plus I suspect that one will cost more to rent.

I'm getting off track here.

So basically, I want to start developing the first show idea during Nachmo this year. It'll take far longer than a month (at least a year, if not two) to fully choreograph, but I want to get a good head start.

The second show idea is already mostly choreographed -- I just have to finish up a few loose ends and then learn the whole thing. I was starting to learn chunks of it in fall 2020, before the second lockdown, but then in the six months of existing only in our tiny apartment or behind the coffeepots at work, I lost almost all of it. My goal with this one is to get it fully choreographed and learned by the end of the year (if not completely cleaned).

I also have a dance film in suspended animation that was supposed to happen this year, but the third lockdown put it on pause. That is still slated to go ahead in fall 2022. I still have to memorise and clean this one for myself, as well as for the other performers.

It's not lack of ideas that's holding me back, it's lack of resources. But for the month of January at least, I only have to focus on the one thing I can control, and that's the choreography itself.

Why I Make Art, Part II

Written 2 July 2021, 12.26am.

This past month, I took Andrew Nemr's online course, 'The Encounter,' and while some of it went over my head (as I suspected it might; this was a course marketed to professional dancers and I'm at best an intermediate-level tap dancer), the last two lessons opened up a window into my own soul that I never knew existed.

He talked about establishing trust with the audience -- how one must start with the common knowledge that the audience has (in terms of music, rhythm, body language... anything) and said that from here, you lead them across the bridge to the meaning that you want to convey. He went on to explain that you know you've succeeded if the comments you get afterwards are less along the lines of 'wow, I could never do that,' 'how many years have you been dancing?' 'I used to dance when I was younger,' and more along the lines of 'what were you thinking about while you were dancing that? it was so intense.' He gave several examples of the former and I related to every single one of them -- so intimately that I heard them in the voices of the people closest to me as he spoke them. Those are the exact phrases that annoy me so, so much and make me angry that they're clearly just trying to make conversation and weren't impressed at all with me or my work. They're just stock phrases, and if there is one thing on this planet that I hate (besides Hillsong music), it's stock sympathy/caring phrases. It would be almost better if they would just come out and say they hated my performance.

And in a flash, I understood what I had really been after.

It wasn't love -- as I thought it had been in Part I -- or at least not exclusively. It was understanding.

That's what I've been chasing after all these years. All I wanted was to be understood. Not just brushed aside or given a flippant 'yeah, I hear ya' -- understood.

That's what I've been missing this whole time.

That's why I always feel so unfulfilled whenever I leave the theatre after a show with the stock phrases of my friends and family ringing in my ears. This is why I've been suicidal for most of my life. This is why, when Brittney and my cousin died, I repeated the story and rehashed how I was feeling over and over and over, probably literally millions of times, like a stuck record, for YEARS until I was mentally abused into silence and a deeper self-hatred for 'not getting over it' immediately. This is why I wasted my entire life bending over backwards, allowing myself to be manipulated by directors and churches in hopes that if I could just be subservient enough then they would love me and I would finally have what I wanted... except I wouldn't have.

I had love, at least in an imperfect and patchy way. I look back on my life and I can see moments where my parents and maybe even a couple of friends really did care about me. But I cannot think of even one single moment where I felt understood. Not by my parents. Not by my friends. Not by my husband. Not. Anybody.

This would have been a crushing blow -- maybe nobody will ever understand me -- except that Nemr had already paved the way by saying that you start with the common knowledge that everybody has before you lead them across the bridge to what you actually want to say. It's the exact opposite of what I usually do -- I usually just jump right into the deep end because I honestly prefer other people to do that as well. I hate small talk and pre-amble (big words for somebody who's spent a full eleven years posting rambly drivel on this very blog). But Nemr not only showed me what was wrong, he gave me a solution to try. It may be very much against my entire personality, but clearly the personality I have wasn't working anyway. I can handle being something I'm not if it's only temporary. If I have to fake something for ten minutes onstage before becoming my true self in order to make people understand, that's something I'm willing to try. At least there's hope of being understood. That's something that I've never had before.

(TW: suicide.)

I always had this daydream that if I killed myself, those who truly loved me would sift through every one of my documents and papers -- a huge undertaking to say the least -- and finally, finally know and understand me and what I needed. That daydream has actually fueled some suicidal episodes -- being understood only after death was better than never being understood at all. Hastening my death would hasten understanding. I was literally willing to kill for it.

I kept saying I don't feel love; I must be broken because I literally can't feel it. Maybe that's at least partly true. Maybe it's not true at all. Maybe I just mistook love for understanding and it was almost a fatal misunderstanding. Maybe there is a way out and maybe I can learn it. I don't really know where to start, but at least there is an option.

Thank you, Andrew Nemr. Maybe this isn't what you intended for your course to do, but I'm glad this is what it did.

Sources: Nemr, Andrew. 'Lesson 16 - Communicating Meaning.' In The Encounter (online video course). 2021. https://andrewnemr.teachable.com/p/the-encounter

Enough

I'm just so tired of not being enough for anyone.
I'm not quick enough, smart enough, flexible enough, spending enough, saving enough, talking enough, thinking enough, smiling enough, cheerful enough, nice enough, considerate enough, tall enough, friendly enough, and the general consensus is I'm sure as heck not trying hard enough to be any of these things.

Listen to me. I developed an eating disorder at age 25 because I was spending every last single second of my existence in the dance studio trying desperately to prove once and for all, that I actually WAS trying hard enough. I had no time to eat because every SECOND that I didn't spend in the studio practicing was proof that I was nothing but a third-string deadbeat delusional failure and a total waste of skin. I was being told every. single. day that I wasn't trying hard enough and how DARE I call myself a performer. I literally almost killed myself trying to prove that I actually WAS trying.

And honestly, I'm still there. In every single aspect of my life, not just dance.

I'm still bleeding myself dry, hoping against hope that maybe the next gallon will be enough. Or the next. Or the next. And I am stubborn enough to literally bleed myself dry if that will convince someone, anyone that I'M ACTUALLY F*CKING TRYING.

I'm so tired. I'm so, so tired.

Watching The Walls Close In...

It started to hit home when the NHL shut down.

I watched as every theatre in the province closed ongoing shows and forthcoming ones.

And then, as I sat alone in an almost-abandoned Pizza Hut, staring at the view that defined my childhood, I received a phone call.

I didn't recognise the number, but I knew the area code. And I knew this was the call that I had been waiting for, that I hoped would not come. As a rule I don't answer numbers I don't know, but I answered this one.

"Is this Kate?"

"Yes."

"This is B., director of (my show that's scheduled for May). We have been advised by our board to cancel tonight's rehearsal. I'm really sorry for the late notice... they're meeting tonight to decide what's going to happen moving forward."

I thanked him, we chatted briefly, we hung up. I continued to stare out the window and think upon my breadsticks and pepperoni pie -- my meal now lengthened indefinitely. It had started a semi-quick meal on my way to rehearsal, but now with that commitment gone, I could sit here till closing if I liked.

But I got full. I packaged up the remainder, paid, and left. I bought what I'm sure was the last thermometer in the city and stared in disbelief at the price of fuel. 74 cents a litre. Just two days earlier it had been 84 cents -- and I had been overjoyed at the low price. To lose ten cents in two days -- over the weekend -- emphasized the economic freefall that had been predicted but I hoped wouldn't come. On one hand I rejoiced at the cheap gas (I'll take any financial break I can get), but on the other, I live in a province built on the energy sector. When gas prices drop, that's because we're collectively out of work.

I got home, checked my email. As I expected, given the public health update that had gone out while I was in Pizza Hut, my other show had emailed and cancelled rehearsals for two weeks. Our shows -- originally supposed to be the beginning of April -- were now tentatively moving till after Easter.

And I am the lucky one.

At least one of my shows will still go on, however late. So many of my friends had shows that were cancelled entirely, some after the final dress rehearsal but before the opening curtain. Mine will go on eventually -- theirs won't.

My parents play a game with my youngest brother while we listen to music and several of my sisters work on handcrafts. I solve several sudoku puzzles before tiring of them. My parents discuss the forthcoming 18-hour round trip out-of-province that they're going to have to undertake to collect my other brother from his suddenly nonfunctional college -- his first year of a new adventure truncated just before performance season (which of course is the best part).

Throughout the night, as I ponder the surrealness of it all, I wonder mostly what will happen to me should I fall ill. I fall into the category of 'those with pre-existing medical conditions,' so my age does not mean I'm safe. I'm not worried about my family except my youngest brother (also has a pre-existing condition). He's young enough, though, that he will be a priority. I am not. I'm nearly thirty. I'm also not a 'productive,' 'valuable' member of society. I work part-time at a small-town sandwich shop which may close any day now depending on the next public health statement and, till about a year ago, spent any spare moments I could find dancing or writing. None of those factors make me worth saving -- let alone the fact that now I spend any spare moments either playing Pac-Man on my phone or scrolling mindlessly through Facebook because I've lost the joy/desire/inspiration/confidence in both dance and writing. I don't have any children -- no-one would would actually need me should something happen to me. I may mean the world to my fiancé, my siblings, a handful of friends, perhaps my parents... but when the chips are down,  I won't mean enough to 'society at large' to choose saving me over saving literally anyone else.

For years I wanted to die. Sometimes I tried to take matters into my own hands. There were moments I almost literally stood on the edge of the cliff, and I had walked there myself. But now that it seems like a genuine possibility -- I don't want to. Not yet. I want to grow old with my dear fiancé first -- to have adventures and a life with him, to hold his hand and sleep in his arms while feeling him breathe. I want to see if I can find my old artistic passions again. I want to see what happens after this -- if society in general collapses; if Apple slows down their confounded forced-obsolescence trend because nobody will be able to afford a new iThing every three and a half months in the almost-certainly-forthcoming economic recession (this was an actual thought that I had while staring out of the window over my breadsticks).

Part of me wants to draw on my artistic skills to flagrantly show hope to people through their phone screens. The only thing stopping me is I lost my ability to see hope years ago, and it's well-nigh impossible to give to others something I can't even find.

The Curly-Haired Man (My Side of the Story)

My fiancé discovered my blog, noticed a lack of posts mentioning him, and insisted I write about how we met. I did actually plan to do a post about it, but my depression (as well as my lungs) hit an all-time low and I am still honestly having a hard time getting out of bed every morning. I'm still feeling pretty hopeless and abandoned by God. But my fiancé insisted, so here we are.

(For his version of the story A.K.A. the Cliff's notes version, click here.)

It was during my first show back in Alberta after graduating college. I stayed in Saskatchewan and finished out two other shows (Jesus Christ Superstar and The Sound of Music), then, two days after Sound of Music closed, I packed my entire life -- three years of hopes and dreams -- into my Chevy Uplander and drove seven hours to a new life in Alberta, in a city that I had only seen twice in my life and never lived in. I had a rental place and one show lined up and nothing else. No job, nothing.

As I've mentioned in earlier posts from 2019, I had planned to make my life in Saskatchewan for several years after graduating. I had already made a couple inroads into theatre there and most of my friends were there as well. But in the course of three or four days, all of my plans for Saskatchewan fell through entirely. I had the one show lined up in Alberta... I had almost backed out of it because I had planned to stay in Saskatchewan but I had procrastinated on actually sending the email telling the people in the Alberta show I was backing out. When everything fell through and I made the decision to move to Alberta, I emailed them asking if I could join rehearsals late (as I was in Sound of Music until mid-June). After a week of deliberation, they said I could join late. I would be joining during rehearsal week five out of ten.

I moved to Alberta on 11 June and reported for my first rehearsal on the 15th. The venue was rather farther away from my city than I thought it was, and I ended up staying in the private campground reserved for the actors (rehearsals and performances took place on a massive outdoor amphitheatre). I didn't bring a tent because I despise camping. Instead, I still had my little mattress that I had bought in Saskatchewan sitting in the back seat of my van, and my plan was to simply sleep in the van, on top of the mattress.

During the first day of rehearsals, it somehow came out to some of my castmates that I was planning on sleeping in my van. But before I could explain that I had a mattress and wasn't just sleeping on a bench seat, one woman maybe ten years older than me insisted that I stay the weekend in her camping trailer. I tried to explain, but she would not hear of it -- "you are not sleeping in a van." I accepted the offer, feeling it would be impolite to refuse her kindness. She said her son was usually with her, but he happened to not be there that weekend so she had a bed free in her trailer.

At the time, I was extremely depressed, having been told repeatedly throughout the previous year that I was worthless as a performer. This was the last show I had lined up, and I had prepared to quit performing entirely. I was also by this time starving myself in an effort to hasten my end. My life was ending -- performing arts had been all I had and without it there was no point in eating to prolong it. My plan was to die very shortly after this show ended.

As such, I was not doing a lot of socialising. Usually I'm fairly quick to make friends or at least talk to people during rehearsals for shows, but my bitterness and my fast-approaching death sucked away all my motivation to do so here. I deliberately isolated myself, telling myself that nobody here would really want to talk to me once they knew the real me -- which they would know real fast once I started talking to them because I apparently have this horrible habit of 'oversharing.' My plan, therefore, was to not talk at all. Nobody wanted to hear it, so I wasn't going to share it.

To that end, I brought Lila, my faithful word processor, to the campground with me. I had intended to sequester myself in my van and work on the Kyrie revision. I brought her with me to the trailer. My host went to the washroom building to shower, and I pulled Lila out of my backpack and put in the key code. She returned an error message. I turned her off and tried again. Same message.

A quick Google search (on my phone and 1GB of data) suggested that her memory was corrupted and she was gone for good. I emailed the address provided in her error message, then set her aside and began to mope, sliding into the abyss of boredom and subsequent despair. Lila had been with me for nine years. I haven't even been friends with any humans that long. It was almost like another death.

My host returned. "They're playing some games in one of the other trailers," she said. "I can introduce you to them if you like."

"No," I said. I was too listless and depressed and had no interest in being around people who would inevitably think I was too much if they knew anything about me. She accepted my answer and engaged me in conversation. I did try, though I'm sure my responses came off as somewhat anaemic. After some time, she said, "Come; I'll take you to that trailer and introduce you." I agreed, telling myself it would be good to at least learn more names.

She led me to a tiny refurbished 1970s trailer about the size of a postage stamp and ushered me inside. I found myself in the middle of a dozen people crammed around a table, on a bed, standing on the two square feet of copper and beige linoleum available for standing on. I was offered a chair -- which I declined -- as well as food and a spot at the game table. I declined the latter as well, but ate a couple bites of something, I don't remember what. A man with a red beard stood in the centre of the tiny trailer and said, "This here is Betsy," sweeping his outstretched hand around the air above all our heads, indicating the trailer itself. Everybody introduced everybody else and I somehow managed to more or less retain all the names coming at me.

I leaned against the counter -- there was nowhere else to be, and I didn't feel comfortable sitting and taking up so much space that way. I was coughing a lot due to my ongoing lung issues, and a curly-haired man with with a handsome beard and an orange hat put his hand on my shoulder at one point. "Don't die," he said. I gave him a very brief overview of my lung situation (this particular coughing spell became pneumonia by the end of the show's run).

Throughout the night I noticed the curly-haired man seemed to look at me a lot and I suspected he was flirting with me. But, unpracticed with men as I am, I didn't dare jump to any conclusions. He wasn't making me uncomfortable, so I stood where I was and observed his behaviour. I was suspicious enough of his intentions by the end of the night that I texted my best friend about it before I went to bed that night. She told me not to freak out, and I tried my best to take her advice.

The next day, we were rehearsing in a large tent due to weather, and the curly-haired man came up to me and flicked the brim of my sunhat.

"Hello," I said, too taken aback to think of anything more eloquent.

"Hello," he said with a smile.

Over lunch I texted my best friend about the incident and she said, "he's into you. Guys don't flick girls' hats if they're not interested in them." I began to freak out a little bit. I couldn't deny I was somewhat drawn to him, but after a previous bout of male attention I'd gotten during a show the previous year, I had made a rule that I don't date guys I'm currently in a show with. If they are still willing to pursue something after the show closes and we're not spending sixteen hours a week in rehearsal together, that's fine, but I was absolutely not interested in dating someone only for the duration of a show's run again. To be getting this kind of attention from a castmate again unnerved me.

As rehearsals progressed, I continued to find myself drawn to him, despite my repeated attempts to deny it even in my own head. Every move I made was soon calculated to be near him as much as possible without it looking like I was trying to be near him as much as possible. (Apparently I succeeded, as he didn't fully realise I was hanging around him deliberately until I told him this after we started dating.) I would watch the entrance to Betsy from the side mirror on my van, and if I saw him go in, I would wait a few minutes, then go in. I never went to Betsy unless I saw the curly-haired man go in first.

During one of these visits, he and I ended up sitting on the bed/couch, in the corner, talking. He told me his entire life story, plus the stories behind all his tattoos -- some three hours' worth of material. I was so fascinated that somebody else was willing to tell me their entire life story, the good and the bad, and drank in every word of it. It was a nice change from me having to bare my soul. I think it was during this conversation that we exchanged phone numbers.

At some point, we developed a pattern of him walking me to my van at the end of the night and giving me a good night hug. I'm not a touchy-feely person, but I was extremely touch-starved and always felt safe in his arms, with my head resting against his chest. I began to look forward to the nightly hugs and would replay them over and over in my head once I was in bed.

Eventually I added him on Facebook... along with about eight other people in the cast so it wasn't as obvious that I was just adding him.

Opening day dawned extremely rainy. Our campground was quite close to the river, and the rising levels were visible to the naked eye. We were told the show would go on that evening, so during the day the cast either hid out in their tents or gathered in the big central tent in the middle of the campground. Several of us spent the day playing card games -- mostly Racko, a game my dad and I have played for years. The curly-haired man sat beside me.

Near the end of the game session, when people were starting to make their early suppers before going to the amphitheatre, my text alert went off. It was the curly-haired man. 'You're awesome,' it said. I wasn't sure how to respond, but eventually settled on 'Thanks... so are you.'

He was called to the theatre earlier than I was to review the stunts. When I got to the theatre for warmup, he met me at the warmup location and we started chatting. He brought up his text to me, then said, "I almost used a different word."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"'Like,'" he said. "The word 'like.' I like you. You're a cool girl."

I stared off into the horizon, not sure of how to respond. I don't actually remember how I responded. I remember thinking how I had to focus on the show and not the fact that a man I was not willing to admit I was drawn to had just said he liked me. I had never had that happen in my entire life. I'd had guys flirt with me and even take me to dinner, but none of them had ever been man enough to actually admit they were interested in me.

I managed to get through the performance without being too distracted, and after opening night, the production team held an ice-cream social for the cast. He and I sat next to each other and the topic quickly shifted to us, as friends.

"What do you want it to be?" I asked him.

"I'd like to get to know you more first," he said.

I nodded.

"If you're okay with that," he added.

"I'm just skittish," I said.

"Why?"

I told him my rule and the story behind it -- how someone from a show I was in led me on and then ghosted me, and how I later found out he was dating a friend of mine (from the same show) and was cheating on her with me.

"That's wrong," he said. "If you don't want to date till after the show, I'll wait."

I told him I appreciated that, and we continued our friendship. We began texting each other during the week -- constantly. Eventually I texted my dad, letting him know of the developing situation. He and my mother were planning on coming to the show the next weekend and I wanted to hear my dad's impression of my curly-haired friend. I did not, however, want anybody else to know in case it didn't work out, and I swore my dad to secrecy.

That Friday, I admitted to the curly-haired man that I liked him back. I still remember the look on his face. My parents saw the show Sunday and I managed to introduce him as a friend. It raised no suspicions from my mother, as I had so many theatre friends already so what was another one? But I had texted my dad his name, and when I said, as casually as possible, "This is Jacob," my dad caught the significance of the introduction immediately. I managed to draw my mother into a separate conversation as Dad and Jacob talked for a few minutes.

I should mention at this point that what I fell in love with was his tender heart and kind personality. I was actually not physically attracted at all at first -- which was the way I always wanted it to happen. I never wanted to fall in love with a guy's looks; I wanted to fall in love with his heart. I don't remember the exact moment I fell in love with his heart because it happened quite gradually, but I remember the moment I fell in love with his looks...

The dressing room for an outdoor amphitheatre is little more than a shack behind the set lined with wooden benches and covered with corrugated tin. There are no walls except the set wall itself. Jacob and I happened to have claimed spots on benches that were back to back. I could look across and just to the left and see him.

One night after the show, he went to put away his costume, and I hung around on my side of the bench, looking at my phone as I waited for him to come back. I heard him return, but didn't look up until he asked me a question. I looked up and his face was RIGHT THERE -- all hazel eyes and freckles -- and for the first time I felt my heart skip a beat at the sight of a man.

We continued talking through the rest of the show's three-week run -- joking about dating and even marriage, but with the understanding that we were not actually discussing dating until after the show. It didn't stop the speculation among our castmates though... Jacob would come hug me before each show and during each intermission in addition to our ever-lengthening good-night hugs. We began holding hands, less and less covertly. It was little surprise when people starting asking if we were dating, and it became harder to answer that question.

He discovered fairly early on that I was only just eating enough to stand upright, and he used his texting privileges to plead with me to eat (spoiler: he still does).

The night before the final weekend of the run, we got talking about it again. I asked what we were doing, and he said, "It's up to you. I've already told you how I feel and what I want. But I want us to decide together, not just me. I won't pressure you into dating. I'll just wait and not say anything about it until you're ready."

"No," I said. "Let's try it."

But we didn't use the words 'we are dating' until two days later. There had been a situation where our friend group had decided the night before to go out to the dollar store that morning. I had been part of this discussion and was, I thought, part of the invitation. I had no connections in my new home city yet so this was my final opportunity for human interaction. I had told them to wake me when they were ready to go.

That morning I woke at 11, found my curly-haired man, and told him I was ready to go.

"We already went," he said.

It gutted me. I was in a funk for the rest of the day. Another friend tried to cheer me up but I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Finally, Jacob invited me to walk with him and we wandered around the campground. He apologised, explained the reason for the change of plans, and said he had tried to wake me but couldn't rouse me (this was entirely believable as I will probably sleep through the apocalypse). Then he asked my forgiveness. I gave it to him, and the conversation turned to other things, namely, our relationship status.

"What are we doing?" I asked. "Are we dating?"

"Do you want to?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then we are dating," he said.

And that's how I started dating a curly-haired fellow actor in a show that I almost wasn't in. We are now engaged, set to be married within a year.

It's weird -- part of me never thought I would date anyone, let alone get married. I always thought I would be too much for anybody -- after all, literally everybody in my life up to this point has had that exact complaint... 'you're too much.' 'Nobody will ever love you.' 'You need to be more positive before anybody will want to have anything to do with you.'

How then does a man fall in love with me while I am actively starving myself because I had tried so hard to be positive and make myself fit their mould and I couldn't? Was everyone else lying? Is he sent from God? Both?

It is no exaggeration to say I am still alive today because of this curly-haired man. Recovery is still ongoing, but he is just as stubborn as I am. He wants me to live even more than I wanted to die (which was quite a lot). He is slowly convincing me that I want to live too. I am glad I met him and I am even more glad that we get to spend the rest of our lives together.

My Fiancé Takes Over My Blog

(Title is self-explanatory. My fiancé and I thought it would be fun to write the story of how we met and publish both sides of it. For the extended version -- A.K.A. my version -- click here.)

Hi, I'm Jacob, Kate's fiance. I'm 6'3" tall, fluffy, bearded man with tattoos.
This is our story from my point of view.

I want to start this story with why I joined the Passion Play in 2019. The whole winter and start of summer I had people say to me that I was happy that I was in the Passion Play in 2016 and that was true but I was not really happy and not feeling God in my life so I just thought why should I even be allowed to go to do something I loved and the people I loved, if He wanted me to join give me a sign and yet they were all around me and I didn't even know it at the time. It was May 17 I woke and still felt that I should go to the Passion Play and I called my mother and asked what should I do about it, she said trust in God and do what He says so I did and I rode my bike to the Passion Play not knowing His plan so I watched the first half of rehearsal and said to myself I'll trust in God and sign up. When I went to sign up my name -- full name -- was signed up for the Passion Play and I asked around to all my old friends and none of then signed my name, so there was a reason for me to join and I had to find out why.


The day was June 15, 2019, it was a nice sunny day no rain in sight that I remember.
It was the start of that week of PP (Passion Play), and I've been doubting God through 5 weekends, asking 'why am I here?'
Right when we start warmup, I see this geeky little girl (remember I'm 6'3), as I said sunny day, but she's wearing a sunhat, jean shorts, pink fluffy legwarmers, and at the time I thought she was wearing a winter jacket. But I was wrong, it was a rain jacket and 2 hoodies. First impression was 'how the heck is she cold?' I'm a hot blooded man, I'm wearing a tank top, shorts, and sandals. I didn't see her again till lunch but sadly I didn't sit with her because I was sitting with friends (this is my second time in the PP).
When I noticed that no one was sitting with her and she was lonely, I got up and put one step in and we were told we had to start up again.
So I was invited to the PP camp site yet I live in the same town as the PP. I was in a camper called Betsy (I am friends with the owner of Betsy). I was invited for a beer and games so I came and it was fun, still doubting God but I listened. After a hour and a half of of talking and not playing the games (I'm not a game player I like watching them though), the door opened and I looked and 2 people walked in. And ding ding you guessed it Sarah was one of them. She walked in the same outfit that I first saw her in. She was so quiet and shy that she didn't say a word, it was weird for me not to say "hi I'm Jacob and what's your name" and there was no answer so I thought to be kind and wait for a little bit and ask again, that didn't happen because I said "does anyone smell gas?" she by accident turned Betsy's gas stove on. After that I said, "There's a spot next to me." She said, "No, I'm gonna go." I said, "Let's talk for a bit before you go." She sat and we talked for an hour. I was the one who started off the conversation with my story (too long to tell, if you want to know ask Sarah-Kate and maybe I'll do a part 2). She was interested in my story of my faith and pain that was night 1 that I met Sarah-Kate.


The next morning I thought to myself why the hell did I share my life story to a girl I don't even know. It's going to be weird seeing her again today (I thought this while riding my bike to the PP). I was fine not seeing her again till lunch (I had a lot to do; I had 6 or 7 roles to do in the PP). I was so busy I didn't have lunch that day. But I was again invited to the campground for games so I went. And ding ding she came back to Betsy, and this time she opened up with her life off faith and pain (if you want to know about her faith and pain just read her blog). I thought it was cool we kinda have a similar story but not the same, but this time it was a longer talk, like 3 hours' worth, but it was weird I walked her to her van where she was sleeping at the time to say goodnight. Again, something I never do.
I didn't see her for another week and yet I missed talking to someone who got a similar story like mine, and yet I was excited to go back this time and I didn't know why.
I started to hang out with her more and more and I felt happy and it was weird, later in our relationship I found out that she felt safe with me, a guy she didn't even know. I got off track -- I felt angry, happy, and sad at the same time that the days were getting closer to the end of PP.

Opening day I prayed for a sign that what she was was a friend, not a girlfriend, but if she was the one for me, give me a sign. That day she asked to be my friend on Facebook. Later again in the relationship she just wanted to add me but thought it would be weird that she just added me and no one else from the PP.

So I took it to God and trusted Him. That day, opening day, I said to her, "I think I like you" and went to do my stuff, thinking she probably thinks I'm a dick for telling her I like her and leaving right after that. Honestly I felt like a dick. The whole show I wasn't in the same scene as her so I didn't feel super bad. She offered to drive me to the campsite and I thought sh*t she's not gonna be my friend anymore. I was wrong. She said she didn't date guys in the same show that she was in, and I said, "I will wait," and we were friends and that was cool. After losing 3 shows due to weather and a tornado warning, the end of the show was here and she and I were sitting in her van, and said "well, it's the end of the show, what do you think?" She said, "about what?" Then I told her again that I liked her and what she thought of it. We have been talking on Facebook a lot, not about us, about PP things we like and don't like, you know, friend stuff. When she thought for a while she said to me, "I do like you," and I said, "Then let's try it. If it doesn't work at least we can be good friends." She agreed.

And now we're engaged, but that's a story for another time.