Lights, Camera, Action!
I always wanted to be an actress. And one could argue, I still do.
About once or twice a year The Husband graces me with his company while we attend a play, opera, or some sort of stage performance. Not that he wouldn't attend more of these sorts of events (he most definitely would) it's just that it entails getting a babysitter, and then planning, and then discussions about which one and where... and hell, the truth of the matter is we rarely get out of the house on our own. Even for dinner. Or even for a movie. So, we are left with our maybe-twice-a-year stage event that usually centers around a gift for my birthday. And maybe another for Valentine's Day.
Regardless, these dates remind me of my old passion. One that still sits in my gut and reminds me it is there at least a handful of other times throughout the year. Because it entails speaking in front of large amounts of people. Something--believe it or not--does not stress me out. In fact, it gets my blood rushing, heart beating, and... well, makes me hot and bothered. I actually like being the center of attention.
The joking. Connecting with the crowd. Speaking my mind. And the pure fact that people actually listen to what I say. What can I say? I am a glutton for punishment. Or to a crowd. Either way, that part of my life for the most part is gone. The part that in middle school tried out for every solo in chorus, every lead role in school programs, every play, community theater--I did it all. High school brought other challenges, but I was still going strong in forensics. And then in the small drama club. College, however, is where it all started going downhill. I took the only small theater class they offered.
Then was left to my own devices. I looked forward to class presentations. I found myself volunteering to speak in front of the class. Winter Carnival had me writing and then acting in the winter skits. But, at that point, that little dream of being an actress was down and gone. I mean, I was far from 5 feet 11 inches (I am 5' 5") and 110 lbs (let's just say it is more than that). I had short hair, a round face, and hips that were made for child rearing. Not that looks are everything, but in show business, it is. And, hell, I was from the Midwest. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan for crying out loud. It isn't like there are a lot of Broadway or Movie stars popping out of that area. Nor would my parents have let me spend hard-earned cash to go to college for anything like Drama. Hell, creative writing wasn't even an option either.
Not that it is any one's fault that I didn't pursue this dream (far from it). I was a realist. The chances of anyone like me making it in that scene were limited, and I knew it. And still know it. The fault is all mine. I can blame the money or the college, or the area I lived. But really, even if I would have tossed all those stereo-types out of the window and STILL tried for the dream (isn't that what we are told to do), it comes down to fear. As much as I loved doing all the on-stage work, I feared that I wouldn't have what it did take to make it. Or to put myself out there that much. Believe me when I say, there have been even more opportunities for me to jump up in front of a group. And in those few times, I sat in the background. I didn't raise my hand and offer myself to the group. Instead, I cowered, imagined what I might have said, and let the opportunity pass.
That doesn't mean I don't miss the feeling of being on stage. The rolling stomach. Anxious nerves that cause butterflies just as my foot lands on stage.
My meager attempts to bring these feelings back are just that... small, minuscule. And really just laughable. Did you know doing a presentation about our product offerings to a bunch of strangers in a hotel conference room can give me a "high?" Well, now you know my secret. That and this poor woman who always volunteers to give the group wrap up so she can speak in front of a group--yep, that is me. It is sad, but I'll admit it. Someday, when this writing career of mine allows me to publish a book, I'll be feeling the same way about a book reading. Heart pounding, palms sweating, I will take one deep breath, smile and walk my way up to the front of the crowd. But I hope, no matter how small the crowd, that I'll take the opportunity and let my words, my books, and my voice speak for itself. And maybe sequester those missed feelings of being on stage just a bit more.
About once or twice a year The Husband graces me with his company while we attend a play, opera, or some sort of stage performance. Not that he wouldn't attend more of these sorts of events (he most definitely would) it's just that it entails getting a babysitter, and then planning, and then discussions about which one and where... and hell, the truth of the matter is we rarely get out of the house on our own. Even for dinner. Or even for a movie. So, we are left with our maybe-twice-a-year stage event that usually centers around a gift for my birthday. And maybe another for Valentine's Day.
Regardless, these dates remind me of my old passion. One that still sits in my gut and reminds me it is there at least a handful of other times throughout the year. Because it entails speaking in front of large amounts of people. Something--believe it or not--does not stress me out. In fact, it gets my blood rushing, heart beating, and... well, makes me hot and bothered. I actually like being the center of attention.
The joking. Connecting with the crowd. Speaking my mind. And the pure fact that people actually listen to what I say. What can I say? I am a glutton for punishment. Or to a crowd. Either way, that part of my life for the most part is gone. The part that in middle school tried out for every solo in chorus, every lead role in school programs, every play, community theater--I did it all. High school brought other challenges, but I was still going strong in forensics. And then in the small drama club. College, however, is where it all started going downhill. I took the only small theater class they offered.
Then was left to my own devices. I looked forward to class presentations. I found myself volunteering to speak in front of the class. Winter Carnival had me writing and then acting in the winter skits. But, at that point, that little dream of being an actress was down and gone. I mean, I was far from 5 feet 11 inches (I am 5' 5") and 110 lbs (let's just say it is more than that). I had short hair, a round face, and hips that were made for child rearing. Not that looks are everything, but in show business, it is. And, hell, I was from the Midwest. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan for crying out loud. It isn't like there are a lot of Broadway or Movie stars popping out of that area. Nor would my parents have let me spend hard-earned cash to go to college for anything like Drama. Hell, creative writing wasn't even an option either.
Not that it is any one's fault that I didn't pursue this dream (far from it). I was a realist. The chances of anyone like me making it in that scene were limited, and I knew it. And still know it. The fault is all mine. I can blame the money or the college, or the area I lived. But really, even if I would have tossed all those stereo-types out of the window and STILL tried for the dream (isn't that what we are told to do), it comes down to fear. As much as I loved doing all the on-stage work, I feared that I wouldn't have what it did take to make it. Or to put myself out there that much. Believe me when I say, there have been even more opportunities for me to jump up in front of a group. And in those few times, I sat in the background. I didn't raise my hand and offer myself to the group. Instead, I cowered, imagined what I might have said, and let the opportunity pass.
That doesn't mean I don't miss the feeling of being on stage. The rolling stomach. Anxious nerves that cause butterflies just as my foot lands on stage.
My meager attempts to bring these feelings back are just that... small, minuscule. And really just laughable. Did you know doing a presentation about our product offerings to a bunch of strangers in a hotel conference room can give me a "high?" Well, now you know my secret. That and this poor woman who always volunteers to give the group wrap up so she can speak in front of a group--yep, that is me. It is sad, but I'll admit it. Someday, when this writing career of mine allows me to publish a book, I'll be feeling the same way about a book reading. Heart pounding, palms sweating, I will take one deep breath, smile and walk my way up to the front of the crowd. But I hope, no matter how small the crowd, that I'll take the opportunity and let my words, my books, and my voice speak for itself. And maybe sequester those missed feelings of being on stage just a bit more.
