This section of my blog is the wiliest and
hardest to capture – the part I have the most trouble defining, but also, the
real reason for writing at all.
Once upon a time, I was a dancer then a
singer then an actor. Now, I’m none of those things. For the last three and a
half years, I haven’t performed and frankly, life seems the better for it.
However, I know that for me, being a performer was more than just a job or a
hobby, it was both how I defined myself and it formed my view of the world.
Theatre – the arts – was something I was passionate about. I thought good
theatre should make people aware of the ‘something else’ out there – to instill
a sense of awe in them, to make them believe that anything was possible. (This,
in my opinion, is why Harry Potter is huge and why Cirque du Soleil draws
massive crowds.) Being a performer in a production that created that awe, or
that sense of possibility to an audience was just about the best thing I thought
anyone could ever do and for awhile, I was happy to be a part of shows that
didn’t do this in the hope of landing one that did.
Sadly, there were times when being involved
in the arts brought me into contact with horrible people that shook my confidence
(sometimes in myself and sometimes in people in general). I’ve always
remembered a couple of particularly encouraging things people told me that made
me believe that I was talented and worth watching, but forcibly being told the
opposite was debilitating. (Therapy has helped, though I still fantasize about
what will happen when what goes around comes around.) I’ve told myself since
then that maybe I just didn’t want it badly enough, maybe I didn’t have a thick
enough skin (something I’m sure of), maybe I just didn’t have enough heart.
Ultimately it was the combination of knocks to my confidence and lack of faith
in good shows out there that made it easy to just stop performing.
While I enjoy life more without the
heartache of being a performer, the passion I previously felt is also missing
from my life. I find myself working really hard at admin jobs, trying to get
validation from work that doesn’t mean anything more than the black and white
on the computer screen and then getting depressed about ‘my purpose in life’
when I realize it.
A few weeks ago, Steven and I watched a
documentary on Eddie Izzard (Believe: The Eddie Izzard Story). I vaguely knew of him as a celebrity – mostly because
last year for Sport Relief he ran 43 marathons in 51 days (crazy!) – but I
didn’t know that he was a comedian and an actor and mostly, I didn’t realize
how ridiculously hard he’s worked to become those things.
He says in the documentary that we only get
one life so he believes we should live it, which isn’t something new to me, but
I’m inspired by how fully he acts on this belief, and how in practice, living
life means visibly working through the rough patches and sometimes failing.
(Eddie decided he wanted to do comedy in France, so he learns French. At one
point, he blanked on the French words for the punchline of a joke and had to
ask the audience. He also wants to do comedy in Arabic. He currently knows one
word. I don’t think I do his persistence justice – just watch the film and you’ll
understand.)
I think what struck me most was his
bravery. He wasn’t afraid to put himself out there (as a busker in Covent
Garden! Just about the hardest job a performer can have…) and look bad when he wasn’t
very good. In being brave, he’s created the career (and life) he wants. I wish
I were that brave. My hope is that this blog is going to keep me accountable to
examining my creativity and in doing so, I’ll find more passion and have a more
fulfilling life.
I do know that I love stories and I think
telling them and sharing them (through whatever means reach people) is
important. It’s why history and old buildings give me goosebumps, and why
there’s pretty much nothing I’d rather do than read a good book or watch a good
movie. And then tell people about it afterwards so maybe they do the same.
I’m keen to try working in publishing, not
so keen to be a part of an industry that isn’t very profitable because fewer
and fewer people read. Screenplays? (I’ve started a list of books I think would
convert well to film, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.) Who knows at this
point, but let’s start small. Next week you can read all about my basil and chili
pepper growing adventure. (I hear you scream ‘Ohmygod!!!’ like middle-aged
women at a Take That concert.) Yes, I’m that exciting, but I do get a kick out
of seeing little green sprouts come out of the ground.
