Blogging More Regularly--A Challenge

Some of you (you know, all two who read this) may have noticed my lapse in posting for the last several months. I apologize for the absenteeism and vow to make it up to you by attempting to post at least once a day for 30 days. I'm at a point in my life right now where I really feel I need to be journaling daily, for my sanity's sake, and this is a fine place to do it.

WORK
This is something that's been both a blessing and a curse for me lately. I started full time teaching at the Holland location of Davenport University--definitely a blessing! The pay, the benefits, and the joy of having "a room of one's own"--an office with a door--are all fantastic. I do miss working in Grand Rapids with Joe, but Diana is awesome and we've found we have a great deal in common.

It's an interesting switch for me in terms of the demographic of students I teach. I'm used to the older, "non-traditional" student--which again, could be positive or negative, depending on the individual (of course, the same could probably be said of anyone). The older students tended to be more focused and mature, although at times it was a struggle because their skills were so far behind, and their discomfort with being back in school after so long was tough to deal with. Additionally, they sometimes seemed to look down on me, at least at first, because they did not expect me to be so young. I'd like to think I proved myself capable to them--we got along, at any rate, by the end.

Now I teach students that are more "traditional"--average college age, late teens to early twenties, and while I appreciate that they are still in "school" mode for the most part, they come with their own set of difficulties. Lately I've had troubles with students who are young and aggressive--openly questioning or even criticizing me. Confrontational people have always been a sticking point for me in terms of how to deal, and it doesn't feel good to be in a position of authority and have my charges be rude. At least if this was high school, I could suspend them or something. I'm not really sure about my recourse right now--still working on it.

It makes me reassess the old notion of "turn the other cheek"--something I never fully understood. I do get it on some level--that some things just aren't worth fighting about. Someone you don't know gives you the finger? Who cares? But on the other hand, there may also be merit to calling a spade a spade, and standing up for oneself. But what do in this situation? Being the softy I am, I'm inclined to pull people aside and ask them to talk about their feelings. I'm not sure if that would work here, necessarily, but on the other hand, maybe that's exactly what they need from someone who's in charge of even one little fraction of their lives. Maybe no one has ever approached them in that way.

I have noticed that some students' outwardly mulish behavior sometimes masks an inward shame or fear of inadequacy. I had a student who, on one occasion when it was only us and a couple of other students in the room, openly expressed his dislike for the class (basic comp.) and his desire that it would just be over soon. I made a pithy joke about being wounded, and we all laughed, but afterwards I took him aside and asked him what was wrong. He said he was frustrated; he didn't feel like he knew how to write well, how to put his thoughts on paper. It made me think of my own frustrations when I don't comprehend something--as someone who feels pretty competent in most areas of life, it's a really issue for me when I set about to do something and find myself unable to do it successfully. I mean, it REALLY bothers me. So why shouldn't it bother someone else just as much? We all like to think we're capable and intelligent, and we all have a tendency at times to equate that capability and intelligence with performance--therefore, when something isn't going according to plan, we feel like our very selves are being challenged. The problem is, I don't think a lot of people make the leap between feeling the frustration and properly identifying and dealing with it. Blame is so much quicker, so much more efficient, than examining the self and changing approaches or habits. So we blame teachers, we even blame whole subjects ("I hate English!"). But oh, how that holds us back.

So I'm loving the new job, and yet am very challenged by it (et tu, me?). I'll keep you updated. Interestingly enough, when the young man in question vocalized his frustration, I told him that his work was certainly good as a foundation, and just needed refinement--which is true. He didn't look like he quite believed me, but since then, he's been a lot more engaged in class, and hasn't made any more negative comments. Hm.

THEATER
Macbeth opened last weekend, and continues into the last weekend of October. We got a nasty review in the Gazette (and no, I'm not giving you the link), but honestly, I think the lady was mistaken in her assessment. We've put on a great show, and not without our share of obstacles. Our director, the luminous Mychelle Hopkins, has been on bed rest with her pregnancy since before we began rehearsing, so Zac Thompson (also luminous, in a manly way), has stepped in as Assistant Director, as well as playing his role as MacDuff. We also lost our Banquo a couple weeks before opening, although fortunately our fight director stepped in without missing a beat. Our set's gorgeous, our fight choreography is thrilling, and even the critic herself said we're "very emotionally committed to [our] roles." God, I love Shakespeare! It feels good on my tongue; I love its rhythms, its sound play.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time,
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle;
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
who struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more. It is a tale
told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.

Haunting, absolutely haunting. I have the honor of being on the stage with Max Hardy when he delivers this soliloquy (which is not, technically, a soliloquy, as he's sharing the stage with several other people) and, if I were not already crying as part of my character, I bet it would make me cry anyway. Max has done a stellar job as Macbeth, and as someone pointed out in our audience talk-back session last weekend, delivering this soliloquy as something that combines remorse, grief, anger, blame, and nihilism, rather than its usual existential stateliness, gives it new life. And speaking of tears: MacDuff's scene in Act IV, when he learns of his family's slaughter. Zac's delivery is flawless. I can't see it, because I'm backstage waiting for my entrance, but even hearing it moves me. I hear the thud as he hits his knees in anguish, and that's all it takes.

As usual, when a play begins its final lap, I'm exhausted and overstimulated, but I find that I never, ever regret participating. Even with all the time it consumes, which is time away from my husband, from other social functions, and from just quiet time with myself--it's always worth it. But I've committed to really focusing on auditioning for shows that I absolutely love and want to be a part of--shows that will allow me to grow and change as an actor.

WRITING
Speaking of theater taking time away from things--I haven't been writing as much as I've intended lately, although I did create a calendar for myself with all the things I want to submit my writing to. Hopefully this will keep me on task--having deadlines and so forth. I have so many projects tumbling around in my head--long ones, short ones, even multimedia ones. Those who attended the New England College MFA program with me will recognize my preoccupation with Grass Lake, MI--home of Ryan's grandfather's farm. It's been a sad six years that I've watched what was a rolling hillside of farm land slowly become paved and lit with fluorescent lighting. Ryan's taken pictures at almost every available opportunity, and so we can even see how it changes from time to time. It'd be neat to have this almost egfrastic poetry collection about it, or just one poem that's sectioned.