Trumping the Dyson

Today marks Week 2 of screen acting classes, a severe departure from the cosy cocoon that was my impro world. I truly feel like a dyslexic child in a Complete History of 15th Century German Colloquialisms class. I get the concepts, I read the theories and understand the underlying themes and character aims, I soak up information to quench my thirst to know more more more and yet – I just can’t make the pieces fit. Granted, it is only Week 2 of 8 but I have place such high expections on myself that it is frustrating at my complete lack of progress.

Impro comes naturally and flows easily for me, I appreciate the skills and dexterity I already unknowingly had built up over this year’s studies. To be fair, today my scene partner came late, didn’t know their lines and skipped over a bunch even with script in hand, but the blame cannot be laid solely at their feet. A sucky Saddle Club script can only do so much for you but still my inner teacher’s pet sulked all the train ride home about the woes of critical feedback. I feel like a complete giant whale out of water and yet still strangely determined to prove I can do this.

And to continue the theme of dramatic self revelations I’ve come to understand my own self imposed theory of my “success” is quite flawed. I’ve always felt that I could succeed at anything I try, because well, I always have. But now I’m starting to wonder if it’s not so much succeeding at the things I do, but rather an innate self deception honed to purposely avoid the hard path so as not to ever “struggle” or put in the hard yards for something. I’m a coaster, cruising down the coastal road (cause face it, city roads are not made for cruising, pollution whacks you in the face harder than a loaded freight train). I’m not a failure cause I haven’t tried to fail at all.

So strangely, in a warped kind of way I’m kind of glad that I have absolutely train-wrecked these past 2 classes and sucked more than a Dyson vacuum cleaner.

Weird.

Pondering this thought

Amnesty