Heavy Hearted Woman

This blogging thing…I highly recommend it.

I realized yesterday that I have blogged, on at least three occasions, about my experiences in the 6th grade (sharing my secrets with my best friend, the group weigh in, and discovering college). I began asking myself, “Is there something else especially significant about my life at 12 years of age?”

As I sat trying to contact this part of me, I recalled a memory of being in my bedroom at my parent’s home. I was 35, on vacation for a few weeks, and it was raining so I decided to go through my dresser drawers to see what was in them. I used to do that periodically because it seemed that I always found something about myself that I had forgotten, and I got a strange sense of comfort rediscovering and holding items from my childhood (I used to go through the attic periodically too, especially when it rained).

In this day of the omnipresent computer, does anyone else remember typing on a Royal Electric Typewriter with a replaceable ribbon where we actually had to listen for the “ding” and press a RETURN button or the text would go off the page? In any event, I found a letter/essay/journal page that I had written to myself on the thin onion skin paper with the pink margins that we used with those dinosaur Royals. Written on this paper, in great detail, was The Story of Me as a Successful Actress. The day I rediscovered that dream page (and still to this day), I had absolutely no recollection of writing it. I do remember looking at the date after I read it.

I was 12.

When I was growing up, the roles my brothers and I were given were very specific and well defined. No cross-pollination allowed. My older brother was the “Handsome Athlete,” a very gifted baseball player (among other sports). He constantly received well-deserved accolades for his athletic prowess and compliments for his rugged good looks. My younger brother was the “Cute Gifted Entertainer.” He was adorable, funny and social, a natural actor (he played Shakespeare’s Scottish King in the 5th grade) and comedian. I was the “Book Smart” one. I worked very hard in school and thrived on escape through books.

The day I found my actress letter, I had just completed a well respected and intensive 6 week summer actor’s training program for Deaf professional actors at the National Theatre of the Deaf. That spring, I had completed my Master’s work in psychology and a very intense 12 month Psychodrama training program in Washington, D.C. My intention when I started the acting program was to learn more about drama, so I could be a more skilled Psychodramatist and all around better therapist.

My intention when I left the program 6 weeks later was to become an actress.

So here I am at my family’s home after my first foray into acting, and I found this letter that has been sitting in my dresser drawer for 23 years. And yet, I never noticed it…until today.

WOO-WOO. Right?

At 12, I still had a conscious desire to express myself as a performer. That little girl dream didn’t really die when I left that ballet class at 8 years old. It was still there in my heart.

But my brain must have refused to listen. Maybe it didn’t feel that performance was my thing. After all, that was my younger brother’s territory. And, I was very much ensconced in accepting the role given to me: The Good Student, The High Academic Achiever, The Teacher. Also, I wanted out and maybe I saw this as the most sensible and achievable route. Maybe I still felt bad about myself for leaving that dance class. Who knows??

For whatever stinkin’ reason, at twelve years of age, I made the decision that the only way out was academically. I did not know (as I have talked about ad nauseum in this blog) I had other talents and gifts wanting to be released.

WOW.

My 12 year old was gracious enough to come to me this morning. It felt wonderful to connect our breath and our hearts. My heart, a bit older and hopefully wiser, and hers carrying a faint but persistent downward pull. It's the exact same feeling I get every time I watch GLEE and SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE.

And my 12 year feels just awful about it. She asked for my forgiveness this morning. Isn’t that just like a child to take on the blame? I reminded her that I did pick up acting at 35 and even went to school to get an MFA at 46. I have been lucky enough to do quite a bit of stage work in L.A., and I have done film and television. And I’m not done. I know I will do more.

I even re-introduced her to our 8 year old singer/dancer. They’re in a deep discussion right now trying to figure out a way to get us cast in one of the song and dance numbers on GLEE.