on unhappiness

I had a presentation in my acting class today. It was a scene from Tartuffe- a scene spoken in rhyme. I had to have a temper tantrum in the scene, and for some reason I had a problem with this. I was told to have fun with the scene; to let go; to be the brat the character was. Oddly, I don't know how to be a brat or how to have a temper tantrum...oh, but this is acting, see- I had to pretend. I felt constraint- if I let out all that emotion, what would possibly come out? I didn't practice the tantrum. I knew the lines inside out and my partner and I worked on the scene, hours total; however, the tantrum I decided to improvise. Simple enough, isn't it? I improvise many things- life's an improvisation, isn't it? I pulled it off, and not quite sure how it turned out for the audience's perspective, but the humour in a tantrum came out... somehow.

After class my professor asked me to go talk to her when I had a chance. I had some time after class, so I went. I figured it was about the scene. I was nervous, actually. It doesn't really matter how much you practice a scene or how well you know your lines, you never really know what the end product will be. How can a piece of art be judged anyway? Who is to say what is good and what is bad? I mean, clearly some work can show the obvious- but how does one develop the right to judge your work? Is it a right or is it a skill? How do you do you develop the skill to judge your own work? I don't know if I ever can. I can look at a piece of work and know what I liked or what I thought worked and even what I would do if it were my piece. Does that mean I am right or that I have the skill to judge work- to judge my own work? Why is always about judgment...

She sat at her desk and I sat across; nothing uncommon, I've sat there plenty of times. She has taught me before and I TA one of her classes so it seems to be a regular occurance. She asked me if I could relax. She was right, I was sitting pretty tense; I loosened up a bit. "No," she said. "In general."

What do you say to that? I chose to say nothing. I just listened. She explained she didn't really think through what she was going to say to me, so I fed her one of her famous lines:

Don't think. Just speak.

When you look at that by itself, it can seem dangerous. Vulnerable. Naked.

In one sentence she said to me that she did not know me very well. In another five minutes she read me like a book. She thought I was unhappy. She believed it was part of coming back from being away somewhere great.

I listened.

It is one thing to be unhappy.
It is a completely different thing when you are obviously unhappy to others.

Do I wear a sign that says unhappy? Could it possibly be that obvious to her through my acting? She said good acting comes from a happy actor. That's enough to ponder on by itself. Did that mean my acting wasn't good? She did only say positive feedback. How can you just make yourself happy? Where does she get the right to judge my acting? Where does she get the right to judge my happiness? I suppose I could have my own tantrum, but the truth is she is right.

I have felt genuine happiness before. Contentment. Bliss. In knowing that, I know I feel genuinely unhappy. How does that work for a generally happy person?

It doesn’t.

Where do the emotions of sadness, confusion and anger come from? How is it present with joy, contentment and love? On the surface I am happy; but somewhere my soul is crying and I don't know how to console it. I thought I had it figured out. I spent a year away living life. Learning how to struggle and how to understand myself; how to define myself. I was away and I feared coming back because I knew I got something from being away, and returning would find me desperately holding onto what it was I discovered in a world that had no idea. I learned to trust myself ad that the unknown was something to embrace not to fear. I learned how to relax and how to breathe. I learned how to see beauty, enjoy beauty and create beauty. I learned how be an inspiration and now I feel the need to seek inspiration. I grieve. Not for leaving somewhere amazing, but for losing the person I found while I was there. The person that found happiness and provided happiness for others through that. The person that knows the importance of doing what makes you happy. The person that found love, not with a companion, but with life; with self. I seek to discover it all over again; yet I know it's not to go somewhere else to find it- it is to find it from within. It has not been lost, it has been buried. Buried in a world that only knows time and competition. A world running from something and into nothing, never knowing the in between. I hate this world. It's not me and it's not the person I discovered- the me crying inside.

I thought I was strong enough to hold onto it. I thought I had my head on straight to know I am powerful enough to be an inspiration. I am powerful enough to be the person I am meant to be. I felt myself slowly losing hold of it. I cried for help and no one knew how to understand; how to help. I began to conform to this world of time and deadlines and dates and unloved work. How could I do that to myself? And I am asked if I am unhappy.
No. I am devastated.

My head feels lighter. My breathing falls deeper; slower.

In choice, why do we choose to live a life we don't love?

I found myself falling into a routine; into a line of herd, becoming another face in the crowd; another number on the computer. Days have been passing by me, filled with work that needs to be done for the next day. I sleep, but when I sleep I am more awake than when my eyes are open. I fall into a world of dreams and close my eyes to the sounds of water rippling into shore and falling back into the ocean- the ocean I see and taste when my eyes are closed. Then my eyes open to the repetitive clock that screams over and over until I turn it off and decide to wake and to walk as though I have already died.

I found love in acting. My world woke me up when I was acting, but then I was told: Good acting comes from a happy actor. The one thing I do to make me happy can only be done well if I am happy. Perhaps that means I found love where I am meant to be- where I find happiness. Yet, it is not enough. I find myself acting all the time. I find myself acting happy when there is no stage. But the truth is I'm not very good. I'm a horrible liar and the only person I seemed to have fooled was myself.

I still don't know if the presentation went well. I don’t know how to judge my own work. I don’t know how to uncover the emotions I suppress- the unhappiness that hides is revealed to the people around me.

I am given advice to do the things I love to do. I went to the gym today. I bought myself some chocolate. I had a long, hot shower. I ate some pasta. I talked to a good friend. I sat to do some work. I stopped. I started writing. I cried.

I found myself tightening muscles that really need to learn how to be loose. I ate chocolate and then I ate too much. I enjoyed my shower, but had too much pasta. I miss my friends. I really don’t like to do work and I felt guilty not accomplishing anything. I’m still writing. I can finally take a deep breath, even though my eyes are puffy.

But I smile.

Today I discovered unhappiness.
Tomorrow I find happiness.
And right now I am happy to know I feel.
And maybe that's just me acting again.

written February 12, 2008 at 11 pm, no time.