Seeking the process

I've been wrapped up in the vortex of my own agitation since about a month before I finished my doctorate. What should I do next? Does it make sense for me to look for a faculty job? Is this singing thing a waste of my time and education? Is that the fear talking? (the short answer to those last few questions is YES) Every time I'd get close to clarity, something would happen to force my hand. An audition would come into direct conflict with a teaching schedule that I had constructed in order to give my life some "structure." And not just some little crappy audition either. Big, serious auditions.

I was just about at the end of my rope when we went to go see Bill, our priest. He's been down the academic road before, having a phD of his own, and his temperament and love for structure is similar to mine, so I can take all of his words with the full weight of his experience when he says to me, "There is nothing more that you can DO. You planted these seeds deeply, and you don't know when they will bear fruit. But you can try to enjoy the small victories when they come and you can be grateful for the security and support that you have." All true, and mostly difficult for someone who focuses on the DO part of life.

I thought that, if I could just get through January, February would take care of itself. Sure enough, March started yesterday and I barely remember February at all, except for a few days when I was in Colorado. Despite the worst travel karma I have ever EVER had (a four and a half-hour train delay, a flight turned around in mid-air, delayed and then canceled all in the same week) I managed to get to Colorado with my luggage and at least my body intact. And promptly had an allergy attack that made me so stuffy I could barely see straight for the first two days. This meant that I couldn't do as much work as I had intended. Hmmm.....

So in my free time (read: when the altitude caught up to me in the middle of every phrase I tried to sing) I started reading some books and working on some knitting and having conversations about how to approach this point in my career. It's hard to describe - I feel like the plates of the earth are moving, slowly, sometimes imperceptibly, and then I get a big ole jarring movement that shakes the little toothpick sculpture I've been building to give myself structure. Something is happening in my life/my career/my destiny and I have no idea what it is, but I need to have my hands free when the time comes. What does this mean?

During one of my lessons, this phrase came up. Since then, it pops up in many many conversations I have, and almost every time I find myself in a snarl about something.

Are you ready? This is a good one.

"You have to seek the process. You can't seek the result."

Now what the hell is that all about? For me, it meant divesting myself of those fetters that would keep me from being ready to jump at the best opportunities - the class I thought I could teach that would keep me booked up for the next ten weeks. The extra lessons (teaching) I thought I could squeeze in that would completely eat up practice time. This was the hard one: the faculty searches for jobs that would never, not in a million years, even consider letting me jump up to New York for auditions when they come up. Why spend all of my daylight hours preparing my faculty CV and materials and such, when those jobs would effectively put an end to everything I've been working for? Why would anyone sabotage themselves like that?

Fear. Plain and simple. Fear is the voice that creeps in when you're sitting in the hallway for an audition and asks the question, "Do you think she's younger than I am?" Fear tells you that Spanx will not hide your cellulite, that your high notes really are shrill, and that you're still that doctoral student wearing her glasses and sweaters, masquerading as a professional singer.

Fear is the single most powerful enemy you have as a performer because it seeks out your deepest and darkest insecurities and speaks to them in seductive tones, to the point where you're sweating and shaking before you even begin.

And this is where the process comes in. I cannot control what the judges/casting agents are looking for. I could show up with the most beautiful mangos in the world, but if they are looking for blueberries, I'm not getting that job. I can make sure that my languages are well-honed, my legato is secure without being anchored, my coloratura is clean and sparkly, and my acting effective BUT the only way to do all of these things is to be fully present in my own life. I cannot sit in the back seat and pray that someone else will take the wheel. Even if I'm scared, I cannot relinquish the only opportunity I have to be a part of my own life.

So what does this look like in application? Example: I went in to audition for a tour. It was NOT high art. It was NOT serious. Sitting in the hallway, I was thinking to myself, "I have nothing to lose." Which is great, because you're then able to sing without judging every little note that comes out of your mouth. They called me back the next day, worked with me a little, and were so so positive. I went across town to another audition, feeling generally good about what I had done. Not over the moon, but good. Secure. Confident. I sang another really good audition. And then I went home. I just kept thinking, "how is it possible to sing so well when I'm not invested in the outcome?" Well duh. Of course I sing well when I'm not invested in the outcome. Because when I'm thinking about the outcome, I'm not thinking about singing or acting or emoting or anything. I'm judging myself. Which is the surest way to check out.

I'm not saying this works every day. I'm not saying there aren't days when I stand in front of the mirror at the gym and question whether or not I'm competitive against the 22 year-old soubrettes whose metabolisms have not yet succumbed to sluggishness, but those days are slowly being replaced by the days when I stand in front of the mirror at the gym and appreciate the muscles showing up in my arms and my shoulders. There are days when I surprise myself in a really good practice session and think, "Wow, I'm really enjoying this." And as a person who likes tangible proof, there are beautiful days like last Saturday when I step into the dressing room at Gap and put on a pair of size 8 jeans, which I have not done since junior high school. And you bet your sweet bippy I bought those jeans.

So this is me, trying to seek the process. Trying to be ready, hands free, light on my feet, to take whatever crazy pass the fates throw at me when I'm not looking. Ready go.