We’ve just finished move-in weekend
for the play I’m directing. Move in is horrendous. It involves
long, long days of actors waiting hours longer than I’d predicted
while lighting design people solve problems I don’t understand and
can’t begin to explain to cast and crew who would rather stick
forks in their eyes than have another half-hour delay. It involves
brief, sometimes angry directives to the impatient and the tardy.
(“Don’t bully me,” snapped an 80-year-old actor after I’d
suggested she get her rear end out of bed and over to the theatre
where we were waiting for her.) It involves regretting my angry
directives and throwing myself back into the day over and over with
patience and enthusiasm. It involves reworking facial scars that
don’t look right under stage lights, music and light cues to
program and reprogram, a labor scene in which half the audience can
see an actor’s crotch, and on and on. It involves eating more
sweet, puffy muffins in one day than is good for any human being.
It’s probably no different that what
many of you do at work every day.
Here’s what I’m grateful for: Hours
before this bedlam began, I was on my living room floor in
Savasana, thinking, “Thank you, thank you, for everything that happens
today.” No matter how chaotic the day becomes, I will be back on my
living room floor tomorrow morning, saying, “Thank you, thank you, for
all of this.”
It’s because of this, I think, that I
never feel lost in the chaos. The nuttiness feels temporary,
superficial, and less jarring than it used to. It is something I’m
doing, not something I am.
Has yoga given you this?
Thanks to yoga for telling me who I am
every day. Thanks to the beautiful cast and crew I have the honor to
work with, and thanks to you for the conversation,