The First Two Weeks

 Here are the facts: I left the life I had built over the last five years in Denver to move to San Diego (La Jolla, to be exact), to pursue an MFA in Acting.  I knew that UCSD had not taken a student who uses a wheelchair in their acting program before.  I knew that I would be meeting and encountering a plethora of new people and experiences.  I knew that things would change, and I knew it would be hard.

***

I arrived in California two weeks and three days ago, safe and sound after a fairly uneventful road trip.  (At the last minute before leaving, my mom propositioned a couple of my good friends to drive with my dad and me so she wouldn’t have to, and they agreed.  So, HUGE thanks to Paul, Max, and Curtis for assisting me in the move - it literally would have been nearly impossible without them!)

My first few days were fairly busy with unpacking, setting up my apartment, meeting my fellow students, dealing with logistical issues (like, my cell phone NOT working in my new place because of all the concrete in the building, and multiple DMV visits to try to get a California ID - argh), and tackling all the other elements of a big move.  I arrived late on a Thursday and began school orientation on Monday.  My mom and dad both came out to assist me, and I have to say that I don’t know how anyone ever gets by without people like my parents.  I re-realized during those first few days – particularly on Tuesday (waaaait for it) – a fact that I’m already well aware of: that I am one of the most fortunate kids on this earth to have such caring souls as my dad, mom, and stepdad to support me through transitions like this one.

Anyhow, Tuesday…the first official day of orientation (duh-duh-duh!).  I had found out just before I left Denver that the incoming actors were going to have to perform their monologues again for the faculty and fellow students again that day.  I hadn’t worked on them in months, but thought, “No problem, I got this.”  After nearly no time with each other, we incoming actors found ourselves in a room full of faculty members.  As I sat through introductions, I was aware that it was the first time that most of them were seeing the new “girl in the wheelchair” that they had heard about.  We mingled a bit, and then were expected to go right into monologues.  I ended up being 7^th of 8, and each person before me mostly nailed his or her pieces. 

I got up and began my monologue, and four sentences in, my mind went blank.  Totally blank.  Blank like I had never before experienced on stage.  Caught completely off guard, I took a second and started over.  Again, same spot…blank.  Blank, blank, blank.  I apologized, and a chorus of “don’t worry”s and “it’s okay”s rang out.  The head of acting said, “Don’t worry about starting over, just keep going.” I thought, I would if I could remember ANY of the damn words that come next!!!  Another actor offered to be on book, and I declined, but took a look at my monologue anyhow (although my eyes didn’t really see any of the words…all I could think about were the many eyes focused on me).

Eyes focused on me.  Later I realized what was happening to me in that moment.  Every piece of the past few days, several months, and even eight years since my injury, came rushing in at once: saying goodbye to my life and community of friends and family in Denver; moving into a new space that was supposed to be home; arriving in a town that didn’t know me from anyone; having to start from square one with a brand new group of people who didn’t know my circumstances or history, and also didn’t know my performance abilities; seeing my fellow actors perform for the first time, and feeling that I had to measure up.  And not just as Regan, the actor who had been accepted to the MFA program.  I felt like I was also representing the high school senior who had been denied acceptance to a couple of renowned acting programs ten years earlier; the 20-year old who woke up in a hospital bed with her life changed; the young woman who represented the successes of Swim With Mike, and Craig Hospital, and USC, and DU, and PHAMALY; my fellow actors with disabilities who would never be given the opportunity to get on that stage; and hell, for that matter, every disabled person in the world.  It was all there with me onstage.  No pressure.

But, I did not realize all of this until later, of course.  The only thing I could think it that moment was…shit.  They are going to think I shouldn’t be here.  That I’m not good enough.  That people with disabilities can’t do this. 

I took a breath and subconsciously had a Risky Business quote moment: “Sometimes you just gotta say, what the fuck."  I launched in one more time, and reached the dreaded fourth sentence, and bing, I kept going.  It clicked.  My peripheral vision caught heads nodding in support, and I finished the monologue, and continued seamlessly through my second one.

Everyone was supportive, and I even learned from one of the staff members that one of the most respected recent actors in the program hadn’t even made it through the first-day monologue and had simply ended it early.  Still, I felt like an amateur.  I immediately retreated inside my head, and can’t remember much of the rest of the day, except for my mom attempting to reassure me as I released the overwhelm on her outside of Whole Foods in La Jolla Village shopping center, simultaneously drowning my self-doubt in a latte, cookie, and Diet Dr. Pepper.  I felt better that evening, when I again had my splendid parents at my side to talk through my doubts and build me up a bit. (Again, incomparable people.)

By the time class started on Thursday, I had let go of some tension, some tears, some uncertainty, and I was emboldened.  Most of all, I realized that I was imposing pressures on myself that were somewhat unrealistic.  Sure, they existed to some extent, but all I really had to be responsible for in that monologue moment – and all I would have to be responsible for in the coming months and years – was myself.  And even though I had felt wretched, I realized that the challenging start was a good way to begin…it made me comfortable addressing my self-doubt from the get-go.  (Also, I thought I could actually chalk it up as being super-professional…I got my flubs out of the way on the very first day!)  Haha, no, I expect flubs to keep coming, as they should.  Because if the journey of life (and an MFA program) is about perfecting anything, it’s the ability to cope and deal, right? :-)

***

I’ll quickly express a few discoveries/re-discoveries I’ve had since arriving:

Change IS hard, especially when you see it unexpectedly in yourself.  Some of the changes I’ve already noticed have been positive (such as physical differences from working on posture, physicality, and movement in classes, and from going a more than a week now without pop, which is quite a feat for me!)  Some are more challenging, such as the unpredictability of the human element. 

All of our program participants are incredibly diverse in countless ways.  For instance, within our 8 incoming actors, we are incredibly unique – 4 males, 4 females, some having lived internationally and traveled to countless cosmopolitan locales, others having grown up in small towns or lived in the same place nearly their entire lives; some just out of college, others having spent several years in the “real world”; different mindsets, different ethnicities, different worldviews, and that’s just the 8 actors, who are only a smidge of the program.  And, it’s amazing how emotionally and psychologically trying it is to be bombarded with continuous unfamiliar social experiences involving people from incredibly different backgrounds.   

My sister joked at one point that actors just sit and talk about their emotions with each other.  And yes, in a funny way she’s right…but, it doesn’t mean it’s easy.  We’re involved in a constant state of discovery around the human condition, and must be in a perpetual state of heightened self-awareness in order to understand who/how/what we are so that we may then use ourselves as instruments in our craft.  It can be exhausting (especially trying to maintain some idea of personal authenticity within it all).

Denver is a pretty amazing place, and the life I had built there was pretty swell.  I sure miss everyone.  ‘Nuff said.

There are still a lot of people in this world who are not particularly aware of disabilities and the nuances of living with a disability.  I expected that I would perhaps have to educate my colleagues a bit about my unique circumstances, and have been pleased to find that they are most open to learning and helping.  But, it doesn’t negate the fact that constantly engaging in a bit of extra thinking around accessibility and the challenges, frustrations, and uniquenesses of living with a disability can be taxing. 

And, I continue to marvel at some people’s ignorance.  I went to see a movie with a fellow actor last week, and when I returned to my car – my big white van that has a wheelchair on the license plate, a “Braun Entervan” plastered on the side and back, and a big sticker on the passenger back door that says “Adaptive Automobility” – I had a note with the following kind message on my windshield (spelled as it was on the note):

HEY ASSHOLE

YOU’RE IN A

HANDICAP SPOT

NO PLACKARD

--CALLED POLICE ON

MY CELL – HOPE

THEY COME BEFORE

YOU GET BACK TO

CAR. BIG TICKET!

That’s always enjoyable.  I actually thought it was funny that someone had taken the time to write and place the note, and in that time had not noticed anything about my car that indicated it was allowed to be in the spot.  My co-actor was not so amused, and I appreciated her ire at the situation.

The fact that I am part of this program means that some minds are going to be blown, including my own. – I’ll close this blog by saying that I’ve had some unbelievably gratifying experiences with numerous people in my program already, including conversations about movement, costuming, vocalizing, directing, and living as it relates to my physicality.  I’ve engaged in deep and meaningful (D&M, as my brother would say) exchanges about difficult life experiences, and the personal awareness and growth that can emerge from the worst events.  I already have a lot of love for many people in the program, and great respect for their various talents.

I’ve only been here two weeks, and the adventure already seems like my personal enhanced version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride (to use a Southern California reference).  So, I can only imagine what the remaining two years, two quarters, and nine weeks have in store.

Cheers! (More on classes, people, and other things in a week or so!)

R