third time around

"FAIL OUT."

If you fall, fall forward and keep your focus forward and fixed; keep your head up. Don't look down, don't lay down and give up. Connect with the ground through your feet and your center, not your back.

It's funny, you'd think I'd know enough to be successful in Suzuki by the time I hit my third year (techinically, my third quarter), but the truth is, I fail just like anyone else, even those who have never done it before. The pedagogy is based on failure. The above paragraph was something new that George told us today, something I learned and that definitely applies to how I'm approaching this training. I go back to Suzuki to fail, to learn, and to grow. There's always something new.

I was also told by a classmate that there's a saying (I forget who said it) that goes along the lines of this: "An amateur will work at something until they get it right. A professional will work at something until they get it wrong." Which also sums up Suzuki perfectly. We're always told that if you find something is easy, you're either doing it wrong, or you're not pushing yourself hard enough.

A long time ago, when I was first taking this class, I didn't know how I was going to apply any of it to my work in acting, let alone my life in general. All of these lessons, plus all of the ones I won't even mention here (too many to count), are indeed not only important when it comes to acting, and theatre, but are as important, if not more so, in our daily lives. We all fail. Why give up? Pushing ourselves and forcing ourselves out of our quiet little comfort zones can help us break barriers--physically, mentally, and emotionally. Anyone who's taken Suzuki and is familiar with the training knows this:

We can topple walls.

Something I need to remember. Maybe being strong has nothing to do with holding it all in. Maybe being strong means having the courage to knock everything down and expose it to the world.

At the end of the "soaring" exercise that we sometimes do as a cool-off exercise at the end of class, which centers on far focus, balance, and isolation-control (making sure that different parts of your body move at the same tempo--I know, I just made the term up), at the end of the song, we stand firm, keep our focus forward, and just lift both of our hands up and out, as if to say to the audience that we're facing, "Here I am. Look at me. I'm open, this is all for you to see." It's a simple gesture, but the way we hold our arms signifies something powerful.

Every day, I waver. My emotions shake, quivering with exhaustion like my legs do after a round of Basic and Basic I exercises. Something different each day. And I do try to take each day as it comes, one at a time; even though it's difficult, I'm getting better at it. The days keep going, and they don't stop for me; they don't pause so I can lie face-down on my bed and cry into my pillow for an hour. I have to keep up. I can't waste these days. Life will get even harder once I step out into the real world and I can be sure that if I fall down and refuse to get up, even once, I will get lost. I'd rather be hurting and moving than lost and numb. And there are times when I may have to remind myself that it is okay to let myself cry, because I will go mad and dry up like a walking drought if I don't; giving up is different than giving in.

I am strong. Astrology, if nothing else, is right about me in one aspect: I am a lion. Shouldering the weight of my world and carrying on. I don't seek leadership, no, and I don't seek limitless power. But the power I have makes my possibilities limitless.

I'm ready. Push through and push on. DO IT.