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It's funny how life works - one minute you're walking into a room full of strangers, and the next, you're standing on stage, shining brighter than you ever thought possible, with someone who's become my stage partner. Tonight was one of those nights I'll never forget.
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Ever since 2016, my evenings and weekends have been filled with theatre. And I don't mean watching it — I mean creating it. Directing, performing, dramaturge-ing (is there an actual word for that?), flipping from hanger to hanger in closets stuffed to the brim with vintage costumes, rummaging through mountains of props, building up confidence in bright-eyed young actors, pacifying my fair share of divas... and holding my breath as the music fades down, the lights fade up, and the play begins.
All of this was crammed into the hours of the day not occupied by a nine-to-five job. Theatre is not something I have to do. It's something I choose to do because of the joy it brings me. I've been asked many times over the years by family and friends, "Don't you get tired?" And my honest answer has always been, "No way. I love it."
But today, in the year of our Lord 2023, as a 30-year-old woman who's been involved in something like 17 productions since graduating from college, I am officially tired.
It's kind of weird when I think about it, because I know people twice my age who are hustling just as hard — if not harder — than I was, and they don't seem to be burnt out. Then again, what's that thing people always say, something about how "the only person you should be competing with is yourself"? Pretty sure someone said that. Once. Maybe. Anyway.
This doesn't mean I don't adore live theatre, or performing, or directing. It doesn't mean I want to stop forever. But life has taught me that when intuition speaks, I'm a fool if I don't listen. When I picture sitting down at my desk to block a show, when I imagine finishing up my day job only to jump in the car and drive off to a rehearsal that will stretch all the way up to (and nowadays, past) this gal's bedtime, I feel visceral resistance, with two simple words permeating every ounce of my being:
Maybe you've got something in your life that has burnt you out, like theatre has burnt me out. Maybe your intuition is telling you it's time to take a break. If that's the case, consider this your sign to listen to that intuition. I did, and after politely declining a few opportunities in 2023 that — while lovely on paper — sent my gut running for the hills, I feel like I've just taken one giant exhale.
Without any further ado, and because we love a list in this house, here is a list of five things I'm going to do this year with all the glorious spare time I'll have in light of my lil hiatus from the stage.
Number 1: Literally Nothing
Jerry: "So uh, what'd you do last night?"
Elaine: "Nothing."
Jerry: "I know, 'nothing,' but what did you actually do?"
Elaine: "Literally nothing. I sat in a chair and I stared."
I firmly believe that we as human beings should be shamelessly vocal in our desire to do nothing. In 2023, I will be blocking off entire evenings to do nothing. Get home from work, make some dinner, futz around with jigsaw puzzles, rewatch Gilmore Girls for the billionth time. And if someone asks me, "Hey are you busy Tuesday night? Wanna hang out?" on a night when I've scheduled nothing, my answer will be, "Yeah, sorry, I'm busy Tuesday doing nothing."
Here's the way I look at it: My husband and I want to have a child soon. This may be the last year for the foreseeable future that I'm not responsible for the survival, happiness, health, and well-being of a helpless potato sack (albeit a cute potato sack whom I will love with all my heart) of a human being. So yeah. I feel like I deserve a year where, several nights per week, I do absolutely nothing.
Number 2: Read a Bunch of Books
I used to avoid reading for leisure at all costs. There are a few reasons for this. First and foremost, I was usually too busy reading scripts so I could come up with production concepts, block shows, conduct research, memorize lines... all that jazz. Second, I hated the ergonomics of reading. I was always uncomfortable, and I was too busy fixating on my discomfort to process any of what I was attempting to read. And third, I have this thing where I hate the way pages feel between my fingertips. Sacrilege, I know.
Then, a year or so ago, I gave an e-reader a chance. And dangit, if that thing didn't change the trajectory of my entire life.
I dislike Jeff Bezos as much as the next middle class citizen, so I gerrymander my ethics by adoring my sticker-covered sage green Kindle Paperwhite, drawing the line at actually buying books from Amazon. Instead, I've turned into a Libby app addict, renting the e-books from my local library. And you know what? I can live with that. Especially because it's led to an approximately 3,900% increase in the number of books I read annually.
I set a Goodreads goal to read 30 books in 2023. It's Feb. 1, and I've already read 12. I'm no mathematician, but all signs point to yes, devouring works of fiction is a way that I actually want to spend my time.
Number 3: Paint Silly Little Pictures
I'll keep this one short, because there's really no big story to it. Painting is one of those things that makes me feel warm, fuzzy, and fulfilled inside. Am I an expert painter? No. Are there hundreds of millions of better painters than me in this world? Absolutely. Do the images I paint make my heart happy? Yep. They really do. There is something so darn cool about seeing a thing or a place in my head, and then creating it out of thin air. That's what painting is for me. I just love it, plain and simple, but I've so rarely had the time to sit down and do it regularly. This year, Imma do that.
Number 4: Climb (Fake) Rocks
Physical fitness is the worst thing ever, period. I don't want to work out. I don't enjoy working out. I don't feel healthy or happy or accomplished after I work out. I'm also 30, and I'd like to, you know, survive for a while yet. So, against all odds, I found a workout routine that doesn't make me want to curl up in a dark corner and die: rock climbing.
Rock climbing holds a special place in my heart as the one activity in high school gym class that I actually enjoyed. And when an old college friend and I recently reconnected, and I found out they were a member at a climbing gym, I thought, "Hmm... maybe. Just maybe."
Am I any good at it? Hell no. But is it tons of fun? Is it a challenge that for some reason keeps drawing me back in for more? Is the chalk bag I bought very adorable and aesthetically pleasing? Do I feel kinda sexy and adventurous while doing it?
Hell yes.
And you best believe getting home from rehearsals at 10:30 or 11 PM every night was draining my already non-existent motivation to exercise well below zero. Thus, the year of no theatre becomes the year I try (and probably fail, but who cares?) to become a semi-decent climber.
Number 5: Make Music
I'm pretty darn lucky to have grown up in a musical household. Both my parents can play the piano, and I started messing around on a baby grand (I know, right? Privilege for days) when I was about 5 years old. I'm no Mozart, and I'm definitely not the best pianist in my family, but I can play pretty darn well, and I miss the days where I used to be able to sit at the piano for two, three, four-hour stretches and just play. Stumble through sheet music with my mediocre reading skills, figure out favorite songs by ear, play old classics that my muscles refuse to forget. I never want to say to someone, "Oh, I used to play all the time, but I can't remember any of it anymore." So this year, we're setting aside designated time for piano therapy.
In January, I learned how to play "Rocket Man." Solid start. So maybe I shoot to learn one song per month. That'd be pretty cool. And if a song a month is too much, that's okay, too. The chance to even sit and improv for a few hours after work is something that completely fell by the wayside when evenings were all booked up, and on weekends, exhaustion caught up to me and deterred me from using any kind of creative energy. The idea of waking up early on a Saturday morning and plucking away, no schedule, nowhere to be, no one to tell me it's time to stop? Yes, please.
Well, I guess that's it. Or as the kids say (I think they say this?), "That's it. That's the Tweet."
