Felonious Monk: The Ancient Art of Stealing from Smart People

I've started the process of packing up my room here in Iowa City, my first taste of the professional actor's itinerant life. Sometimes I take a step outside myself when I'm pedaling past farmland listening to Talib far too loudly and think about my own given circumstances:

I get paid to wear a corset and play pretend and possibly fill-in for a Moroccan prince. And I live with six cats. And I do it in the company of other mad men and women who may have previously been complete strangers but are nonetheless crazy enough to center their lives around make-believe, and willing to follow it- chase it- wherever it leads them.

Strange life. Eight weeks to become vulnerable, open, dependable. Then scatter, rinse and (hopefully) repeat.

One of the perks of my job is the opportunity to examine other actors at various stages in their careers, going on dressing room fact-finding missions. Something beautiful tends to happen when you hush up and listen good. Incidental moments become master classes, and you pick up more that way than by attempting to project how much you know (reminder to self: you're enough, you don't have to try so hard.)

So, in the company of men and women who are either currently in or have memories being in the same state I am, a young artist comprised of equal parts ambition, nerves, insanity, hope, and the belief that I might just turn out to be some kind of somebody in the scheme of things, I've been listening. 

The findings from combinations of conversations here at Riverside:

The quickest way to misery is to count someone else's blessings more than you do your own. Don't attempt to keep up with or compare your achievements to anyone but yourself. Work on yourself, for yourself.

Ain't a drop of shame in children's theatre.

If you're not drawing joy from the work, it's not worth it. Laugh heartily at yourself.

Learning only happens when you venture past your comfort zone. Practicing your strengths incessantly won't aid your weaknesses one bit. Stretch yourself.

You never have as much money as you think you do.

And lastly, your self is what you got. It's your instrument, it's your business. The work requires that you spend time examining your pieces and accepting your inner workings. You have to look at your stuff, think about your stuff, own your stuff.

I'm sitting in a room that a week from now I may never see again that I currently call home, bagging up a summer, letting all the lessons I'm picking up whirl around as I make plans to dive into the biz. Thankfully, they take up less space than all these shoes.