Bridging the Gap

Dear Jessie,

For you, it is December 6th, 2016. In a year, almost exactly, you will sit down and begin a blog post called “A Letter to My Fifth Grade Self” filled with most of the lessons you will have learned and all of the ways you’ve grown in the past year, starting tomorrow. For me, it is February 23rd, 2019. We are 19--we made it here. I am at BYU pursuing acting and a creative writing minor. To quote the letter you will soon write, “Things are different now, but they are better.”

I think about you often. Even though everything you are experiencing and feeling was me a little over three years ago, I can barely recall anything. We’re really messed up, though, aren’t we? I do know that. You are currently sitting on your bed, crying, barely home from a rehearsal that left you feeling completely worthless, utterly hopeless. This isn’t the first time you’ve left school feeling this way; more often than not you are here or worse. You want to drop out of the show you are currently cast in, but everything in you rebels against this. Ingrained into the core of your being is the fear that stepping back, taking drastic measures, will ruin your life forever. I cannot take this away from you, and I am sorry, but I wouldn’t even if I did have that ability. What I will do, however, is tell you a little bit about how I think of this moment, 6:30pm on a Tuesday, your thoughts a blur and the world before you merely an empty, grey space.

Rising Action

December of 2015 we developed a stress fracture in the top of our left foot. I remember, so I know you do as well, choosing to dance anyway, for months. I mean, we knew something was wrong--that foot had been messed up for years, but during Oklahoma! things went very south quickly and, instead of going to a doctor, you kept dancing. The show ended and still, you danced your way into a boot for months and physical therapy for quite a while afterward. I am so sorry, but sometimes I can still feel an ache in my bone. I doubt it will ever go away.

In October of 2018, I was in four dance classes, preparing for my second audition into the Music Dance Theatre program here at BYU. There I was, in Jazz on a Thursday evening, same as always, when I went into a grand plie and felt something in my knee pop. Crashing to the ground, the top of my left foot throbbed--only for a moment: a reminder of the last time I flew too high, too fast.

Stubborn as I am, I finished out class. I marked some, but I was really trying to dance through the pain in my already-stiffening knee. As I limped home, I told myself this was a simple fix, a pulled muscle, my normal strength would be recovered in a couple of days, ignoring the voice in my head--your voice--that knew otherwise. After all, I was set to film the dance audition for MDT that Saturday. There was simply no other option besides healing, and healing quickly.

Background

In TMA 115, Into to Performance Studies, one of the first things you learn is the concept of liminal spaces, experiences, and rituals. “Liminal” means “occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or a threshold. People often describe liminal spaces as existing somehow outside of reality, but the truth is we are a part of liminal space every single day. Whenever we are thinking about making a choice, even one small enough as when or where to eat lunch, we are liminally suspended between what could be and what is.

Of course, sometimes people live liminally for an extended period in time. In performance studies, people often discuss the period between high school graduation and moving out before beginning college, trade school, a career, or another major life event, such as a mission or marriage. Most people experienced a weird summer or year(s) where they were no longer in traditional schooling, but also were not yet quite able to begin the next stage of life. This is often cited as an unsettling time period, where everything seems stuck in some kind of limbo.

It is theorized that part of what makes us feel so uneasy about liminal space or time is the fact that nothing is certain. Sure, you have plans to go to school, or whatever it is you have planned for your next step. By the time you graduate high school, you have likely committed to a school, placed a deposit, and if you already have (or are looking for) housing--things seem pretty clear cut as to what happens next. But the truth is, until something actually happens, nothing is 100% going to happen. Who’s to say you won’t discover your true calling in life that summer, drop everything, and move to Alaska? Unlikely as it might be, part of our brain is always aware that technically, the option remains open. Until something happens to clarify existence, such as moving in somewhere new or starting a new semester, our minds cannot completely let go of the ideas of how everything can change.

An Aside

One of the main emphases of acting classes here at BYU is action. In every scene, monologue, and exercise I have done throughout the last two semesters, I have been encouraged to make newer, more creative, or increasingly risky choices in order to fully explore a character and her objective(s) and circumstance(s). If we perform something more than once, each performance is expected to be somewhat dramatically different: the character should try new “tactics” in order to get what they want, and we should fear being boxed in by an idea of how someone “should” behave.

Even though I have grown more used to this methodology, and find a lot of satisfaction in throwing out old ideas and trying things, I find myself very anxious every time I am asked to perform. I still struggle to trust myself enough to stretch, and in doing so I probably do not reach my full potential. As much as I would like to grow past this, the parts of me that you know best, the voices and panic-stricken threads that feed off of doubt, still whisper their unending mantras. What if I fail? I wonder, In a world where right and wrong are entirely subjective, how can I possibly be successful?

As I write this, I still do not know. I work with my professors, my friends, and my TA, always trying something new, preparing for the audition that determines whether or not I am accepted into the BFA Acting program.

Conflict/Climax

I know, I know, the elephant in the room. In October--less than 6 months ago--I was planning my audition for Music Dance Theatre. Everything I write about what’s happening now is about BFA Acting. What happened? All you know is how badly I want to do musical theatre...did something change?

The short answer is no. The long answer is yeah, kinda.

Don’t worry--I still want to go to Broadway. I am still in voice lessons and actually, I sing more than ever. I doubt that will ever change. The path I am taking to get onstage, however, has become a very different story. I hope that doesn’t scare you too much. This was not my plan, obviously, but please find solace in the peace I feel about the choices I have made.

As I am sure you guessed, I did not simply pull a muscle in my knee. Because I overextended myself by dancing 10 hours a week, my knee became inflamed, and my femur was knocked temporarily out of alignment. I danced one more day the entire semester, and then the doctors, MRI’s, braces, and physical therapy cycle you have grown to hate returns, robbing me momentarily of the dreams I had been working toward so faithfully.

Before I knew exactly what was going on with my knee, I had to choose whether or not I was going to submit my video audition. I tried waiting and hoping, but to no avail. Applications were due November 15th, and there I was, on crutches at a Halloween party. There was no easy way around it--I could not dance, and it was highly likely I would not be able to for weeks, if not months. Frantically, I email the heads of the MDT department, desperately explaining my situation and praying for a something, a clear answer on what I had done to my knee and when it would be healed, a promise that pursuing my dreams would not be changed due to my body’s fallibility.

I have experienced miracles before. I have been healed when all the signs said otherwise, and I have been given impossible opportunities. I will not say a miracle did not occur, but if one did, it wasn’t what I thought I needed. I received an apologetic reply from the department heads, offering me the chance to submit a preliminary audition without the dance portion, with the expectation I dance in the callbacks, if granted one. Kind as the exception was, I was not naive enough to hope for a callback from an incomplete audition. Meanwhile, doctor appointments remained difficult to set up, and I was no closer to knowing when I could dance again than I had been the week before. Rather than healing, my knee got worse. Everything in me was willing the world to work in my favor, but I never played God very well.

So, there I was: in an unexpected, and terrifying, liminal space. Something had to change, but I did not know what. Should I repeat the mistakes of a younger self, dance through the pain, send in the video, and live with the knowledge I hoped to be admitted on an audition that did not showcase my true ability? That felt wrong. On the other hand, what else could I do? I couldn’t put off auditioning a full year; that would put me hopelessly behind for graduation.

The only other option available to me was initially heartbreaking: I could change my major. In the TMA program, you perform in a proficiency at the end of each semester you are enrolled in an acting class. The BFA Acting program doesn’t allow admittance until two proficiency checks are taken, one after each of the first two acting classes. I was already in the first acting class, preparing to take a proficiency in December. I would be behind in pre-requisite classes, but technically I could get into the program at the end of the next semester. This was, to an outsider, the obvious choice, but I spent weeks agonizing on how to proceed. If I change my major, I despaired, how am I not giving up on everything I ever wanted?

Another Aside

Let’s return to the theory of acting at BYU for a minute. In a proficiency, you are scored on five different things. The second category explores an actor’s “Vulnerability/Immediacy,” their ability to respond in a way that is realistic for the character, but pushes the boundaries of what choices seem clear. This section explores an actor’s willingness to let their character grow beyond who they initially believed they were playing. How comfortable you are with changing how your character acts will impact every aspect of your score--it is paramount. Without embracing the fear of failure and having the courage to cross the threshold into action, you cannot be a successful actor.

Falling Action/Resolution

You know the result of last semester. I did go ahead and change my major, just to acting, but six months ago even the thought of doing this was blasphemy. It has been one of the most terrifying choices, and subsequent adventures, of my entire life. There is still so much I do not understand about where I go from here, and I struggle every day to know that and be okay. This is probably the most relatable thing I have said so far to you, sitting on your bed, fearing the conversation you want to have with your director tomorrow.

Jessie, let me speak to you, my younger self, honestly for a moment. I do not know many things. I don’t know if I go by Jessie or Jess--my directors call me Jessie, but when I write, Jess looks so much better on paper. I can’t tell you who I will be in a week, because I haven’t lived to her yet, but I know I will be there. There is no magic spell that fast forwards time until I know if I get into the acting program, and yes, that is beyond scary. I am, in a sense, where you are, stuck in the moment between becoming unpaused after pressing play. The difference is, I am older and even, I would say, a little wiser. I cannot and will not pretend to know fully the answers you so need in this moment. What I do know is this: When someone tells you they are afraid of heights, they are lying. If they amend their statement and claim to fear falling, do not believe them. We do not fear solid ground, no matter how high it may be, and we do not fear the air rushing past as we plummet. The true fear is in hitting the ground; we are terrified of the consequences of a single wrong step. I promise you that you are not facing a crash in merely altering what is “in character” for you at sixteen. I know that tomorrow you are taking the first step in choosing to live, and the path ahead is unclear, but the ground is firm and you will keep moving forward.

You are going to make so many choices. Some of them you will look back on and choose differently the next time, but it is my hope you make the new decisions embracing the risk in breaking the mold you’ve built around yourself. Take the time in between now and the next chapter to prepare yourself, so that when the time comes you go boldly into the future. There are so many heartbreaks ahead of you, unimaginable joy yet to be felt. I believe in you, and not just because I know how things turn out. You’ve got a good heart; you can trust it.

All the best,

Jess

P.S. Happy (one day early) birthday. Seventeen is going to be an adventure.

Originally published at allthebestjess.wixsite.com/website on February 27th, 2019