A New Year

There is no doubt that this is a new year. It is 2011. Things are not the same as they were in 2010. We have made our resolutions, and many of us have already failed to keep to those (often drunken) promises made just two weeks ago.

I have failed to have the nerve to ask anyone to keep a "joint custody" notebook with me, one of my few measurable resolutions this year. Sure, we're only two weeks into the year, but the goal was to start the new year off worrying about what to write, not if to write. My resolution has been revised. I now seek to find the courage to risk the hurt of a poor reaction to my potentially weird request. "Want to share a notebook and write back and forth, sharing and exposing our deeper and potentially 'criminalising' thoughts to each other? Want to practice trust . . . with me?"

I haven't asked not only because I am afraid of a negative reaction, but also because I am afraid of a positive reaction. I am afraid of, "Ooh, yes, let's! I can't wait to know what you think!" Or, in words I actually did recently receive from someone, "I would like to know your thoughts." That is even scarier, actually, for various reasons, but perhaps the most powerful being that I want someone to find my thoughts worthwhile, and I deeply fear that they aren't. The positive reaction is scarier because it only delays the inevitable negative response that is to come, and that negative response will only hurt more the longer it is delayed.

So I have struggled with this resolution. It is symbolic of my desire to trust others more and allow myself to risk being hurt. This is hard for me. I would like to shield myself from harm, but I know this is unhealthy. I want to be healthy. I have failed so far in this effort, but I have hope that I can learn from failing and eventually just get over it.

But the new year has not been pure failure. I am in the midst of the final days before my show, Where the Wild Berries Grow, opens Thursday. I remember this time last year quite well:

Without Direction was about to open, and, as common in productions, it was far from ready for an audience. I was, as expected, stressed out. Incredibly so. It was the first production I had ever directed, for show I had ever fully written, first time I would be on stage as anything other than a tiny role. Anxiety was my first, last, and middle name. I remember quite well screaming at the rest of the cast, falling apart, feeling ready to strangle everyone. It seemed that I was constantly being bombarded with more problems to somehow deal with, and I was just too exhausted to even pretend like I was handling it. I wasn't. I was angry, moody, bitchy, horrible. I know I was.

I snapped at my mother yesterday, for which I felt terrible, but other than that, I have managed the constant onslaught of problems with endlessly more grace than last year. I am utterly amazed at the way I have handled everything. I went in this year with the memories of last year vivid in my mind, and I swore I would not be that person ever again. I wanted to be a calm and peaceful director.

I have succeeded in making that resolution true. There is little over a week until the production will be complete, but I have faith in my abilities to remain strong and roll with the punches. I have been going to church every day before going to rehearsal so that I may find the peaceful person I find on Sundays and take her with me to rehearsals, and it has so paid off. And most wonderfully, I can feel that version of me, the person I would much rather be, slowly becoming the norm.

It is a new year. I am a new person. I have failed and I have succeeded, but the journey is not over, and I will only continue to grow and make changes as I make my way forward into this new year. There are changes I am not yet ready to make, and others which I should have made sooner, but it is all a part of the journey. I forgive myself for my failures of today, my failures of yesterday, and my failures of tomorrow. I invite you to forgive yourself too.