Week 4 – Lectorial

At the age of four, my mum took me to my first ballet class. At the age of ten, I began singing lessons. Twelve years old and I fell head first into drama class and any extracurricular theatre programs I could find. Though I feel I’ve mostly been quiet and reserved my whole life, I loved to perform. Explaining why I love to dance, sing and act is something I can’t put into words, as incredibly cliché as it sounds. But sometime last year, I fell out of love with it. Not just that, I despised it. I would have rather been skinned alive than forced onto a stage for people to see me perform. Why? I couldn’t tell you. But a large part of me believes it’s because I simply realised, performing is HARD. I had been trying to follow this passion and imagining a career in it almost my entire life, so I was somewhat surprised to have a moment where I hated it so much. I concluded that everyone else was better than me and turning up to a single drama class suddenly took a huge toll on my health.

Not turning up, however, was worse. When I wasn’t there, it was like my body and soul was punishing me for missing out on something I once loved so much, and I started to regret ever thinking that not going would make my performance anxiety issue disappear.

It took me a while, but when I finally did get back up on the stage, it was like every struggle I had encountered previously happened for a reason, and every slight hardship I had faced was all worth it. I remembered what it felt like to face the lights and hear the applause and be apart of something special.

I guess the point is that while many may think this whole experience led me to come to a conclusion of realising just how much I love performing and accepting it as my one and only job prospect in life, I’m not sure I’ll ever again have those dreams. Of course I performing, but at this point in my life it’s the kind of self-indulgent love where I’m more concerned about the kind of joy it brings me, or as Cal Newport puts it, ‘what the world can offer you’ rather than ‘what you can offer the world’. (Be So Good They Can’t Ignore You, pg 38). Last year I became aware of what I didn’t like about singing, dancing and acting, and realised I didn’t love it enough to create a sustainable career.

These days, I still have no clue what a sustainable career looks like or if I’ll ever have one. And while it’s only been about twelve hours since I first read a snippet of Newport’s novel, I don’t think I’ll forget his words on the ‘Craftsman Mindset’, suggesting that ‘you put aside the question of whether your job is your true passion, and instead turn your focus toward becoming so good they can’t ignore you.’ (Be So Good They Can’t Ignore You, pg 39). Because while I won’t be fooled in thinking that it will be easy, I am willing to accept the fact that it will probably be worth it when I’m not twenty-nine years old and suffering crippling depression due to failing as a performer.

I will still perform. I still do perform. And though it was difficult to accept at first, I think continuing my performance tendencies as a hobby brings me more happiness than a career in it ever would.

Tiny me thinking ballet was the best.