Reading all these books on introversion has made me think about all the ways our education systems favor certain types of engagement and expression. On the teachers’ side, I have heard things like, “How do we get so and so to talk?” and as a student, I have felt the pressure, the inquisitive looks, the sense that someone is waiting for me to speak, the overenthusiastic response when I do. Education can feel like a constant coercion to speak.

Conversely, there have been periods in which I was the only student speaking in a class, moments when I was always the first one with my hand up. That was in my more extroverted period, I guess. But I am not any less intelligent or thoughtful than I was when I was the Hermione Granger of Developmental Psychology, I just questions my motives for speaking more. I speak when I feel I have something real to contribute or an honest question, not just an excuse to her myself talk.
I honor anyone’s right to be quiet. Mine especially. I have done all the speaking I need to do for a little while.

We gathered together a lovely group of women for our audition/rehearsal/playtime workshop. They came because we asked them and they seemed to all have a glorious time, which is what I wanted. It was extraordinary amount of work to gather them together and an extraordinary amount of work to facilitate. Lots of them said, “We should do this every week!” Which might kill me but pleased me a great deal none the less. The fact is we should do it every week. But it would be too expensive to rent that space so often and it would cost a lot of my energy, too. I’d like, though, to have a consistent and delightful group of actors like those we saw on Saturday to play with and create something gorgeous and fun and exciting.
All it takes is an invitation.
And money and labor.

I’m spending the day at a middle school. I have seen dozens of trials, dozens of cries of injustice, dozens of struggles with fairness. While I think all ages grapple with fairness and justice, middle schoolers stand at the crux of it. They seem to spend their days learning how to deal justly with each other, if only by dealing unjustly with each other so often.

Visitations seem to always be from deities. I wonder if one could charge for them.
See the Virgin Mary for $20.
Get a free visitation with this coupon!
Visitation from Ganesh 20% off.
Gaia will appear to you for a limited time only.

In my youth, it was hard for me to work out my own inclinations.
I was inclined to follow the inclinations of others. In matters of not much significance, I could reliably just go along with whomever had a strong preference because my preference was stronger for togetherness with them than for pancakes. Sometimes I didn’t have a sense that I might want pancakes.

Or, I could be with someone who wanted a walk in the park and found that I, too, wanted a walk in the park but could never be sure if it was me who wanted the walk in the park or just wanted to go along with the park walks. It was a matter of some confusion for some time. I had to learn how to go inside myself to see what my won inclinings might be. I trained myself to understand that I might have a desire of my own, separate from someone else.

I admire Hamlet’s directness here. If I had suspicions about my friends’ motivations, I don’t think I’d confront them. I think I’d try and work it out round and about, try and get some time to explore what I knew. Hamlet does a little of this but he just comes out and asks them what the heck is going on. If he were Polonius, he’d send someone to follow them. If he were Gertrude, he’d cozy up to them. If he were Claudius, he’d have them killed (Oh wait! He does that later.) If he were Ophelia, he’d just accept his crappy fate. And if he were the Player, he’d act this thing out.

How much is a pin? Is it a half penny?
Is the price of a life the same as the price of a thought or a thanks?
It seems like here Hamlet is saying his thanks, while only worth a half penny, are still too expensive.

I had thought about how much wrestling with worth Hamlet does in his conversations with others. Sure, sure he wonders whether to be or not to be but there he’s not pricing his life and aspects of his life.
It’s fascinating how questions of worth are so often about actual financial worth. I have my worth search spectacles on now. Where else will I find questions of value and worth in the play as it goes on?

While walking along the Downtown mall with my father a few weeks ago, we ran into my pre-school teacher. He and his wife (also my teacher then) were actors who taught pre-school on the side. Or perhaps they were pre-school teachers who were actors on the side. I don’t know which side was which for them. I loved those two teachers. I don’t remember any of the other teachers I must have had there.

I think it was in their care that I fell in love with theatre. I remember some serious playing of Billy Goats Gruff and the creation of a Janus pin, which while not technically a theatrical symbol, I saw it that way.

Is it their fault then that I live in poverty? Can I blame them for the way my heart breaks every day or for the frustrations of not being able to make work the way I want to? Can I lay my dissatisfactions and hungers and despairs at their feet? I suppose I could. But if I give them that responsibility, I would also have to thank them for the transcendent moments, for the burst of inspiration, for the aspirations and the insights. I could blame you. . . .

A prince can call himself a beggar and we all know that it’s a metaphor. It’s an obvious antithesis for him.

If I were to say this, it would be a little muddier. You might notice the hole in my sock and my hand-me-down clothes and wonder if I might really be a beggar. I feel like one sometimes for sure. Especially, when I’m fundraising for a show.

Because of all that fundraising, I do a lot of thanking. Sometimes I feel rich in thanks in that I have so many good people to give those thanks to. But given how it can feel like our gratitude is never adequate, we probably all feel poor in thanks at one time or another, prince or actual beggar.