Wednesday, July 11, 2007
HERD
I had a meeting yesterday with a real live British playwright. I was pretty excited to meet an English artist in the flesh - he's my first. Furthermore, he was taking time out from writing a new play to have coffee with me in the lobby of the ultra-inspiring National Theatre. And while we were ostensibly meeting to talk about academia (he teaches for a well-respected university), of course I was secretly hoping that he would fall in love with me and, upon discovering that I am a dramaturg, insist that I must collaborate with him on his new play.
That didn't happen. What did happen is that we spent a very pleasant 2 hours together chatting about ideas and culture and what kind of theatre we each like to make and see. It was one of the most pleasant conversations I've had since I've been in London, and he was by far the friendliest British person I've met. At the end of 2 hours, I noticed he was starting to sneak peaks at his watch, and so I gracefully released him - I'm sure he was eager to return to his writing - and while I think he enjoyed our talk as much as I did, we made no plans for a second date. If this was San Francisco, I would have said something like "Hey, I really enjoyed talking with you. Let's get together and do it again sometime." But here, I am stopped in my tracks by the classic British reserve. Fundamentally, I think all Brits are introverts. While they are very willing to help you and share information with you, they really seem to balk at getting intimate with people they don't know really well. I can't imagine Brits ever have one night stands. And I can't imagine that I'm going to exit this foreign sojourn with any real British friends. I've made an American friend, a Dutch friend and two French friends, but the Brits remain illusive prey.
So while the talk itself was both illuminating and satisfying, I left the meeting with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Where are my people? It's a lament I've been uttering since grammar school. Where are the people who are like me? Where are the people who like me? Where are the people I can see eye to eye with, stand toe to toe with, go the distance for, and break bread with? This being in a new country feels a bit like being back in middle school - I am constantly looking for where I fit, which group I can belong to. The tribal impulse is so strong in us humans - we crave the safety and security of the herd, even as we long to ride solo into the sunset.
So what do I do now? I think it's time to get out the cow bells, climb to the top of the nearest hill, ring like crazy, and wait. Maybe there's a crowd right around the bend moving in my direction. Maybe there's a lone cow out there who's looking for a herd too. Maybe an eagle will land on my shoulder and we'll begin an interspecial dialogue. So I'll wait, for a warm flank to lean into, a head to nod in unison with, a call that I can answer.
Be well.
That didn't happen. What did happen is that we spent a very pleasant 2 hours together chatting about ideas and culture and what kind of theatre we each like to make and see. It was one of the most pleasant conversations I've had since I've been in London, and he was by far the friendliest British person I've met. At the end of 2 hours, I noticed he was starting to sneak peaks at his watch, and so I gracefully released him - I'm sure he was eager to return to his writing - and while I think he enjoyed our talk as much as I did, we made no plans for a second date. If this was San Francisco, I would have said something like "Hey, I really enjoyed talking with you. Let's get together and do it again sometime." But here, I am stopped in my tracks by the classic British reserve. Fundamentally, I think all Brits are introverts. While they are very willing to help you and share information with you, they really seem to balk at getting intimate with people they don't know really well. I can't imagine Brits ever have one night stands. And I can't imagine that I'm going to exit this foreign sojourn with any real British friends. I've made an American friend, a Dutch friend and two French friends, but the Brits remain illusive prey.
So while the talk itself was both illuminating and satisfying, I left the meeting with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Where are my people? It's a lament I've been uttering since grammar school. Where are the people who are like me? Where are the people who like me? Where are the people I can see eye to eye with, stand toe to toe with, go the distance for, and break bread with? This being in a new country feels a bit like being back in middle school - I am constantly looking for where I fit, which group I can belong to. The tribal impulse is so strong in us humans - we crave the safety and security of the herd, even as we long to ride solo into the sunset.
So what do I do now? I think it's time to get out the cow bells, climb to the top of the nearest hill, ring like crazy, and wait. Maybe there's a crowd right around the bend moving in my direction. Maybe there's a lone cow out there who's looking for a herd too. Maybe an eagle will land on my shoulder and we'll begin an interspecial dialogue. So I'll wait, for a warm flank to lean into, a head to nod in unison with, a call that I can answer.
Be well.
Labels: Career Anxiety, Creative Process
