There ARE Small Parts. But Avoid Small Thinking.

If you ever check out my other blog, (and history suggests that you never do), you will know that I am currently in yet another play. This time, the play is Tom Stoppard's, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. It is in a way Shakespeare's Hamlet from a vastly different angle. In fact, it's told from the perspective of the two title characters who, in Hamlet are in fact two minor characters. Only a step above the torch bearers, really. But in this play, they are the focus.

In an ironic absurdist way, that is. The play is not at all linear or plot driven, but rather an existential examination of the randomness of life, by way of linguistic gymnastics. However at various points throughout the action, these two gentleman find themselves in the midst of scenes from the actual Hamlet. Hamlet, Ophelia, Claudius, Gertrude, Polonious, The Player, all come in and out in what is essentially mere background for this story. And when they do appear those characters speak their actual Shakespearean lines. I myself play Hamlet.

I have always wanted to play Hamlet, though I admit, not in this particular capacity. While I do intend to play Hamlet in the actual Hamlet some day, this experience has been an interesting spring training for the character if you will. For you see, he is still Hamlet, with all of the depth, dimensions and complications associated with the character. And for my brief time on stage, I must play him as such. (And I am doing a fairly good job at that, if I may say so.)

If my infrequently seen Hamlet were to be phoned in or otherwise be terrible, people would know. Would it deep six the whole production? It would not have to, but a palpable sense of the play being off somehow would, I surmise, permeate the production. Hamlet, though a small role in the play itself, is not a small presence at all within his own head. As far as he is concerned, he is the Prince of Denmark, with all of the importance and burdens that come with that. For me to do little work because he is not seen much would be not only unfair to the rest of the play, but lazy. And it would miss the point.

I apply this approach to my acting whenever I play a smaller role, or need to perform a scene in the background. I work hard to be totally present in whatever part of the story I am telling. My commitment to good theatre necessitates this.

Yet I have tried to apply this notion to other aspects of my life as well. And it is not easy. But if I am lower on the totem pole for something, or if I am contributing only small bits and pieces to a conversation, or appear only on the outskirts of a project, I make every effort to remember that whatever I am doing, (if I have bothered to do participate) deserves my full attention and effort at the time of my doing so. Perhaps it will not change my life, or improve my lot, but if I choose to do something, I do it right. Or opt not to do it in the first place.

Don't shrink your universe. Despite what the success gurus say, you don't have to always be out there leading some kind of Gen-Y, "go get 'em!" type of charge in order to be fully engaged in something. When you have a small job to do, it is still a job, and it is still yours. Everything behind what you do, and everything you bring to a table should be relevant. Not just for the sake of the job you are doing but for your own sake, so you don't allow yourself to feel insignificant between the big moments.

For me it's much more difficult to do this off stage than on stage. But I recognize the wisdom of it.

How do you feel when you are in the background, or the edges, as opposed to the forefront of something? Does your effort ever slack at those times?

A Fetish for Change?

I sometimes think that people go overboard with the whole "life is change" thing. There are so many religions, modes of operation, slogans, mottoes, blog posts, platitudes, proverbs, and all around contemplation, (and sometimes pontification) over the inevitability of change, and I sometimes doubt not only it's usefulness, but it's accuracy.

True. A lot of things in our life have the potential to change. For good or for bad. But to begin with, does the high level of potential for a thing mean that it is inevitable? Is the fact that something could occur mean that we should accept "constant change" as a world view? I say no, because that is just inviting instability into many aspects of our lives. It deprives us of any degree of a blueprint for moving forward if we are not careful. We become reeds in the wind of time, producing whatever whistled tune the world decides to play for us.

What's worse about it, I think we deprive ourselves of certain dedications, goals, loves, if we begin everything we embark upon with "this is only temporary, no matter how good people think it is."

Way to rally the troops, there. If that's your attitude, go join a Kansas cover band. (Think about it...)

I'm on a second floor apartment. I have faith that I am not going to fall through the floor. It has been inspected. Maintained. I see the landlord around here all the time. Every indication is that I have every right to assume the floor is going to stay under me throughout the entire duration of my living in this domicile. One day, this building, and this floor beneath me, and even the city in which the building sits, will not exist. This I grant you. But the idea that the floor will support my weight as I live here is not something I find subject to any practical change. It is a fact. A constant from the perspective of a life, if not from the perspective of the entire Universe.

Some will no doubt point out that I can never know. There may be a change that  makes the floor fall out from under me, and maybe even kill me in the process. And to this physical possibility I yield. Somebody could chuck a bomb at this building. A tornado could come through and rip it apart. A rare earthquake. Each of those would cause obvious change. But does that mean I should live my life in this apartment each day saying to myself,

"The next step I take in this apartment could be the one that collapses the floor. I might as well embrace the possibility of falling to my death. I should learn to be excited by the process of tumbling in a heap of rubble and being buried in same one day. I should appreciate it,  because life is change, after all. You can't count on anything."

I don't know about you, but I don't feel that embracing the possibility that the floor could cave in is a prescription for a happy life.

Yet people apply this rationale to things other than my admittedly extreme example. They don't aim for job security, or they don't make lasting relationships their goal, because, "everything is change, and the more I accept that, the happier I will be."

Really? You don't think you might be avoiding the emotional commitment of establishing something "permanent" in your life by saying these things?

Maybe the very fact that there is so much change that we cannot control in our lives is why we should all work even harder to establish something that is more resistant to change. Something that can withstand at least the storms that we know are likely to happen in a day, or a lifetime. And as for the highly unlikely scenarios, we can't prepare for them to any great degree anyway. So why not shoot for something permanent?

And permanent things do exist, when taking from the perspective of a human and not a god. Long lasting marriages. People that live in the same house their entire lives. True friendships. Those lucky enough to find and follow their callings. These things I feel are in fact examples of permanence, in so far as everything that is alive at some point will of course die. I just don't think that the fact I will one day die an earthly death signifies that life is nothing but change.

To embrace positive changes as we seek to improve our lot is one thing. So is being prepared for the possibilities of bad changes knocking us off course. But both of these concepts differ from this notion of,

"The hell with it. I'm not going to fall in love with anything, because everything constantly changes anyway. Whatever."

There is nothing wrong with building something to last. There is nothing wrong with looking for things that are long lasting, or even permanent in our lives. Working for those things. Struggling, even dying for them, if needs must. And when such things fail it's okay to mourn them, instead of pretending it doesn't bother you because "everything changes".

I say things are always happening in life. Whether or not that has to mean change all the time is to a great degree up to us.

What about you? What is your take on change? Do you head into battle assuming it will happen, or merely accept it if it does? Is anything permanent from the human perspective? Does embracing change mean that setting goals and keeping relationships is difficult or meaningless? Let me know.

The Mets, Shelter Dogs, and Orphaned Possibilities, By Brianne Villano

The struggle to break free from societal norms is a great one. As a child, you are brought up in such a way that the rules of the house you are raised in become law. You’re taught what to believe, what to study, how to act, what to want; the list is endless.

But what if you had the opportunity to shatter previously assumed notions of what your life is supposed to be like? My friend Ty plays a part in that equation by using his blog as a platform to discuss ways in which he uses his own personalized skill set to break away from what’s perceived as ”normal,” so I have decided to share something that’s close to my heart for my “Auguest” post on Ty’s blog, TooXYZ.

I’m a Mets fan. Ok, that’s not what I wanted to share, but it’s all a part of the set-up so bear with me.

By stating that I’m a Mets fan I’m letting you know that I am loyal to people not because they may be the top players in their field, but because of their love of the game and the potential they have. “Potential” has many meanings but the one I focus on is unfulfilled possibility.

Mets games are like giant family reunions: everyone is glad to see you and the event is just a catalyst for the interpersonal interaction. The best part about the games are not the sport itself (some sports fans may disagree with me), but the communication and feelings that arise during the course of the game.

I’m also a Mom to a shelter dog. Shelter dogs exude unfulfilled possibilities. They are filled with anxiety and fear and often have behavioral issues that stem back to their own infancy, but if you’ve ever looked into the eyes of that dog, you can see the beautiful soul that lives inside and yearns to break free.

These animals may never have been shown affection or love. They may not know what it feels like to belong to another living creature. The unfulfilled possibility that exists in a shelter dog to become part of your life and part of your family, however, is very real. That small possibility, that spark that can turn their life of potential energy into one of kinetic energy, is what it’s all about for me.

Now onto the main event. I do not want to have children. Let me rephrase that to be clear. I do not want to give birth to children. There is unfulfilled possibility in each and every orphaned child in our country and abroad and each one of them deserves a catalyst.

I don’t pretend to lead the perfect life (not that such a generic thing exists), nor do I pretend to be a savior for people and animals deemed “broken.”

I do, however, know that I would always show them an open mind, an open heart, and open arms so that they may someday realize their potential and turn around to pay it forward.

As a scientist, you might think I’d want to preserve my DNA in a future generation and carry on my family’s line. Instead, I think the line of thinking that I’d like to instill in future generations is more important than the DNA behind it.

In reality, I believe the planet is just a tad overpopulated and if we would institute recycling in its most basic, yet complex, form, we would all benefit from the connections we could forge to one another and the message we could send to future generations.

Is that too TooXYZ? Am I an anomaly? I’ll let you be the judge of that.

Brianne Villano writes and publishes Living Out Loud. She can be followed on Twitter @Brianne Villano.