My Ass-pirational Self

Nobody's perfect. We all make mistakes. We all know that, and yet everybody still hopes to be the exception. At least I do. And nothing has taught me about the folly of this quest to avoid mistakes quite like my experience of being a singing, dancing and talking cow in the musical "Click, Clack, Moo, Cows That Type." My recently completed run as a rebellious cow has given me a whole new understanding of the adage that it's not what mistakes you make, or even how many, that's critical but how you react to them. If one were to say, oh, dance in the wrong direction or sing at the wrong time (speaking purely hypothetically, of course) usually the best response is to continue as if the mistake was intentional. (Making a face, swearing or crying are usually unhelpful responses...again speaking purely hypothetically here). The intent is not to hide your mistake but to make it part of the show. And if you embrace the mistake and go with it most of the time the audience won't recognize that it was a mistake.

"Don't look at my feet,
 don't look at me feet..."

While most audiences won't notice most mistakes, they will usually pick up on tentative and fearful performances. As our director often told us, they will notice that you look scared, or that you are not fully present on stage because you are worried about your next dance move attempt. You have to commit to your performance and whatever movement or sound you are making, or else it just usually comes off as lame. While not being lame is important, there is another, more subtle, perhaps even more important, value of committing. If you don't try something, even if it's wrong, even it's a mistake, how will you ever learn what you do want to do? 

Years ago at a library conference, we heard a pianist talk about how you couldn't truly play piano if you kept your butt planted on the bench. To reach all the keys, you have to be willing to move around and have half your butt up off the bench. I was telling my sister Jenn about this, and she said, "Oh, he was saying you need to be 'half-assed.'" I love this nugget of wisdom from my big sister. Although we usually think of "half-assed" as bad, I think this reminds us we don't need perfection (which we can't get anyway) but we need movement, experimentation, creativity, and a willingness to make an ass of ourselves sometimes. Yes, we should work hard and be as prepared as we can be for whatever we are trying to do, but we won't be perfect. We will make mistakes and that's when the really interesting things happen. A half-assed performer (or librarian, whatever) is usually better than nothing and more fun and exciting than someone who's ass is fully grounded. 

I also learned that my mistakes weren't nearly as earth-shattering when I stopped being so focused on myself and started thinking more about the audience, especially the kids. The kids didn't care if I was perfect or if I felt frustrated or embarrassed. They just wanted to experience the magic of the show. Getting to meet the kids after the show and see their excitement, wonder and awe was truly amazing. 

Being in "Clack, Clack, Moo" was one of the hardest, most challenging, and most rewarding things I've ever done in my various theatrical endeavors. I worked my ass off. Or, at least the half of my ass that was holding me down. 

Damn! I looked at my feet.