one woman show
In the classroom, I consistently guide my senior students to harness moments of self-discovery, inspiration, and creativity. As their teacher, nothing beats the surge of passion and excitement that ensue after witnessing their nods of intrigue and smug grins interlaced with enlightenment. But when the rush subsides, I gain consciousness in a vacuum, with no ground to place my feet and no walls to separate the vast and empty space. It just feels like a movie set — the whiteboard, the doodle-stained desks, the crumpled post-it reminders, the stacks of papers awaiting their trial. Suddenly I am an actor in a television series, just having passed the test of the pilot season and settling into the long narrative that’s just begun. I play the part really well, or so I am told. It feels like I’ve mastered the art of method acting, but I have pulsating flashbacks, shots in stop motion, to a time where I would sit down to write this very plot I’ve somehow been thrust into enacting. I don’t reme...