Surprised by Fayetteville

As I mentioned in the post about the writing of Gatekeeper III, Fayetteville was supposed to be a brief stop in my life journey. My MFA – and all the life circumstances that surrounded its attainment – had exhausted me on every possible level, and my parents wisely counseled that I needed a furlough.

Even though I agreed, and desperately wanted a time of rest, I did have to release a sense of defeat. All my MFA colleagues were moving to various cities to pursue a theatrical career of some kind. However, among the multitude of forcible self-revelations provided to me by grad school was the firm conviction that I did NOT want an actor’s life. I did not want to live in a big city and throw all my energy into networking and endure the constant uncertainty of living for the next audition – the next callback – the next connection.

So, I decided to move back “home” (I had been born there, after all, even though I hadn’t lived there in over twenty years) and regroup before striking out on the next great adventure – wherever and whenever that turned out to be. Along the way, I did have one rather huge “almost” to sort through: I had auditioned for a few theatre companies during my final semester, and while I was *literally* driving to Fayetteville after packing up my grad school apartment, one of those companies called me. It turned out one of the interns they had hired for the coming year had declined, and they wanted to offer the spot to me.

This was a Shakespeare company – a tight-knit, talented, friendly group of human beings who did good work with a good will. One of my best friends worked there at the time, and I had auditioned for the company during one of my many visits to her. I had always said that, if I were to do theatre professionally, this was how I would want to do it: as a part of a resident company that performed a healthy mix of classical and contemporary works.

I emailed back and forth with the director for the next few days. I talked to my parents. I looked at my finances. I prayed. I cried.

I turned it down.

I remember lying on the floor of my bedroom for a long time after that phone call, crying some more and wondering what the heck I was doing with my life. Here was an opportunity to use my training, grow as an artist, make connections, establish a theatrical career, and – most importantly – create great art in a great community, living and loving amongst the kind of artistic folk to whom I have always felt drawn.

And I was saying no, for reasons I could barely explain.

I just felt like I needed to be in Fayetteville.

It was an important moment for me. As I described in my post about my car accident, I am an active person. I revel in getting things not just “done”, but done well. Turning down an opportunity for more accomplishment – the opportunity to fill a need – without anything else available as justification was deeply counterintuitive.

But, as I lay there on the floor, crying some more and trying to pray, these words formed themselves quietly in my mind:

I love you.

If you never accomplish anything ever again, I love you.

If you never get up off this floor, I love you.

It is a lesson I have needed to learn many times over, as chronicled briefly in my post about the “Do More” voice. This was just one of a dozen “on the floor” moments over the course of my life thus far – but, thankfully, it was a defining one.

I listened, heeded, and got up off the floor.

I got a job at a church as an administrative assistant, a job that would grow surprisingly over the next five years, yielding many unforeseen opportunities to develop new skills and make a difference in the lives of others.

I met my soul-twin and Dear Friend – one of the three to whom Gatekeeper III is dedicated – and shared countless spirit-shaping adventures with her.

I met an inimitably kind, talented, witty, intelligent, caring, handsome man and embarked with him on the adventure of building a life together.

I saw Gatekeeper I published; I finished writing Gatekeeper II, edited it, and saw that published; I commenced work on Gatekeeper III.

And, somewhere in the middle of that, I thought it would be fun to be onstage again.

I auditioned for a musical at the Gilbert Theater in downtown Fayetteville, was cast, and enjoyed the experience immensely. Standing in the lobby after the show one day, I met a man who said he was starting a theatre company called Sweet Tea Shakespeare. He encouraged me to come audition some time.

Over the next five years, this happened: