There’s an old saying about how no one wants to see how the sausage is actually made. To be honest, it sounds pretty wise to me, to keep your nose out of such things. I’ve heard rumors about what goes into sausage, and the very idea of tubular meat kind of makes me wretch to begin with. So on first consideration, I am inclined to agree: don’t get too nosy about the creation of things you love.

On second consideration, I am reminded that not everything is as disgusting as sausage. I am reminded of watching my cousin’s dance recitals as a kid, and watching my daughter’s dance rehearsals when she was little. When you sit and watch an advanced dancer doing a move that looks effortless to you, listen. Stop every single thing you are doing and just listen.

Listen very carefully.

As she is spinning in a way that seems to defy everything you know about physics, and looks as if she were just born to be able to do it… listen.

What you will likely hear–and I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am–is a smattering of polite clapping from most of the people in the audience. Some oooohs and aaaaaaahs about how pretty the graceful execution of this move is. Some sighing, whispering about how beautiful that looks and how lucky this beautiful person is to have been born a certain way to be able to do such a thing.

And then.

AND THEN.

On top of that, you will hear every single dancer who is watching, either from the seats, or from backstage, old and young, current or has-been, going out of their freaking minds with cheers and applause for their fellow dancer. Because they know–they know–in a way no one else watching can really know, how hard it is to pull off this flawless-looking spin or jump. They saw all the times the dancer doubted herself, or fell. They know what it feels like, themselves, to fall or doubt or be helplessly sloppy. They know that dancer likely has cracked, bleeding toes hidden by their dainty ballet flats. They watched as each week, each day, the move improved. They cheered and supported and know every single ingredient that went into this move that maybe only takes a few seconds to perform, that most of the audience will likely forget about a day from now.

That loud cheering is love for the process. That loud cheering is pure, unadulterated knowledge of how this particular move was created and worked into reality. It’s recognition: I See You. Not just this beautiful end result, but every sacrifice you made up to this point. Every hard and scary thought or feeling you fought with trying to get here.

Obviously not all of us are going to be dancers. We’ve all wrestled with our own creative endeavors, though. We’ve all decided to try our hand at something hard and/or scary. We’ve all had our own sausage situations where we wondered, “Why in the hell did I want to see how to do that?!?” Sometimes these situations happen by accident.

It may come as no surprise to you by now, if you’ve read my blog for any amount of time, that I am drawn to comical writing. Unexpected laughter is by far the best, when you don’t see the punchline coming. When you didn’t realize you were in the middle of a joke at all. When one minute you’re so upset you’re crying and then you get hit with something so unexpectedly twisted and humorous you can’t help but laugh. Because of this, I made the impulsive decision about a month ago, to sign myself up for a writing course at The Second City. That’s where all the greats go. I wanted to see how they did it. I wanted to hear, if only for a few days, what went into the sausage that was sketch comedy.

And, because my own life is a sitcom in and of itself, and because the universe heard me about this whole “you love the unexpected” plot twist idea… I wound up in a 3-Day intensive improv class. At The Second City.

Scared shitless.

(…to be continued…)

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s