I can be kind of a control freak, especially about things professionally. About art making, facilitating, teaching. I like how I do it. I’ve also been conditioned to a model of being the most dedicated, the most hardcore, the standout, the one who is willing to go the extra mile. And I’m tenacious as hell and that’s paid off for me, especially where my natural talents are lacking.
These days, though, I am practicing something else. Trust. It’s profound.
I am busy right now. Teaching four classes, learning how to run an academic department, and directing a show. Also, I run ACT Ensemble, an ensemble-driven performance program in prison. Due to my schedule, I haven’t been to Limon Correctional Facility in a couple of weeks. We are creating an original show, we have momentum. I feel like they need me to keep things moving.
This morning there was a winter storm warning and, with my coffee, my 2000 Toyota Corolla, and my dogged determination, I set off east on I-70 to the prison, with anticipation and appreciation of the grey-blue sky. I miss the guys.
The roads were icy. Slipping and sliding on bridges. It took me 90 minutes to go about 40 miles. Ugh.
But I have brought on a few other facilitators these days. Their practices are different than mine, as is their experience. But they are dedicated, kind, intelligent, and willing. Lauren Schaad was headed in to Limon for her facility tour so she can have clearance. Maddie Heiken was planning to join me today in furthering the work on the script we are devising. And Joanna Rotkin wasn’t with us, but she’s planning her dance class at Sterling next Saturday. We are a team.
Lauren and Maddie had to drive separately. I called them on the road. They have good cars. The drive was fine for them. It wasn’t for me. I was so torn. They need me, I kept thinking. I miss them, I also thought. But Maddie and Lauren were going in. And I trust Maddie and Lauren. And I wasn’t trusting my car. So somewhere past Byers, with a sad heart, I turned around.
And I reflected on trust. On trusting others, both the outside facilitators going inside—my colleagues—as well as the inside artists, also my colleagues. Also, trusting the art, the sense of purpose and creativity that is a thread through all we do.
And since the death of my dad, I feel keenly how protecting myself protects others in my life, those I love, those who love me, those I am responsible to and who rely on me. I have a lot of responsibility these days. I owe my partner, our families, my students, my ensembles. And I have to trust them to love me through not giving 110% all the time.
I don’t have to be at the center of it. I don’t have to risk my safety or wellness. There are others holding up the work. Holding me. I wish to abandon the leadership model that puts me and my heroism at the center. I have to let go. It’s not about me.
This is hard as a white colonizer who was raised in a capitalist system. But I want to change things in small and big things. Turning around today was small, but as I write this, it is a radical shift in me, something I probably wouldn’t have done even months ago. But I have others. I can trust.