Today was the closing night of the One-Act I directed. It's called "The Falling Man" and is by Will Scheffer. To me this play is about identity and how we are often at a loss to understand who we are. How often forces in our lives shake our very core and leave us grasping for some solid place to latch onto; cause us to fall.
My actors performed beautifully and I dressed up for the occasion. Black tights, black lacy skirt, black top, black shoes. Sounds like funeral attire, but I looked good. I had a lot of friends coming to the show, so I wanted to be at my best. To set up for my later point, every one of these friends has either graduated college or is in grad school currently. They are all older than me.
The performance ended and I was very happy to see everyone. It's tricky to talk to people after shows you've created because you sort of always want to avoid actually talking about the show, as if avoiding being arrogant or avoiding any awkward conversations if people didn't it. Instead I talked to my friends about my birthday that is coming up. My TWENTY-FIRST birthday. I am in eager for its arrival. Finally I will be old enough to hang out with my friends in public places and not just at houses where I'm drinking illegally (embarrassing to put it that way). Anyway, we chatted and then all went on our own ways.
My way happened to cross the path of "Highlighter Party: Junior Class Event!!" Yes, that would include me, a junior in college. The music was blaring from this small house and a couple of people I know were outside on the stoop trying to escape from the body heat inside. They encouraged me to go in, and I figured I was looking pretty good, why the hell not (something I've been saying a lot to myself lately and later regretting). I go in and everyone is in white t-shirts, covered in highlighter, running into each other as they danced drunkenly under a black light. Now remember, I'm in all black. Upon arrival I assume that to these people I look like an asshole, like I'm trying to rebel against the conventions of the party. And I was certainly treated like I was the asshole. Several dirty looks, lots of ignoring. One guy actually offered me a t-shirt which I nearly accepted until I explained that I was on my way out soon, and being my luck, this offended him. So I did leave, feeling somewhat rejected but mostly not caring.
So here's the thing: All of those people are my age and I was completely out of place with them. I tried to join and dance and be nice, but that really just left me looking pretty lame. I have never made a serious attempt to hang out with these people, but have always smiled and said hi in passing. It makes me increasingly aware of how they view me when I am in situations like that. If I could read their energy toward me it would say "What is that goody two shoes doing here?" Which is humorous because for people that do know me well, I am nothing of the sort.
Jumping back to my birthday conversation with my friends, this is something that makes me hyper aware of how much my age I really am. My display of birthday anticipation is highly juvenile in comparison to their cool, collected attitudes. That's perfectly fine, because the fact of the matter is that I am 20 and that means I am entitled to act 20 when I feel like it. Funny though, how when I am with other twenty year olds I feel like I'm at least 40. All of this to say that I have a conflict with age.
When I consider what my age contributes to my identity I have a difficult time putting my finger on any definite explanation. However, what I do know, and what "The Falling Man" has brought to my attention, is that no matter how much I am at a loss to identify who I am, the only thing I can do is live in the moment. Forget age, it's only a number which has connotations that aren't necessarily even based in reality when you consider the confusion that is time. It is in the now that I live and therefore now is the only place that I can feel alive.
