the learning curve

I have a three hour lecture last thing on a Friday, from 3 til 6. The course is Space, Body and Design, and it's a toughie. Lots of physical theatre, yoga, movement and etc. I want to write about last Friday because it really got to me. I enjoy the class, but I hadn't appreciated how difficult this degree lark was actually going to be.

The theme for the three hours was ensemble, which gave me a reassuring sense that the class would be more talky than physical. Yeah. It was exhausting. We had to jog in time with each other for a solid 30 minutes, threw sticks at each other for about an hour (difficult, because you can't stop concentrating without getting a stick in the chops - as they say, the stick is your partner, your teacher, not your friend).

We had a different lecturer that day, he was some dude with an accent whose name I can't remember, which is actually kind of fitting. The first two things he said to us were:
1) I don't know you, you don't know me. We'll spend these three hours together and then I'll probably never see you again, so don't worry about anything that happens. It doesn't matter, I'm not part of the group of people that assesses you, so just take what you want from this time and then go.
2) There's no sense in learning without challenging yourself. You've started to get to know each other, to understand each other's bodies - I don't. I don't know how far I can push you before you break - I'm going to push you as far as I think you can go but it's your responsibility to know where your boundaries are and know when you're about to damage yourself.

This is why I think it's kind of appropriate that I can't remember the guy's name, he didn't ask for any of ours and I'm damned if we could pronounce his. And he was right about us getting to know each other - but it's in a very unconventional sense. This one girl, I know she has very long legs and she keeps locking her knees when she stands upright because she's self-conscious. I know it's more important for her to learn how to drop her centre of gravity to combat her height when we play defensive games. And I know that the blond girl gets nervous about letting the group down, and once she makes a mistake, she'll get upset and make more. I know that when I'm working with her it's more important for me to throw the stick well than to catch it well, because she must catch it. If she drops it once, we'll both be screwed because she'll get nervous.

I know how different people work, even in throwing and catching. There's this girl who always throws really aggressively, so I have to be more wary of catching it. One of the two boys takes a small step back each time he catches so he gets further away, and the stick tends to tip forward when he throws it.

I only know the names of three or four people in my group, but I know how each of them works, and how to work with them. In drama, you'll spend 20 minutes massaging your spine against someone's shoulder blades and lean forward to let them spread their weight on you, spreading their arms and breathing in while you breathe out, and then you'll breathe in while they breathe out and you'll transfer your weight back on to them. You'll do this for an hour or so, listening to each other's breathing until you can't tell who's pushing and who's pulling, you're moving like one person. Then, you'll ask them what their name is, and where they come from.

And they know me too. They know that I'm good at throwing and catching sticks, but I'm rubbish at yoga and I can't keep my legs straight on the floor so we have to sit differently in certain exercises. And now, after Friday, they know that I can't do trust exercises.

The weird thing is that I was fine with this kind of thing at school and college, I assume, I can't really remember a specific incident. The closest I can remember is at college when we took it in turns to be blindfolded and led around the theatre with the orchestra pit left wide open. But at my interview at Kent uni, we had to do the falling exercise as part of the group workshop. I stood between these two girls, one who I knew from college, and told to let myself fall backwards and then forwards, letting them catch me each time.

The first time I tried to let myself fall, my leg shot out behind me. And the next time. And the next. By the time I managed it, I was shaking. Then I tried to fall forward, but by this time I was so nervous that my body simply wouldn't do what I told it to. My knees buckled, my feet moved, anything but let my body fall straight forward without bending. The head of admissions decided to ease my nerves by standing right next to me and by intervention of God or sheer willpower, I did the damn exercise.

I'd forgotten about the Unfortunate Kent Incident, until Friday, when our stand-in lecturer told us to get into pairs and start falling backwards. When it came to the crunch, I couldn't do it. I cannot explain the incredible terror I felt when I was standing there, trying desperately to tip over. I might as well have been standing on the edge of a cliff.

Eventually the lecturer (whose name I cannot remember!) separated Rachel and I and decided to work with me himself. I got more and more agitated trying to explain to this guy that I simply couldn't do it, I wasn't able to let myself fall. I was all for putting my foot down and storming out, I was all for bursting into tears at the horror of having to do it. Then I remembered that I'm supposed to be an adult, and I'm supposed to be learning on this degree. The whole point of it is doing things you thought you couldn't.

I breathed in, then out. Just like earlier, when people got really frustrated about dropping the sticks so we all stopped and took a breath together.

Many torturous minutes later, I managed to fall a few inches in each direction, only after he'd put his hands firmly on my shoulders, and let him support my weight. I was drenched in sweat, and exhausted, but he started cheering and did a little victory dance in my honour. Interesting mix of humiliation and validation there.

At the end of that lecture I added physical trust and responsibility to the growing list of things I've discovered in the last two weeks that I'm seriously bad at (alongside scriptwork, vocal confidence, physical confidence, concentrating on space, yoga, any kind of stretching or strain in my leg muscles). On the plus, I was able to add throwing and catching sticks, dropping to the floor and rolling, making noises when I breathe, focussing intently on a partner's phsyicality and knowing how to adapt to different people to the list of things that I can do.

I love this and I hate this. I'm having to face up to so much, but it's so worth it. I'm learning to 'get out of my head', to focus on the space and the people in it, to live in the moment and not in my own ideas. I'm learning to write down everything, to research everything, to not let the details slip away from. Every name, date and theory is important and I have to understand all of them. I'm learning to block things out and let things in; to focus intently on throwing a stick to someone and to think about nothing else but offer and response. I'm learning not to let my thoughts run away with me.

I haven't yet learnt to be disciplined, to be on time, to stay sober for longer than 24hours, to budget, to balance life and work, to make God the centre of everything. I haven't learnt how to treat people well, how not to be selfish, how to do the dishes as soon as they need it, how to pick up my clothes from the bathroom floor. I haven't learnt to guard my heart and how to respect other people's. I haven't yet learnt to do laundry.

I figure I've got plenty of time for all that.