In theatre school the teachers refer to breaking down emotional walls. You know, the walls that grow taller as you grow older. The walls that protect our tender hearts from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Breaking down these walls is essential to the growth of the artistic spirit, which needs to be free to flourish. This kind of breakdown is good, at least that’s what I remember those art theory teachers saying in hushed tones during my extensive vocal warm ups and extensive roll-downs in classes. My current breakdown however is nothing of the sort.
I am in the throws of an artistic transformation. I am trying to thicken my skin. I am trying to stand on my own. I am trying to get my act together- literally. But Rod-damn, it’s overwhelming. It’s been a long time since I felt as inspired and challenged as I do. I feel ecstatic to have found something that I do so naturally. Natural is not something I am used to being. I mean, I’ve always had a certain something. People could see potential. Teachers wanted to mold me. My Folks supporting my ‘artistic tendencies’. But nobody could figure out just what that special something was.
In times of great change, one often finds themselves, well, changed. And I feel like a werewolf, transforming back into a human. A transformation that is often overlooked in the werewolf mythology, due to it’s seemingly boring nature. But imagine the painful reversal of paws becoming hands, forced to stand upright, that thick coat of fur, well I don’t know what happens to that, but I’m sure it sucks. The shrinking snout is the only relief to the beast. Becoming something new is hard. It can be painful and overwhelming. So, as I willingly and wonderfully suffer, I sit happy, satisfied, transforming myself and breaking down. But I guess it could be worse. I could actually be a werewolf.