Today in Voice class we began our final project of the year: an exploration of our past and influential memories through sound and movement. (To those of you unfamiliar with theatre Voice classes, they are not quite singing lessons, but rather training on emotional and vocal control onstage. Some weird shit tends to happen.)
As part of the exercise to prep us for the project, we all laid down on our backs, closed our eyes, and pictured our lives as rivers, with each memory a stepping stone above the water.
As I began moving from stone to stone, I found myself remembering a lot more about my earlier years than I thought I did. My whole life began playing out in front of me like a montage, but in the ten minutes we had I was unable to get past fifth grade.
I remembered waving goodbye to my dad in preschool, discovering that the rainbow song isn't the actual order of the rainbow in kindergarten. I remembered watching my mom disappear as I drove off to after school care for the first time, convincing my friends that some polished rocks were dragon eggs, going to my new school in third grade, shaking hands with Matthew Bolaños. I remembered faces I haven't thought about in years, and all the stories I had forgotten. My movie montage of memories even had a soundtrack to it—I'm pretty sure it was from Interstellar.
It was the most peculiar thing. I swear I could write at least five plays out of the things I remembered. I recommend that, if you have a moment, lie down and go through your memories in chronological order. You'd be surprised at what you can find.
What I stole from today:
Your past is an incredible place to steal from, don't forget to remember it every now and again
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