Your Beauty Speaks So You Don't Have To.

An audition monologue piece was suggested to me by the 25 y.o. He said it’s not the best character in the play, but the character is supposed to be young and attractive, and it’s best to go with what the auditors are already seeing.

In the piece I’m practicing for Monday’s audition, the woman says, "You think my beauty gives me riches I didn’t earn." “I used to feel that way, too,” she says. So she became quiet, unseen, out of the way, meek, so as not seem … well, it’s hard to say exactly what – so as not to seem like she’s bragging? It’s a hard quality to distill. But I get it, and I’ve written about it. (See: Cadillac Beauty. Actually, after writing the rest of today's blog, I just reread that piece, and it's nearly the same place I am with this 3 years later, and worth my rereading.)

The character in the play says she became quiet and instead used piano as her voice when she was young, in order to have a self, but not an intrusive self, more than her appearance already intruded. Which is what I did with writing.

The piece goes on to say she wishes she could meet her younger self, and tell her to own it, flaunt it if you have to, she says. Be anything other than afraid.

I stayed late after acting class on Thursday to talk with the only other “trying to be an actress” person in the class – she’s in the actor’s union and everything. She was giving me notes about my performance of this piece. She said that I have to stop hiding, that this *insert curving shoulders inward here* doesn’t actually hide or pretend that I’m not who I am. That, damnit Molly, you will always be a 6 foot tall beautiful woman. That brushing it aside, pretending it’s not, doesn’t change it.

I argue-joked with her while pulling down my cheeks in "nothing lasts forever" agedness. I looked down, brushing away her words with my hand. No, it isn’t something I’ve earned. It’s not something I’ve “accomplished,” or built, or created. It just happens to be. But, it’s not that important.

I told her that sometimes you just want to walk into a room and not be noticed. How hard I tried when I was young to be the wallflower. But, I am a 6 foot tall beautiful woman, and I don’t get that anonymity all the time.

I realize now I would like to say something like, But I don’t mean to play the “Poor Little Pretty Girl” card, that I don’t mean to incite rancor or dismissiveness in you over what actually has created a very uncertain way of being in the world, but I won’t say that.

I have apologized for a very long time to you for looking how I do.

The two ways I sought to remedy this in the past was to try to hide (see “shrinking shoulder” move) or to decide if what you wanted from me, boys, was my body, then that’s all you shall have.

Neither of these take all of it into consideration – take all of me into consideration.

This feels like trepidatious ground to walk on, being honest about this part of my experience. I don’t want to arouse negative feelings in you. But, if part of what I do here is to be honest about everything, and believe me, you know a LOT!, then this is part of it too.

Because I have changed, and am changing around it. I’ve begun wearing heels again. Upgraded my jeans to be more form fitting, because I have a body that wears clothing well. I don’t have to “flaunt it” as my character says, I don’t need to, I just need to be honest with myself, and therefore the world about what’s really going on.

I wonder if you’re still even reading ;)

It is a very hard line to walk (in heels) for me. How to own how I look, but not have that overshadow my personality. My friend in acting class said that I am a super model walking around in the world, who can actually have a conversation.

That’s a large mantle to wear.

Like most assets of mine, I downplay and dismiss them. My appearance is no exception. "Oh, it’s not really… No, don’t praise, it’s not… I’m not…"

We’ve heard me write about this before, about jumping from creative endeavor to creative endeavor so as not to get too good at anything, and therefore have to admit (own) that I’m either good at it, or that it’s important to me.

If you’ve met me in person, you do know that how I dress is important to me, most of the time. You know that my style has evolved, is ever changing, and is sometimes more bold than I give myself credit for.

But, honestly, it’s not bold enough. It’s not honest enough. It’s still hidden. It’s still “shh, don’t tell, don’t look.” I think I’m getting better at it, but last night, as I was ushering at the Fox theater, there was a photographer taking shots for the event. We were making eyes at one another, and I found as I walked back and forth helping patrons to their seats, I held myself differently than before we noticed one another. I walked with a confidence and precision in my body that I didn’t before. And, I also pretty much stopped breathing.

My breathing becomes shallow when I know you’re watching me. When I take on the posture of the 6 foot tall model, I’m not fully embodied anymore. There’s a retreat that happens. Still.

So. [Insert end-of-blog life lesson/challenge] (my blogs are as predictable as an episode of Full House with it’s cheesey last 10 minutes music overplaying while Danny Tanner talks to his oldest daughter D.J. about some "just be yourself" life lesson!)

Nonetheless. I know I have a switch from “just me” to “me in heels” (read: me when I’m aware of my appearance). The “me in heels” is a little distant, a little removed, and a little scared of not maintaining composure. All of it is me, but it is not integrated. So, guess what today's life lesson/challenge will be?