Lewis and Clark: Acting helps the discovery of oneself

At any number of birthdays and family gatherings, there’s inevitably a relative, generally my mother, who asks if I have any pearls of wisdom to share from my life and recent accomplishments.

Facing this question always feels strange and forced. I’ve only just finished my senior year of high school; I’m not at a time of life renowned for its wisdom.

There’s a reason that auto insurance costs me, as a male between 16 and 26, the most: I am the demographic notorious for doing dumb things.

Though my abilities to spout Confucius-caliber wisdom for any occasion may leave something to be desired, I have started to figure out a few things on my own.

I’ve learned a great deal, and taken away just as much from my experiences as I have through my studies.

I used to wonder if living behind a mask diminished the identity behind the façade. Before I engaged in theater, I imagined actors were prone to a myriad of identity crises, doubting whether they possessed any individuality or merely served as a vessel for a mass of characters.

Now that I’ve embraced acting, I realize the opposite is true. Each identity I assume on stage doesn’t subtract from my own, but instead makes mine something richer and broader.

Even under the guise of the seemingly most disparate characters, I’ve never found one to whom I couldn’t relate. Comprehending the motives of others allows me some profound understanding, and wielding so many perspectives has done much to broaden my own worldview.

While performing in “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead,” I realized how much the thoughts of my stage persona reflected my own. After viewing an allegorical play within a play, the titular protagonists are asked what they expected.

Rosencrantz simply responds, “I want a good story, with a beginning, middle and end,” epitomizing an entire mindset of handling the world. Rosencrantz simply wants life to have structure and order.

It hardly matters what it is, so long as he’s commanded to follow a path, he’ll do it. He’ll be content.

Understanding the world is not his concern; he just lives there. Rosencrantz’s inability to take charge of life is a central theme, and the story revolves mostly around his helpless descent toward a fate he can’t control.

Yet by consciously realizing how much “art mirrors life,” and more specifically Rosencrantz mirrors me, I’m gaining a greater understanding of myself and trying to avoid the same fate of passive doom that befell the heroes of the play.

For so much of my life, I’ve been reactive.

That isn’t to say I haven’t been active, but instead, I’ve taken little initiative.

When given a task, I work at it, I complete it, I do it well.

But I’ve felt such inhibitions against breaking out of my own status quo, whether it’s to explore some unknown course or contemplate any meaningful direction to my life, that my own insecurity has often prevented me from doing so.

Much like Rosencrantz, I’ve been content to follow the simple steps of a sequential story laid out in front of me. I originally began acting not because of my own motivation, but because someone else compelled me.

Now I’m realizing that an arbitrary sequence won’t always be there, and what’s more, I don’t want to blithely follow it.

I saw who I am by being someone I’m not, the play used a lie to uncover the truth, and the mask illuminated what it hid.

Though it’s hardly a pleasant realization, passivity needs to be confronted.

I’m already working to take initiative in my life, and college is a huge part of that.

I want not only an opportunity to pursue the interests I already know and love, but to discover new parameters and impetus within myself.

It may not be the pearl of wisdom my relatives seem to expect, but it’s a direction and a drive I’m ready to embrace.