Five Years Ago

Happy 2011, Emily. The next few pages are a summary of my thoughts, feelings, fears, wishes, and dreams . . . in a random order, as they come to mind, or as I answer a list of questions I found on the Internet. This is who I am - and it's who you were, five years ago. I'm hoping this will be a reminder of where you came from and a chance to think about what's really important to you and rejoice in all you've gained in the past five years . . . and remember all that you've lost. The future is an uncertain thing. This is a chance to look back to who you were. The first question on the list asks me for my idea of perfect happiness. This is an image I've had in mind for a few years now, but it's still as strong as always: I'm under a tree in the warm summertime, in a white netted hammock. My husband, who is strong and much larger than I am, has his arm around me as we curl together in the hammock, not speaking but content. A little girl is asleep across my chest, her wispy hair sticking up, obscuring her face. She's almost two years old. I'm pregnant - not heavy, not uncomfortable, just barely showing. In the arms of my husband, I feel safe and secure. I love my little girl. It feels like we have all the time in the world. My current state of mind is . . . wistful. It's Christmastime, and I am alone in Vermont. My parents are in Georgia, but there was no real way to go back there, and not for the first time lately, I feel really lonely. I sometimes wonder if I will ever find anyone to be with for the rest of my life. I feel peaceful, like the world has hope, but . . . awfully alone. I am a professional stage manager. I do not belong to the union, although it looks as though I may soon. I am scared of going union. I believe that stage management is the field I am supposed to be in, that God has planned for me something in this profession, but right now, the fact is that I am very insignificant in a large world. I am small, young, and female, and I have difficulty making people recognize that I am very capable. I am sometimes afraid that I never will be able to make people realize that. I have a small stuffed animal called Pink Baby. He means a lot to me. He's a tie to childhood, and he's really silly; I hold him in my toes at night as I sleep, and it's a strange thing to do, but I do it nonetheless. The feeling of having him in between my toes is comforting. I don't think I'll give him up until I'm married. I can sleep without him, but why should I? I don't want to give him up. He is consistency, and I have very little consistency. I've never been in love. This is an awful thing, because the truth is, it makes me feel like a child. Professionally, I am not a child. I am very capable. But personally, I have no experiences. I have never successfully dated. I've never been kissed. I am a virgin; this is a choice, this is intentional, but I work with people who not only are not virgins but can't imagine *being* a virgin. Without knowing my specific choice, without thinking about it, they ridicule virginity. They all have dated, they all have been in and out of love, and I have not. I feel trapped. Somehow I can't cross the line into adulthood. I cannot have a relationship. My happiest moments have always been associated with theatre and with the spiritual. Often both. Sometimes (many times) they are one and the same to me. Every moment I can remember of perfect contentment, perfect happiness, has come while doing theatre, and that is a wonderful gift that comes from somewhere outside of this Earth. My greatest fear is death. My own death, I guess, most of all, although anybody's death scares me. I have had experiences that make it very difficult to deny there is something beyond this life, and yet, I can't know . . . and if there's one thing I've been afraid of all my life, it's the unknown. I don't do "unknown" well at all. It scares me. Every time I take off on a new section of my life, I am terrified . . . and that is the ultimate "new section" of life. I think about death a lot, probably more than is healthy, over the last year or so. I hate the idea of dying, and I hate the idea of being insignificant in that death - after all, I won't be remembered. Physical objects will outlast me. Generations of people will pass, and eventually, there will be no record that I was ever here, no difference made to anyone. That scares me. I don't hate anyone. I don't have it in me. I don't know why; I don't think that I really try all that much harder than anyone else to be a good person. Or maybe I do, and it's just out of habit that it doesn't feel as difficult as it seems like it should . . . I don't know. But I don't hate anybody, and I don't wish ill toward anybody. I don't feel any malice. I feel regrets all the time. They're silly, stupid little things . . . things I do or say that I feel stupid for years and years later, much stupider than I should, especially considering the fact that the other people involved in those things probably don't even remember them. Why do I do that? What talent would I most like to have? It's a hard choice. My first instinct is to say that more than anything else I wish I could sing. It's always in my heart to sing, and I wish that it were in my body, too. For selfish reasons, I wish I were better at making friends and so forth - that would make a big difference in my life. And if I were to choose a magical ability, it would be the ability to make other people feel happy. What could possibly be better than that? I would like to live in New York City. If I haven't made it to NYC by 2011, I hope there have been some major changes in my priorities! Otherwise, as far as I can see right now, that would just mean that I'd given up. It feels right now as if I ought to move to New York, and I would do it . . . if I weren't so scared. I have plenty of savings; I could live in NYC for six or eight months without a job and still be fine. But I'm scared. I want to move to New York with somebody I know, and that hasn't happened for me yet. I don't know how I'm finally going to work up the courage, but it's becoming more and more clear that I need to. Things are not going to happen for me unless I am where things happen. What do I like in men? So many things . . . so many of them are just stupid, frivilous, and I'll start with them first. I like eyes. Men with attractive eyes really make my heart flutter . . . I like a man with an angular nose. Strange, huh? But for some reason, I do. A crookedish smile helps. I don't like most guys that others think are super cute; I like an oddball a little bit. TALL. And strong. He can even be a little flabby, that's okay with me. I don't mind. But I want him to be able to lift me up, to push me around, to take me out of control of myself. A guy who can play the piano and sing just about slays me. Even listening to a guy play the piano and sing who I KNOW is GAY has an effect on me. Even a guy I don't LIKE can have that effect on me if he can play the piano and sing. So that's really killer. On a solemn note . . . he has to believe in God. Or in a higher power. He has to believe in personal honor, in honesty, in caring about others, in every life being sacred, in doing good, in being kind every moment that it's possible, in sex being sacred, in the body being a sacred gift, in taking care of yourself, in children, in prayer . . . and in magic, a little bit, too. There are a great many things I don't like about myself. I complain too much. I don't like doing physical chores and will dodge out of them if I can. I always feel overweight, and I often feel unattractive. I am too shy. I talk too much when I finally feel comfortable and get the chance. I can respect almost any other person . . . as long as they do, too. The only thing I cannot stand is someone who doesn't respect others' beliefs and honor systems, who will not recognize somebody's true beliefs stemming from their conscience as a viable, righteous way of approaching life just because their own specific beliefs differ. I do not lie. Period. Not to get out of trouble, not to save somebody's feelings, not for anything. It isn't worth it. It's dishonorable. If it's a matter of saving someone's feelings, I won't say anything at all. If I could change anything about myself, it would be to make friends more easily. What is this magic language everyone seems to know and I do not? I think about naming my children. For girls I like Alexandria, Kathryn, Charlotte, Lottie, Lori, Annie Lee, Sawyer, Jamie, Jane, Adele, Essie (short for Esther). For boys I just like classic names - James, Peter, Michael, names like that. I also like Joey. My full name is Emily Joy Provance. Can you believe I don't like any of it? My first name is too common, and I associate it with someone who is fat and dull and socially awkard, although I think this is because I associate MYSELF with someone who is fat and dull and socially awkward, because I used to be those things and sometimes still am. Joy is not too bad. Provance is not memorable and is not easy to recognize or pronounce, although it has a family heritage I'm kind of proud of. I kind of look forward to changing it. My parents are good people. Mom and Dad are in their mid-fifties, and they are old at heart . . . they do not understand or care to understand a childlike perspective, while I treasure it. I love them very much, even though my mom and I really don't get along long-term living in the same house because I am an adult now and neither of us is very good at handling that change in our relationship in close quarters. I have not yet moved out of the house completely - I still go back to Georgia in between jobs - and I need to move out. Desperately. I have an older brother, Adam. He and I are not close. We speak maybe every couple of months, and I did not get a Christmas present from him. I can't blame him; I sent his late. I care about him. I care about what happens to him. I have fond memories of him. But he and I have almost nothing in common, and that is just a fact. We have nothing to talk about. I am living right now in Vermont, working for Northern Stage as an assistant stage manager for Guys and Dolls. I am getting paid peanuts ($175/wk), which is actually better than what I was paid at this time last year, and the company is kinder than it was last year. Not nearly as much drug use. My boss, Catherine, is a good woman, I think. The cast is a good group, but I don't spent time with them socially. It is a lonely way to live. My hair is short and dark. My eyes are dark. My eyebrows are dark and too thick, but the fact is, I don't really know what to do about them. I don't feel like I really know how to make myself look good, and often, I don't. I don't feel like a pretty girl. I can only hope that I'm not exceptionally ugly, but I'm not really sure that isn't the case. I love overalls, but I can't wear them to work because they make me look even younger than I already do. I like bright colors and hats. I like long sleeves better than short because I feel like my upper arms are fat. I like being short; it's one of very few things that makes me feel cute. My voice is too high-pitched and too quiet; I don't care for it, especially when it's recorded. When I listen to my recorded voice, I feel like I can hear my lisp, even though other people say they've never noticed. There are things I miss about school. I miss constant learning, and I REALLY miss challenging academic conversation. I feel like my brain is never really stretched anymore. I believe there is a plan for people. My heart tells me so, and I have had experiences that make me feel stage management is a definite part of my plan. What scares me, though, is that I've never had an experience that makes me feel marriage and children are part of my plan. I want these things DESPERATELY, but I've never had the feeling that makes me sure chose things are going to happen for me. I can only hope so. I have never done anything that I feel was really and truly WRONG. I've done things that weren't the best things to do, but I've never done anything with malicious intent (except for a couple very small thigns as a child), and I've never done anything to hurt others because I knew the action would benefit me. Optimist. Definite optimist - the glass is half full. The truth is, I believe in people. Or more accurately, I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. I prefer to believe, until I'm proven wrong, that no one means to do wrong by me. I prefer to believe that people walk into situations determined to do the best they can for everyone and determined to be fair. And even if others don't . . . I should. Because if everyone did, then everything would always be fair . . . right? I believe that all people have a conscience with which they are born that tells them what is right and what is wrong. I believe that we existed as spirits before we existed in our bodies and that we are spiritual children of a Heavenly Father. I believe that we are not punished for what we are taught by our parents and that we will be rewarded for doing our best to do what we truly believe in our hearts is right. I didn't vote in the last presidential election. Unless something major changes about my philosophy, I can't imagine ever voting again. I see politics as this enormous thing that I cannot control; even though we supposedly live in a democracy, the country is so big that I don't think it really works that way anymore. I don't believe there IS any good choice out there for people to vote for, and I think that political, world-wide issues are so big that I can't possibly have all the information to make informed decisions. So the place where I can make a difference is right where I am, in small ways, with the people I encounter, and that is what I will focus on. I don't know if I believe all people have soul mates. I don't know if I believe that we can only be happy with our ONE soul mate. But I think there are definitely people that knew each other in a preexistence and that are meant to find one another again in this life. I also think that I knew my chidren in a preexistence and that they knew they were destined to be my kids, and I believe that they watch me now to see if I'll make the right decisions and find the right paths. I think they probably know the people I knew who have died, and I think that they are waiting to come down to join me. I'm incredibly open with my thoughts and feelings, very straightforward . . . when somebody asks me or when it comes up. I see no reason to beat around the bush, no reason to play games. My friend Sam told me once that he thought that would make me a girl that guys would want to have as a friend, but for some reason, that doesn't seem to be true. I have to acknowledge a basic prejudice I have against other ethnicities and against the handicapped. It's a prejudice I hate in myself, and I think it's born of lack of exposure. The more I am exposed to people who are different from me, the less awkward I will feel around them. I still believe all people deserve the same things; it's just that somehow I feel strange around people who are different from me in certain ways. My mother tells me often that she thinks I'll someday run into a situation where I have to go against principles I now think are steadfast in order to achieve some greater good, especially as it involves my future children. Right now, I cannot imagine a circumstance under which I would break certain principles of mine - I won't lie, I won't cheat, I won't hurt anyone deliberately. This will be a statement I will look back upon in the future and see whether or not something did, indeed, come up at some point. Andy, an actor in Guys and Dolls, said to me the other day, "You know, you're a really nice person." I hope this reflects the way that I treat others. I believe everyone has worth, and I hope I always treat them that way. I may be shy, but I hope I always show others that I respect and care about them. One of the things I want more than anything else is consistent people in my life - friends, or even better, one consistent person - a husband. I even have a "wedding ring" - a gold band that I think came off of a button. I wear it occasionally on my left finger, when I am alone. I'm wearing it now. It's silly, ridiculous, something a very young child would do . . . but I do it anyway, I think because it's a symbol of everything I want so badly and am terrified may never happen. It makes me feel . . . protected. I have friends I know from college, and I still keep in regular touch with Kathleen, Tabitha, Matt, Elizabeth, Janelle, Sam, Tracey, and Russ, but these are people I may very well never see again, and I certainly don't see them on any sort of regular basis. I hurt for companionship. I want to have children so badly. It's a real drive for me, and yes, I recognize that that may be a biological drive . . . but it's a drive nonetheless. I think all the time about things I want to tell my children, games I want to play with them, ideas I want to teach them, lullabies I want to sing them. I have computer files full of this stuff. I think I would be a good mom. People are fundamentally good. If I were in desperate need of help, really desperate, I could go to almost anybody, I feel. When I'm just REALLY in need of help - like when Katie Renville died and I needed a hug - I don't feel like I can go to anybody, and that's hard. But if I were DESPERATELY in need of help - like if I were raped on the way home from a show - I could go to anyone in the cast. Well, almost anyone. And they would take care of me, because they are human and so am I. Isn't that a miracle? I tend to avoid conflict as much as possible, but I'm a really genuine leader as well. In social situations, I tend to crawl into a corner . . . but in professional situations, I'm one of the best leaders you can imagine. I expect and generally get respect, I come through 100% of the time, I stand up to my mistakes, and I think very clearly in emergency situations. I was made to be a leader. On a social level, large crowds tend to be exhausting rather than energizing. I don't feel comfortable unless there's some sort of structure . . . like a game or movie. Then I'm fine and enjoy myself. It matters a great deal what other people think of me . . . I want their respect. Why? I don't really know. Maybe I'm conceited. Maybe I think highly of myself and want others to do the same. I do not drink. I do not smoke. I do not take drugs, and I do not drink anything with caffeine. I never have. I tell myself this is because the body is sacred, although the truth is, it's a hard decision for me to maintain sometimes. If I ever did drink and lost my inhibitions a little bit, I think I would become addicted to the sensation. I try so hard to loosen my grip on my total control over myself and the situations I'm in, but I can't. I don't seem to know how. I often think that what I want more than anything else is a guy who can force me to lose control and still be safe. I love to be blindfolded. I love to be told that I'm going to a certain party or something whether I like it or not. I love to be picked up, especially without warning. I love anything that says, "You're no longer in control." Maybe I get tired of being in control. I deal really well with stress . . . as long as I'm eating well! I don't physicalize stress, and I don't internalize it too much, either. My first reaction to stress is to want to spill it, to tell somebody, to say it all out loud. And when there's nobody there - and there usually isn't - I say it out loud anyway, to nobody. And that seems to work okay. I am incredibly organized but also incredibly messy. I think it's because the first is psychological and the second is physical. I hate to clean, but boy, do I love to organize! I surprised myself a few weeks ago when I said something out loud I'd never even realized before: "Getting married and having kids is as important to me as being a stage manager." It was weird because I'd always felt that NOTHING was more important to me than being a stage manager - after all, it's a purpose I believe is heaven sent. And then I realized it's not more important - just AS important. I can't imagine giving up one of those goals for the other, and if I ever have to choose, I don't know how I'll do it. My friend Laura asked me one night at the end of my run at Tuacahn (in October) where I wanted to be in five years. Here it is - the perfect world, slightly tempered by an optimistic sort of realism: Married, to a great guy. Living in New York City. Stage managing something off-Broadway, or maybe off-off-Broadway. One and a half kids. (Yes, stage managing while pregnant! Sam and Laura both laughed at me for that one, but I've always imagined it would happen evnetually. Sam says he thinks I will lose my grip on my emotions, and I think he's probably right, which will certainly make things difficult.) Just came across a fascinating question: if I knew I was going to die in 24 hours, what would I do? I'm going to start by making two assumptions: first, I'm physically whole enough to do whatever I want, and second, I can TELL people I'm going to die in 24 hours without them freaking out about contagion or how did I know or something. Now, I don't have any particular attachment to any physical location, so I'd stay right here in Vermont. I'd call my family and all of my friends and tell them what was going on and ask them to come if they possibly could. I'd call EVERYBODY, and what makes me feel good is that I think a lot of them would come. I'd ask the cast and crew of Guys and Dolls to surround me as much as possible, and while I think that it would freak some of them out, I think most of them would. I'd want to be completely surrounded by as many people as possible. I wouldn't let the mood get too somber; I'd want to be playing games and singing songs around a piano. I'd ask everybody related to Guys and Dolls to do one more performance that I could SEE and surround myself in the audience with everybody I knew that wasn't involved with the show. I'd enjoy the high of musical theatre one more time. I'd make sure everyone knew that THIS was the farewell I wanted, not a somber funeral that would cost all kinds of money - heck, just put me in a plain wooden box and put me somewhere pretty. And someplace WARM. Simple was always good enough for me, as long as I wasn't cold. I wouldn't have sex, but I would want to be kissed - by as many men as would do it, I think. I'd want to make up for all the kissing and holding and cuddling I missed all my life; I'd want to be touched nonstop. I'd eat good food and enjoy music and life and touch and musical comedy, and when the time came, I'd want to have a copy of Isaiah 41:10&13 in my hand to remind me not to be scared. And I'd want to be holding somebody's hand until the very last second so I was connected to somebody else as long as I could. Okay . . . that's it. That's the message. Why send this five years into the future? I don't really know. Maybe if I tell myself everything that I hope and feel right now, five years from now I'll FIND meaning it it. My biggest wish? That five years from now I'll say, "How silly I was to worry so much about all those things." My biggest fear? That five years from now I'll say, "And nothing has changed." Fear thou not. Emily