Wild, Again.

About 7 years ago now, I started working on a kid’s cabaret for the Young People’s Theatre in Toronto.
When Allen MacInnis (the Artistic Director) asked me to write a cabaret for kids, I was duly flattered, but kept asking myself this:

Sharron, what the fuck do YOU have to say to kids…that they would actually listen to?

As you might glean from the preceding sentence, I am not a perfect match for the children…which is why Allen said I was exactly the perfect match.
Imagine.
When I could not seem to circle around any good ideas or experience any sparks of creation, I sat across from Allen and finally said to him, out loud, that I didn’t think I had anything…well, anything to say, that needed to be said to young, fertile minds…and he looked at me in the kind and loving way that is indicative of him (which is my Achilles heal with him, he knows I will do almost anything for him, that is how much I love him as a person and as a creator) and after a brief, comfortable silence, he told me he was sure that I did.
Then he urged me, again, kindly, to meditate on it for a while, and if I found myself scribbling down little ideas on post-it notes, I should bring those in and maybe, together, we might be able to dig up something interesting.
After many years of peddling my cabaret wares all over the world to many people I had to MADLY persuade to see and present my shows…having someone you respect being this supportive of a new work, a work that did not even exist yet, made me dig in.
I am very glad I did.

So, over the next three years, I went through at least six iterations of this show. At one interesting point, I even scrapped EVERYTHING and started all over again.
It was a singular experience, that I worked with many gifted and trusted musician friends through…and I learned a lot while doing it.
A lot.
Like…a lot alot.
A lot while creating it…and A LOT more while performing it.

SIDEBAR: There WAS NO swearing in the show…out loud…just spiritually, on the inside, on my harder days. And there WERE hard days. This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever made.
END OF SIDEBAR

The kids taught me a great deal…in the creation, which I did with trial audiences…which are like real audiences that you can say, “I might really fuck this up…but let’s ride, people,”…they taught me a great deal in the telling, during the actual runs (that I did at YPT and Storybook Theatre in Calgary)…and they taught me during the talk backs that we had after the show, where the audience asks you questions and makes comments.
Wow, their 9-13 year old questions were deep…some so deep, I would hear my musicians quietly say behind me:

“Good luck with that one.”

The young audience asked me things like:

“Do you think you were born with the personality you have, or do you think your personality changed when you were growing up?”

“Do you think the kids who bullied you felt bad or good about it when the went home to their parents?”

“I have been big all my life…do you think I will be able to be big and have people like me when I grow up, like those guys behind you seem to like you?”

“Sharron, when do you think GROWN UP is?”

And on and on.
It was amazing, really.
Mostly, I learned about myself, my fears, my beliefs and how both have changed over the years, since I was young.
AndI learned about what I miss and don’t miss about being a kid.

Here are a few things I DON’T MISS:

I DON’T miss mean kids. So, mean…and god HELP you if you were in a three person friendship…someone was ALWAYS being ganged up on. It was murder. There wasn’t anyone mean at the shows…but the kids would talk about other mean kids…and it made my blood boil.
I DON’T miss going to school (but stay in school).
I DON’T miss being under the rule of adults…AT ALL. Do this…don’t do that…be smarter…don’t be such a smart ass. I mean, respectfully grown ups, eff off.
I DON’T miss being told when to go to bed, and not being able to watch Charlie’s Angels if I wanted to…and, let me tell YOU, I wanted to.
I DON’T MISS walking to school every morning for what seemed like hours but was probably, just thirteen minutes, give or take.
I DON’T miss the hierarchy of the lunchroom. I mean, it was like a mini principality with serfs and landowners…lord…oh, and a side of cheese popcorn and hot dogs.
I DON’T miss feeling helpless in scary situations.
I am sure there are more things I don’t miss, but just thinking about THESE made me so fussed, I had to stop. All these years later, powerful, right?

WHAT I do miss the most?

Being WILD.

When I was in the midst of writing my show, one morning when I woke up, I vividly and suddenly remembered getting ready for my VERY first day of school.
A day on which my grandmother let me choose my OWN outfit.
I know, she was awesome.
So, I chose an outfit that was made up of five different moving parts (shoes, tights, dress, belt, hair ties), seven if you counted each shoe and each hair tie.
The shoes were red, the tights were orange, the dress was blue, the belt was white vinyl (my god it was gorgeous), and my hair ties were yellow and purple…respectively.
I mean, had anyone ever looked cooler?
REALLY???
ANYONE?
I laid in my bed, reminded of my beloved red poncho, that I wore overtop of this righteous outfit. The pièce de résistance, if you will.
My poncho was super cool. My gramma knit for me, and I wore all the time…everywhere.
Was there ever a better piece of CLOTHING?
You were warm, wearing a cape of sorts…and if you ran really fast? It billowed behind you…like you were flying.
WILD.
Before ANY of us went into an institution of learning…we were right wild, you know?
We were untamed.
We ate with abandon…shoving things in our mouths.
We walked around with chocolate milk moustaches.
We railed against water of any kind that existed in the house…showers, baths, general hydration…but we would happily drink from the dirt encrusted hose attached to our houses.
We yelled at thunder and lightening…and each other.
We would jump off our bikes before they even stopped, throw them on the ground and run away from them towards whatever our next destination was, while the wheels were still spinning.
Once, I rode my bike wearing my steel roller skates, as if danger was nothing, and my only consideration was all round ground speed.
We fought against sleep like banshees (CHARLIE’S ANGELS).
We chose outfits based on pleasure and comfort, not on style.

WE were RIGHT wild.
As I laid in bed and thought about ALL of that, I smiled…and mourned the moment I showed up in class in that righteous, bright, motley outfit and two of the cool kindergarten girls…yes, cool kindergarten girls, it started early…called me

CLOWN.

I mean, looking back at my outfit now, I could see how the connection was made.
All the colours.
I was indeed dressed like a crayon box.
But I really dug it…till they called me

CLOWN.

After that? I didn’t dig it anymore. I started to dress like everyone. I begged my mother to buy me the same jeans, the same shoes, the same jacket…the same everything…as everyone else.
I didn’t want to stand out. I wanted to conform. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to…as I mentioned in my last piece of writing on her…be liked.

That was…just the shits.
I think it took me almost 30 years to find my wild roots…and even then? It was all in my work, not in my day to day, really.
My beloved bike sat in my garage for years, I didn’t go out into the woods as often as I would have liked…and I remember someone asking me what my hobby was…and I was stumped for days.
Hobby? Like, what the fuck.

When I was young, I collected key chains, played Monopoly with ANYONE who would join, I like to tap dance (before I started class, I stuck my stepdads beer caps…there were a lot of them…on a pair of rubber soled wedgies and worked it out on the concrete floor of our garage), rode my aforementioned bike everywhere, wrote stories on my family’s electric typewriter, and tried to get a band started with my friend Annette called THE DYNAMOS (eat your heart out, Abba and Mamma Mia…neither of us could play instruments but we didn’t let that stop us).
I guess a lot of those things actually became part of my work, but back then? I did them with a lack of inhibition…with no goal in mind, but just to try…which is what Allen MacInnis encouraged me to do, many years later.

I realized a couple of days ago, as I drove my twelve year old bike…that had spent many years simply leaning against the wall of my garage, filled with promise but still…through a gargantuan mud puddle and whooped out-loud for no apparent reason, that I want to be wild again.

I want to seek that abandon, with a purpose that is not middle-aged desperate, but in the moment.
That means that I have to seek out new situations…in travel (when we are allowed), in past-times (during this shit show, and then again, when we are allowed), and in work…in creation…and to risk more. Not scarily, but risk failure (whatever THAT means) or being embarrassed…something we all become terrible at, as we get older.

To that end, before I even knew about my wildness search, a couple of weeks ago, I started a new games night with a few friends from across Canada, and we all really dig it. I love it. I know a lot of people have already been doing it, but it’s still new to me…and it’s fun and works out my brain.
AND if there is one thing this pandemic is good for, it has really taught us how to stay better in touch with friends from far away.
I put my bike rack on the back of my car, and somedays, I just throw my bike on it and go. I am searching for places where I can learn better how finesse and control my steering and balance skills for possibly mountain biking. I know, I will try not to fall…I thought I might risk it…again, not scarily…but practically.
I love to hike…as I have talked about a number of times on my FB page, and go to new places and do my VERY best not to get lost.

I want to challenge my established views on all things. I want to ask myself why I believe what I believe…I want to forgive past hurts…I want to embrace new practices…

OH! I also started meditating for 30 minutes everyday! CHANGED MY LIFE!!!

…I want to read shit that I would never read. And follow through on ideas that seem to ambitious.
I want.
WILD.
I WANT WILD.

I don’t even know what it means…and am trying NOT to shape what it looks like…BUT I am keeping my eyes and ears open for things that spark me…things that make me question shit…things that make me scared.

WILD.

Lord, I hope I don’t hurt myself too badly.
Just sayin’.
But I am gonna risk it.

Have a GOOD ONE!!

Namasté.

SM. May 6th, 2021

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