Hi, I'm Nina Iordanova and this is the 26th edition of Something Good, a newsletter filtered through my 🧠, 🖐, and ❤️. Coming your way every two weeks, I hope you find something good here.
I was thinking about an old acting teacher of mine today.
I don’t know if I’ve told you about him before, but he’s someone I think of often.
I started taking his classes when I was 26, 27. Even after a year of weekly (or twice-weekly) classes with him, I’d spend the entire day leading up to the class petrified, racing heart, clammy hands, the works. Just dreading it.
Most of the other acting classes I took involved monologues, scene rehearsals, physical warm ups, etc. Pretty much what you’d expect in an acting class and what every movie shows.
This class was different. You had no lines, nothing to memorize. You’d go up in pairs to an empty stage, and the only thing you were allowed to say was an objective observation about the other person that would be repeated for the entire exercise.
“You’re wearing a grey shirt.”
Then the other person would repeat it.
“I’m wearing a grey shirt.”
And the first person would respond again.
“You’re wearing a grey shirt".
On and on and on.
The words weren’t important at all, aside from giving you something to say. The goal was to get you out of your head and into the reality of what was going on in front of you. So you could see what your partner was doing, how they were feeling, and respond in the moment. All of that would be layered onto the one line.
I’ve seen people repeat “You’re wearing a grey shirt” as they stand chest-to-chest and ready to fight, as they fall in love, as they turn each other on from across the room.
I’ve also seen those exercises escalate beyond exercises, til the teacher had to step in. Sometimes it was a person stuck in hysterical crying that they couldn’t snap out of, or who got so angry that they were about to start a fight with their partner.
When that happened, this teacher was the only one who could de-escalate the situation. And he didn’t do it by trying to calm the person down. He’d come in and match their energy, whether it was anger or fear or sadness, and he’d be there 100% with them until they snapped out of their own world and locked onto him.
Then he’d slowly start to play, tease, laugh, soften, and wind down the exercise.
But it always stuck with me how he’d step in. Not to calm the other person down, but to meet them wherever they were.
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My puppy passed away.
The breeders sent me an email last week with the news and offered me a spot in the next litter. A day later, the name tag I’d ordered for her arrived in the mail. LILA. I’d decided on the name even though my mom couldn’t pronounce it properly (Why-wa) and my dad hated it.
It’s strange to mourn something you’ve never met but have built a whole fantasy life around. I don’t even know if I’ve properly done that or if I’ve just moved into a stage of LA LA LA, NO NEED TO PROCESS ANY OF THIS, KEEP THE SHOW MOVING.
I look at the photos of the new litter and my new future puppy and don’t feel much at all. In some ways, it’s a relief not to have this constant thrum of expectation. Time will pass, and pup will come. She’ll be whoever she is, and we’ll get along however we get along, and that will just figure itself out with time.
And I’m sure as the weeks pass, I’ll develop a connection with this puppy too. She’s coming home on May 3, which is lots of time to warm up to the idea of a new girl and the possibility of a new future.
I’ll share photos of the new pup soon. For now, I just want to let it rest.
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Warmly yours,
Nina
Something Good #26
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