21 Pages of Peter Pan

My Wendy costume.

Last night, my fellow castmates and I took flight one final time to Neverland in our high school's production of Peter Pan: The Official British Musical. I specify that it was The Official British Musical because it is so much richer than the Disney version. More true to the book, it primarily tells the remarkable coming of age story of Wendy Darling.

I didn't fully realize until last night at IHOP that we have been working on Peter Pan for the last six months. In June I was cast as Wendy, the twelve-year-old girl struggling to balance her desire to grow up with the temptation to stay a child alongside the whimsical Peter Pan––the perpetual little boy. Since then, I have invested myself in the story, like I do for every play.

This story was unique in that I had an entire book and several movie adaptations to construct my own interpretation of Peter Pan, and more specifically, Wendy Darling. I was also fortunate to have castmates who shared my love for analyzing the play––in particular, my friend Emily, who played my mother (Mrs. Darling), and my friend Joe, who played Peter Pan. I scrolled through all our Peter Pan e-mail exchanges and Facebook messages and copy and pasted them into a document. That document is 21 pages long. There's so much I want to talk about, so I think the best way to address them is to break this post up into sub-divisions.

Wendy, Peter and Mrs. Darling

Mrs. Darling and Peter are the embodiment of Wendy's coming of age struggle. In Mrs. Darling, Wendy sees her adult self. J.M. Barrie's book implies remarkable similarities between Wendy and Mrs. Darling. It is because of Mrs. Darling that Wendy realizes she needs to grow up someday. The book begins:

One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.

To say "she must grow up" has a tone of negativity, yet there is part of Wendy that is excited about growing up. She loves taking care of her brothers. She loves to play house. In picturing herself grown up, I imagine that Wendy thinks of Mrs. Darling. To Wendy, growing up is inevitable. She doesn't question it.

Until Peter. Peter flies into her window and enchants Wendy. He talks about flying and mermaids and fairies; about the Neverland, a world filled with fun and games and make-believe. Peter has somehow managed to beat the system and not grow up. In meeting Peter, growing up is no longer inevitable. Wendy has a choice, and her decision about whether or not to grow up is one of her many coming of age moments in the play.

The book says Wendy "grows up of her own accord," so eventually Wendy grows up because she wants to, not because it’s inevitable.

Wendy and Peter

Throughout the play, I was obsessed with figuring out Peter and Wendy's relationship––in particular, Peter's feelings for Wendy. How appropriate, considering in the script Wendy asks Peter, "What are your exact feelings for me?" It was a line that got laughs every performance, which made me defensive of Wendy. "She really wants to know!" I thought. "This is really hard for her!" But then again, it is a very adult line for a twelve-year-old girl.

Joe and I talked about this a lot, each proposing our own theories. Below are two of our many theories.

My Theory: I definitely get the sense that Wendy loves Peter, and she wants Peter to love her too, but love is too grown up of an emotion for Peter. What I can't understand (and maybe you have some insight/ideas?) is where Peter stands. When Wendy asks how Peter feels about her, he says that he feels like a "devoted son." Do you think that's all he feels? I know he enjoys Wendy's company, but the book doesn't seem to show any adolescent romantic interest (that's the weirdest way to word that) on Peter's side. There's no kiss on the cheek at the end, or sweet song. Peter forgets to get Wendy for spring cleaning the second year, and forgets a lot of their adventures. But, although he doesn't come back for almost 30 years, he does come back eventually, so I guess he still remembers Wendy, which, I don't know, is maybe significant because Peter forgets so much (including Tinkerbell and Hook)?

Wendy desperately wants Peter to love her and to grow old with her. I think Peter does love Wendy to some degree, but he doesn't know it's love because it's too adult of an emotion for him. I think Peter is sad Wendy isn't staying with him, which is another new emotion. But ultimately, he sacrifices Wendy because he loves being a child more. So why does he kiss her? I don't know.

Joe's Theory: Well...maybe he can't admit he does love her so instead of admitting it he just kisses her instead. Oh I've got it. Peter does love her. And he does want to grow up but his ego is too big and he won't admit it... I could probably keep coming up with weird things to answer your question but I really don't think I know either.

The kiss at the end of the play was hard for us to figure out, because it shows a remarkable amount of character development for Peter. It was important to us that this kiss contrasted the kiss at the beginning of the play. For the first kiss, our director instructed Joe to make a surprised look after I kissed him–like "What is this?"–immediately followed by a, "I like this" look. At that moment, the kiss is just, “This is cool.” The kiss doesn't have the same emotional attachment for Peter as the kiss at the end does, when he kisses Wendy. But where does that emotional attachment come from? And how much emotional attachment is there?  

Here I am talking about Peter even though I played Wendy, but I can't help trying to analyze him, because Wendy spends the whole play trying to analyze him and her relationship to him.

Wendy and Me

I still don't think Joe or I have the entire relationship figured out, because I don't think we're supposed to. A few weeks ago, Joe and I watched an acting video of the renowned German American actress and acting teacher, Uta Hagen, with a group of friends. In it, she warns her students to not think about what they're feeling onstage––the words “think” and “feel” themselves are contradictory.  

“I do that to you all the time,” I said to Joe. “I’m always asking you, ‘What are you feeling?’ ‘What are you thinking?’ ‘I’m going to do this here because of this.’”

In this way, I realize I am more like Wendy than I thought I was: the desire to always put a label on my emotions, rather than just feeling them; wanting to have it all figured out; wanting to know rather than feel, or rather, know how I feel, because knowing is so much more concrete. But the more time I spend trying to know how I feel, the less I feel. I understand this when I’m onstage. My best performances are the ones when I’m in the moment, not thinking about, “What is my character feeling at this moment?” but just being that character in that moment.

This show comes at a very apropos time for me. It’s my senior year, and as I prepare to wrap up this chapter in my life, I’m torn between the desire to grow up and the longing to stay a child. Like Wendy, who grew up of her own accord, I am leaving home of my own accord next year. No one’s telling me I have to go to college or that I need to go far away. I’m optimistic and nostalgic; excited and scared. I’m taking ownership of my life, which scares me because if I’m wrong, there’s no one to blame but myself.

Last night was my friend Connor’s last performance ever on our high school stage. Three Novembers ago, we were performing together onstage in Romeo and Juliet, our first high school play. As I watched him bow, I couldn’t stop crying, thinking about the time when I will need to say goodbye to him and my other senior friends. We’ve been through so much together. I have so many emotions about it all and I’m not always sure what I’m feeling or how I’m feeling, and somehow I want to find a name for it. But there I go again, thinking instead of just feeling.

My favorite part of Peter Pan was the final number, when Joe and I slow danced while he sang “Don’t Say Goodbye.” I believe that is Wendy’s freest moment of the play, because she is not thinking, just feeling. And in my performance, I too was not thinking, just feeling. Nothing made me feel freer than when Joe would spin me in my blue nightgown, and I could feel the fabric swishing around me and the wooden stage beneath my slippers.  

"Don't think of when we meet again, if it will be the same. Don't cry too hard, just smile, be happy now, be strong,” sang Joe as Peter, urging me not to worry about the future. "Don't wonder how we came to now, don't wonder why,” he sang, telling me not to think about the past. Just think about the present. Because if you read the book, you know that Peter forgets to come back for Wendy most years. He’s too preoccupied with his own adventures. But in the moment, Wendy believes with all her heart that Peter will come back for her, and that’s all that matters.

Right or Wrong

I went to a talk last week at my church. The man speaking quoted the wise words of his wife, which were that if you find yourself spending a lot of time trying to convince yourself something is right, then you should probably get yourself out of whatever that thing is.

I find I have the opposite problem. I spend a lot of time trying to convince myself something is wrong. If something seems right, then there has to be something wrong about it. There just has to be.

But why? Why can't I just let myself be happy? Let myself enjoy whatever that thing is?

Right and wrong is so black and white. How many things can truly be one or the other?

As Hamlet said in Shakespeare's famous tragedy, Hamlet, "For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so" (II.ii.234-235). It is we who label something as right or wrong, good or bad. As a whole, historically the human race has felt inclined to separate the world into two black and white categories. We've targeted different races as "good" or "bad." We've captured different body types as "desirable" or "undesirable." We've labeled different foods as "healthy" or "unhealthy." Yet, few of what we categorize remains under that label forever. Our opinions change; our tastes change; our scope of knowledge changes. After the Civil War allowed African Americans to be accepted in America, we turned to the Natives; the question of slavery quickly changed to "the Native question." There was a time when a full-figured woman was desirous, but for many girls today, "thin is in." Potatoes used to keep families fulfilled for months, but now it's been blacklisted under the form of french fries and potato chips.

Why do these things change? Is it possible that no race is "good" or "bad?" (gasp.) Is it possible that there's no "perfect figure?" Is it possible that in moderation, potatoes–even in the form of french fries and potato chips–are okay? So, can anything really be labeled as right or wrong? Good or bad? Desirable or undesirable?

I think the reason why we are inclined to put a label on things is because it's comforting. In a chaotic world where everything is flying around us a mile a minute, it's comforting to be able to put something in black or white. Things get lost in gray. I can tell myself, "No. I will not eat those Oreos because the health magazine tells me processed foods are bad for me." Easy. If I want a "good figure", I just have to stay away from foods that are "bad" for me. (Just an example, by the way. I love Oreos.)

But "good" versus "bad" gets even more complicated when it turns into "right" versus "wrong." If there's anything that cannot be cast in black or white, it's emotions. I ask myself on a weekly basis–sometimes daily–if what I'm feeling is "wrong." But how can what anyone feels be wrong? "Well, my religion says this." "My parents say this." "My friends say this."

I need to learn to stop worrying about what everyone thinks. I need to think for myself, and sometimes, just not think. I need to stop labeling everything as "right" or "wrong." I need to just live. And if something feels right, not question it.

A few posts ago I said to never stop questioning the world around you. True. Except your heart. Never question your heart.

San Diego #4: Hieroglyphics

Mom says they're hieroglyphics. My first thought is, "how can 'Russ+Mari' and 'Ashley M' and 'Sue' and all the other signatures and lover's initials tattooed into the rock possibly be hieroglyphics?" But she's right. 100, 200 years from now, people will visit this spot––archeologists, historians, maybe––and puzzle over these carvings. Study them, wnder who carved them and why. What was going on in their life at that moment? What do all these strange letters mean? Who knows if we will even speak the same language 200 years from now; perhaps these letters will be recognized as no more than symbols. So people will come and and try to put meaning, some significance behind these carvings. Make them out to be more than they are; perhaps a map, or a story, or some sort of code. We will not be around to tell them these symbols and characters they are studying are nothing more than names of the everyday people and lovers, trying to make heir mark. But that's okay, because who are we to ruin their fun?

What will people think, 500 years from now? What will go in their history books? What will children learn in school? What will they think of us, and our styles? Will they think our clothes laughable, appalling, #1 on the DO NOT WEAR list? Will our styles become part of their School Spirit week? At what point will our clothes become vintage? When will our furniture become retro? I laugh to think of the day when I will tell my kids, "I remember back in my day..." My children will be embarrassed looking through my old yearbooks; I'll be embarrassed. But of course at the time I feel "hip" and "in" and "with it."

Looking at the hieroglyphics is like watching a history film. I wish I could be like the book "Gosammer" by Lois Lowry, and flash back to every person who ever entered this cave. Touch the initials and be brought back to that moment. How far back would it bring me? One year marks '78, but there must be ones dating farther back. I would love to see who Russ and Mari were. Were they a young couple on their honeymoon? Or were they two summer lovers, and perhaps this carving is the only proof of their summer fling. But they were here, and they were in love. Looking around, there were lots of people in love. And that is a comforting thing.

Redefining Me

http://thephlebotomycertification.com/phlebotomy-definition.html

Definitions are a constant. They're something we can understand, something we can cling to, something that is universally accepted. They're comforting. I know no matter where I go in the world, a plate is going to be a flat dish which food is served and eaten on. No matter if it is called plato, piastra, or assiette. A plate is a plate. That's never going to change. And it's comforting to know that; to know that some things in this world do stay the same. 

Definitions are also a way of explaining things. It gives us a way to identify something. It would be a very confusing world if everything was simply accepted without any rhyme or reason. "Well, why? Why is that furry fabric a coat? Why not a rug? Why not a blanket?" Think about how often little kids ask the question, "Why?" They want to know why about everything. Little kids are smart. "Why should I believe you? Give me one good reason." They want an explanation; they want a definition.

In our society, we tend to like to define people, too. Think of all the labels we put on people. The athletes, the techies, the punks, the divas, the "populars", the geeks, the theatre kids, the artsy kids, the list goes on and on. We're all guilty of it. Even on this blog my posts are labeled based on common themes. Why do we do this? Why do we label? Because it's a way for us to try and organize everything in our brains. Our brains like to see things in neat boxes, stacked one on top of the other, and labeled. It's easier that way. No questions asked. It just is.

The problem with labels is that we tend to attach ourselves to them. There's a comfort in knowing so and so as the track captain, as the dancer, whatever it may be. All of a sudden when they change, sometimes it's hard for our brain to reconfigure where they "fit in." A baseball coach sees a promising pitcher when the boy is in 5th grade and gets excited. He trains him, he brings him far. Everyone knows the boy for being the star pitcher. Of course he'll go into the MLB when he's older. But then high school comes around and the boy tries track, and he realizes he likes track so much better. He has to choose between baseball and track. In his heart, he knows the track is where he wants to be. But everyone knows him to be the star pitcher. He is the star pitcher. 

But just because he was a star pitcher throughout middle school, does that mean he has to be the star pitcher in high school? Who would he be pitching for? Himself, or everyone else? He can only live his life for himself. We can only live our lives for ourself. People may say, "What a shame. You had so much potential." People may be angry, disappointed, but it doesn't matter. Your true friends, the people who really matter, know you for you and will love you unconditionally. As Dr. Seuss wrote, "Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." The fact is, you can put labels on food produce, but you can't put them on people, because people change. Who you were in kindergarten most likely is different from who you are now. That's okay. In fact, it's probably a good thing! 

High school is all about redefining who we are. It's the time to try new things, experiment, expand our horizons. Just because we loved something last year, doesn't mean we have to do it for the rest of our lives. We may find something we like better down the road, and just because it happened "down the road," does that mean we should stay on the path we're on because that's all we've ever known? Because we're "satisfied?" Or should we take a bit of a risk and try something new? Verge off and travel down the path where we won't just be "satisfied" but we'll be happy? 

In 5th grade I wrote a poem titled, "Who Am I?" (I apologize for the amateur writing and the lack of poetic quality, but I thought the message was valid.)

Who Am I?

"Who am I?" 

I often asked my father.

"You are a superstar,"

Was one of his many wise replies.

"Who am I?"

Was what I asked my friend when I wanted a compliment

And she was always willing to give me one.

"You are a kind and giving, and understanding friend," was one of my favorites.

"Who am I?"

Was what I asked my teacher when I wanted to know about my future,

And she would reply, "You are a girl with a brilliant, and wonderful future."

"Who am I?"

Was what I asked my grandmother when I was in need of a hug,

And she would embrace me and say, "You are the reflection of God himself."

"Who am I?"

Was what I asked my mother one day when I was wondering how other people saw me

And this time I didn't hear one of the usual compliments.

Instead I heard, "You are you, and it doesn't matter what I, or what others think of you."

"All that matters is what you think of yourself."

I thought for a moment, and then finally understood what my mother was saying.

So from that day on, I never asked my father, or anyone else, "Who am I?"

Instead, I asked myself, "Who am I?"

And I soon realized that my responses were what comforted me the most.

Because I no longer had to worry about what others would say when I asked them, "Who am I?"

All I had to do was think of the positive things about myself.

And in reality, like my mother said, that was all that really mattered.

It seems like in 5th grade I had a pretty good idea about whose opinion mattered most in defining who I am. Maybe I've gone backwards since 5th grade. I wish I could say the last stanza was true, because I find myself constantly seeking for reassurance about who I am, where I fit into this big world. I guess the main thing to keep in mind is that even how I define myself now in high school will likely change as I grow older. Life is all about redefining. It would be boring if it stayed the same all the time! (I sound like a hypocrite saying this because I struggle so much with change, but I know it's true.)

No matter how old or young you are, it's never too late to redefine who you are. That's why we call them crazy dreams. They may seem crazy, they may seem scary, we may not even be able to explain them. And that's exactly why we should follow them.

Sweet Crazy Dreams,

Megan ;)