"Don't even go if you're not bringing your A-game."

I'm going to hold off on posting last night's dinner for now because my last post was all pictures, and I've found something else I want to talk about anyway.

We Love Soaps is publishing an article about actress Constance Ford's influence on Robin Strasser, one of daytime's greatest actresses.  (No joke.  As judged by a panel of soap experts.)

When I read it, it really struck me, because of this:

"I was taken to her immediately but it was not in the sense of feeling oh-so-secure, safe, or heaven forbid, complacent. I sensed immediately that only my "A" game [would be acceptable]. To this day I’m that kind of person. You show up, but don’t even go if you’re not bringing your A-game. Her standards were extremely high.

"It took a long time...[pause] I’m going to get emotional...for me to figure out how much she really cared about me. Not because she wasn’t nice. But I guess in a sense she was bringing me up correctly. She had to teach me everything without seeming to be taking me by the hand or lecturing me. I was playing her daughter. Connie taught me everything I know about daytime acting. On some level I didn’t even know it was happening....

"...I just adored her. She taught me how to work. She would never have accepted anything but my being a hard worker. I’m so fortunate because that was my calling anyway—to take it very very seriously and to give it my all. How lucky I am that the universe sent me Constance Ford to me as my creative and professional mother."

We Love Soaps told Robin Strasser, "Many of your co-stars have described you in the same way, they can only bring their A-game into a scene with you."

And she answered, "Well, then I’m mightily flattered. If it means I can honor, if I can channel Connie, I’m moved to tears."

Which is funny, because if you read the comments to the article, a lot of people say that reading it moved them to tears for some reason or another.

For me, it was because I completely identified with that desire to work really really hard and always bring my absolute A-game.

When I was going to Stella Adler Academy, I set up an appointment to meet with the school's director, Irene Gilbert.  I was concerned because I was drinking in all these things I was hearing and reading from Stella Adler's students about how hard she made them work and how demanding she was, and I didn't feel that anyone was demanding that level of performance from me in class.

Irene knew who my first acting techniques teacher had been and encouraged me to give my new techniques teacher a try before I decided to be so frustrated.  I believe I was the first one Tim McNeil put on stage in that class.  He gave me a book and told me to create a scene and perform one of the poems in it.  I don't even remember what the poem was or who wrote it!  I was terrified.

So, I created the scene.  I'm pretty sure I was kneeling at a grave, talking to ... a dead husband? ... family member? ... child?  I can picture this hill, with grasses blowing and sky.  The air was chilly, and I think I may have even had a little mud, brick, or stone wall in there somewhere?  (It must have been an Irish or British poet?)  Anyway, I kept reading this poem.

And Tim kept trying to get me to stop reading the poem.  He was trying to get me to understand that the words weren't important.  And the more times I read the poem, the more frustrated he got with me.

Eventually, he took the book away from me, which confused the life out of me, and told me to perform it.  I don't remember what I did or said -- I think I was kind-of shaken up by then -- but I know I was confused because I didn't know how I was supposed to perform a poem that I didn't know the words to! He actually threw the book from where he was standing in the room, over my head, into the back wall of the stage.  He was emphasizing, dramatically, demandingly, that it wasn't about the words!

Well, I was desperate, so I just turned to that grave and started talking, and trying to basically convey the same thing the poem was.  I was nervous, pained, maybe even stuttering.  I don't know.  But that satisfied Tim.

And I was satisfied, because I got what he was saying.  No, it wasn't a good performance at all.  It sucked.  But I learned something, and he had demanded that I learn it, even if he had to be mean about it.

He would sometimes get that way, but he was an awesome awesome teacher.  I'd love to go back now and sit with him and pick his mind in a big, deep acting discussion.  I don't remember him ever getting that frustrated with me again, and I still wonder if he only did that because Irene told him to make an impression on me or something.  After that, I only ever remember getting advice, direction, and compliments when I was on stage.  Maybe he sensed that, in a way, I was as frustrated as he was.

I am still frustrated.  Elizabeth tried to find that full potential in my singing.  She would never let me make excuses, and when I got stage fright and my voice shook, she sat and watched me like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.  I knew it was terrible, that all techniques and emotion had gone out the window, but her goal was just to get me back up there in front of everyone with no excuses.  I adored her.  I don't know if I would have survived coming back to Indiana if I hadn't found her waiting there.  Our friendship was way, way too short.  

I would love to find someone like that again, and it makes me sad.  I know where I belong in life, and I know my potential.  I would like to have an opportunity to fulfill it, and I would like to meet more people who understand that part of my life and won't let me accept less of myself.

When I'm hard on other people, that's really why, because I only want them to see the best in themselves and fulfill it, and I get really frustrated that people don't try to do that -- or even want to try.

Where is the hole that my peg fits in?  I need to try to fulfill my potential every day.  I want to.  I want to overcome my weaknesses, fears, and vulnerabilities.  I want to have those friends around me who understand me and push me -- hard.  I want a mentor like that.  

I want to be that to other people, too.

That's why I was so moved by Robin Strasser's words about Constance Ford.  I understood them, deeply, inexplicably.  I don't know if I will ever find another person like that in my life, and that makes me so sad, because I know they are out there.  I don't want those lessons to be over forever.  I crave them.

But, I know I'll be okay either way.  And just maybe someday I'll be able to help someone else "get it."