I’d like to be able to say, officially, that the abundance and compilation of experiences and different moments and feelings that I’ve had thus far in my life have all, in their own way, meant something to me, taught me something about myself or something in life. I wish that I could truthfully say that each time something new happened to me, for the first time, that I kept that second, locked it in a vault in my mind, and never lost it. Except that there are some things in life, I’ve found, that affect you more than others. And then there are things that happen to you, that you’d simply rather forget.
I guess I’ve learned that not all firsts are good firsts. Sometimes, they just can’t be. Perhaps that’s to make the good firsts seem better? More rich, and exotic in flavor and thought? I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll discover the answer to that somewhere along the road, but I doubt it.
I try to think about my favorite of the firsts, and a few come to mind. I think my favorites will change over time; nothing is really ever constant in life, is it?
The first time that I ever really remember being scared, feeling unsafe and afraid, was one of the first times I heard someone close to me yell. I was maybe five or six. His rage and anger surprised me more than anything; I thought to myself, Why is he so mad? She didn’t do anything wrong…why yell at her? I think this is one of my favorites, because it taught me, at such a young age, that the people who get yelled at, the people who take the angry words and the insults and the threats, are shouldering something that isn’t necessarily their fault. It makes me always think twice about who and what I am truly mad at in a situation. Does this person deserve a nasty look, just because I am having a bad day? No. Absolutely not.
Another moment, a far brighter, and also nervous one, was the first time I was in a big production, and onstage for all to see. To be onstage is to realize that if you mess up, everyone sees. There is no hiding behind someone else, or ducking into the crowd. The audience expects something, and you are meant to deliver it. The consistancy of that exchange itself, so simple in theory and yet so much harder in execution, is what drives me through a performance, and I found that out the very first time at age ten. The music began, the lights slowly lit up a circular portion of the stage, and there I was, for everyone to see. I was posed, and ready, and about to pee my pants. Then my cue came, and I never looked back. My smile was so wide my face hurt, my gaze steady as I went through the motions, each time silently congratulating myself for every move on target, then quickly recovering and preparing for the next one. The end of that section came, along with positive and enthusiastic clapping. But my stomach was slowing chewing itself up; my first costume change was about to happen: a series of misplaced stockings, knocking elbows, strangers taking off your clothes, frantic tying of shoelaces, etc. And then you’re up again. I wondered, as I took my place in the dark amongst the others, were all my clothes truly on? It had been up to my changers to make sure of that, could I trust them? I swallowed, and focused on the next number.
The first time i felt humiliated. The first time someone laughed at me, and not with me. The first time I was the subject of someone’s cruel joke. So hard to go through, for anyone who goes through it, and still harder to try and make sense of, later; hardest still, to rationalize it as something that taught you a lesson, about human nature, fickle personalities, or whatever else you want to attribute unfavorable qualities to.
Have I learned something from each of these instances? Of course, there are millions more: the first time a boy kissed me, the first time I drove stick, the first time I got so drunk that I needed my big brother to rescue me, the first time I did the same for my little sister, the first time I ran away, the first time I told someone how I was really feeling. Have I unconsciously learned something from these instances as well? Will I ever really know the answer to that question?
Who knows. I’ll let you know.