The three-act play structure is ancient; birthed by Aristotle, it creates a shadow that puts sixty years in perspective. That’s what I seek: an honest review that brings perspective, to be ready to enter the next act with open eyes and heart. When I turn sixty, the third act will begin. The month prior, my 91-year-old mother crossed the threshold and my daughter turned thirty. Life lived in three approximately thirty year acts, is presenting itself. I’ve always appreciated stage directions that show me the way or at least, present options.
There is no script, no dress rehearsal nor details of how the story ends before performance of the third act begins. Lifestyle practices, habits of mind, and karma foreshadow scenes to come. We can choose whether to adopt pervasive cultural themes and how we interpret what happens. Third acts are associated with physical deterioration as well as harvesting wisdom gained from a lifetime of experience; I am getting glimpses of both. On one hand, there is decline, on the other, ascension; it’s the human duality. I’ve read stage directions to indicate de-emphasis of doing and increased emphasis on being and relating. Vulnerability is key, pretending does not work, slowing down is paramount.
In a three act play, the first act is expository, an introduction to the characters, the setting and the general plotlines. It’s the set-up. In the second act, the conflict or complication presents; there’s a situation and a vehicle for change, for transformation. In the third act, there is resolution usually after an intermission. This is that pause, break in the action, or intermission, while I grieve losses (my mother, dog and second act) and restore physically from a viral infection and a sprained ankle.
Act 1
Settings: Suburban Buffalo home, Catholic school, SUNY College(s); Paris, France; golf and tennis resort and pink trailer in Florida; Westside of Buffalo, NY; NYC including the East Village and Brooklyn.
Costume Changes: Matching sibling outfits in the early 1960s, Catholic school uniform, jean overalls, homemade skirts, Parisian fashions, punk style get ups, Madison Avenue professional clothes.
In 1956 the year I was born, the number one hit was Elvis Presley’ Heartbreak Hotel. America’s economy was on the rise and youth culture was, too. It was a small step to celebrate “black” music and glaring to overlook the cultural creators. That feels like the general mood of the first act in my personal life; external signs belying inner unrest. The standard American dream (think marriage, family and suburban home) did not call me; my aspirations were outside the mainstream.
I was the fourth child born in a home and time when dad worked and mom took care of the family that included eight children when all the babies had arrived. We reaped the benefits of the times: solid values, good education, a cottage at the beach in August and old-fashioned grandparents who lived nearby. Throughout the sixties, we followed a path of Catholic education, family and friend gatherings, as well as changing mores and fashions. Through media reports and adults openly shocked and mourning, I became aware of the assassinations of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King as well as riots on college campuses. At the same time that all was well at home, in that children were healthy, our father could support all of us, our village was generally safe; there was an undeniable current of unrest.
By the time I was in high school, inner unrest led to seeking understanding outside of Catholic traditions and Western thought. I became interested in Eastern philosophy including yoga as a path to enlightenment. I was sensitive, curious and shy. I wanted to know how things fit together, about invisible forces and about the deeper meaning of life. I loved literature and writing. I said goodbye to the suburban neighborhood after high school and set on a quest that took me to Paris, France, to financial independence –the ticket to freedom, to pop culture and eventually to New York City where I learned to write copy for magazine editorials, among other things.
I overcame shyness by saying yes to a destiny path that led to photographs in magazines, experimental film appearances and performing music on stage. Compelled to experience the things that frightened me most, I stepped out boldly and developed courage. Not being held by standard cultural expectations did not prevent me from feeling I should adhere to them and subsequent shame about forging my own path. I had trouble discerning mistakes where guilt was appropriate (I had a few) and the kind of regrets that come from not meeting the subtle, largely unspoken, expectations of conformity.
Act 2
Settings: Knoxville, TN (briefly); a small apartment and a large house in Buffalo, NY; independent study in groups and college; Waldorf Schools; Stuttgart, Germany (visiting in-laws) and family vacations.
Costume Changes: nursing dress with Elvis prints, flowing dresses, casual “home” and city clothes, work and social dress up clothes befitting career and recreation (yoga, bicycling and kayaking).
By the end of the first act in 1986, I had a husband, a baby, a desire to find my voice through writing, and to set up home in Knoxville, Tennessee and then back in Buffalo, New York where I had family, connections and opportunities. The Pee Wee Herman show and Oprah Winfrey were launched that year, opening the stage for being childlike, retro, reflective, and revealing. The UN declared 1986 the international year of peace (before word of the Iran contra deal was out).
Personally, it was time to finish the education that would allow me to be a school teacher and single parent since divorce was ahead. Rather than showing up and following opportunities that presented; in the second act, I started to take charge and create circumstances that would lead me to the lifestyle I sought. That’s the biggest difference between the second act and the first: the clarity, confidence and self-direction.
There was stable family life with my second husband, a beautiful old home, a second child, strong community, personal development, a teaching career, exploring feminine knowledge practices, and success in bringing Waldorf principles of child development to our city (basically in that order). Through that work, I proved something to myself, created a legacy that would outlive me and completed goals, which freed energy for more personal tasks.
The work and relationships fostered then, called out of me previously undeveloped skills. I stayed focused on the goals, made sacrifices, learned to define boundaries, to practice compassion, and to let go of the unimportant stuff. I also practiced writing to process life’s experiences, published a book, and contributed regularly to local publications. There were many challenges in this phase and they all led me to a place of inner work, a practice of mindfulness, of yoga and meditation, of digging deep and reaching out. Learning through experience is the hallmark of feminine knowledge practices; I value that learning and take time to harvest the lessons.
The main conflict had to do with recognizing boundaries between self and others which led to learning to let go of people-pleasing, be content with enough and to find balance. At the end of the second act, there has been enough lessons to bring resolution in most matters of family, career and lifestyle. What’s left is letting go and trusting what I have nurtured can be nurtured by others and succeed without me, that I can move to do less and enjoy more, to be myself in the third act, to grow old gracefully.
Family will endure and hopefully grow, but I plan to let the business and home go. Details are not yet written but the intention is to let go gradually to make room for others to grow, and for writing fulltime to share the wisdom gained from experience. Since I was eight-years-old, I have been writing and sharing it with others. A snapshot of giving my first hand-written story to my mother, is crystal clear in my mind fifty-one years later. The courageous art of writing then sharing my voice is still the measure of my success as a writer.
Last spring, I was sick although I rarely get sick and normally practice mind over matter when I do. In this situation; my body demanded full attention. During the period of convalescence, I discovered insidious self-expectations along the lines of: being all things to all people, all the time, and looking good besides. Appearing as anything less than that, triggered shame and the urge to run, to hide or otherwise distract from the intense fear of exposure, of vulnerability. According to Brene Brown, the antidote to shame is courage, compassion and connection. These practices have served me before so I am using them again while peeling away another layer of protection, revisiting the second act conflict, while preparing for the last act.
Having reviewed the first two acts, I know who I am. Going forward, uncertainties are to be expected. The process will be revealed a little at a time, sustainable change happens slowly and in increments. Patience is a practice.
In 2016 like in my youth, there is a current of unrest including racial tension, violence, and social inequity. They signal the need for change. Inwardly I feel a call to align with positive pro-social forces as well as to practice trust, kindness and acceptance come what may, knowing what comes is from a universal Director greater than me. I plan to pay attention to stage directions and allow the scenes to play out until the story is told.
Benchmarks of a life well lived are purpose and meaning expressed with courage, compassion, and connection. I will let go of what is no longer congruent with this stage and enjoy life as long as I can, acknowledging mortality. Even without a script, I do know what happens at the end of the third act.
Act 3
Setting: New home in Buffalo, NY that’s beautiful and easy to clean, recreational travel and activities, writing and sharing, gatherings of people, cultural events, and spreading wisdom and joy.
Costume Changes: infrequent changes of comfortable, simple, beautiful and lifestyle ready garments (not unlike a uniform).
On the brink of a new act, with immense gratitude for what has been and what will be, the curtain rises on the third act. I am seasoned, practiced, and prepared, a child of the times and unapologetically me.
“Home”
(a poem written about my mother as she was entering the last scene of her third act)
It changed so slowly,
I didn’t even notice when
A house full of children became
A grandma’s house
That smells like one
Where someone waits for
Life to come to her
Since she traded
Car keys and a calendar full
For the comfort of knitting needles,
Telephone calls and television Mass
Decorations on the door
Welcome visitors who come
For tea or to take her out
To church, a store, or café.
Always bringing her back home
Grateful to go out, she accepts
At times gracefully,
When she must go home again.
In the end, going home
Is really all that matters
And all that’s left.