Making Mistakes With a Katana

All of the images used in this post are by Michael Fisher Photography

Three summers ago I was in an incredible production of Macbeth. The auditions took place two months after I moved home from Gloucester. At the time I was battling persistent and suffocating depression and nearly decided to skip them all together. But after some nudging from my mom I went and immediately got a call back. The call back was primarily movement based work. I remember the highlight of this was an exercise where we all gathered in a circle and took turns performing movements opposite someone else. I remember I hoped into the circle with the director and just...went. We moved and gilded and laughed and everyone was celebrating with us. I felt heard, embraced, and happy for the first time in months.

Michael Fisher Photography

The moment I got the call that I was cast as Macduff, I knew I was embarking on one the most challenging and magical artistic endeavors of my career thus far. Every rehearsal was an adventure, a lesson in discipline and discovery. For a girl who was having a significant amount of trouble speaking up in her own life, I became an active participant in discussions about the world we were building and the way my character was evolving. I found myself moving my body in ways I never had and taking my emotions to heights I could never reach in theater school. Crying on cue became second nature to me and wielding a katana became an extension of my arm. I felt at home among this enormous cast of misfits and warriors.

When the show opened I couldn’t shut up about it. I wanted everyone to come. I couldn’t wait for my boyfriend to see it and when my high school mentor came I openly burst into tears.

On the second to last night of our run I was ready. Every show had been spot on for me, every moment a revelation. And then, in the final fight scene between Macduff and Macbeth, my mind went blank. I froze completely. I stared at my co-star who stared back at me concerned. We skipped to the end of the sequence, circled each other with a few lines, and when we went into the next sequence my mind went blank again. I couldn’t remember a single move. A single fucking moment. Luckily my mind clicked back in for the third sequence. It was messy but we got the job done.

Michael Fisher Photography

My co-star ran to me after to fight to make sure I was okay. I said, “Yes, I’m so sorry. I have no idea what happened.”

After the show, friends cheered me one. Were amazed at my abilities and couldn’t believe that was me on that stage. I ran into the director and she very sweetly asked me what happened. I explained that I didn’t know, I just forgot everything. She said it’s okay, no one would have noticed except for us but practice so it doesn’t happen for closing.

She was so kind to me, everyone was. But I was utterly mortified. I got in my car after the run and cried my eyes out. The next night I came in and my co-star and I ran through the fight multiple times. Everything was absolutely perfect. When we came to the scene during the final performance we got it. It was amazing and people cheered at the end. As we ran off stage he came over to me with a big grin and said, “That was amazing. Our best one yet. I told you you could do it.”

But I still felt miserable. The fight from before weighed on me heavily. Something about that moment brought me to this level of believing I was incapable and unworthy of being on that stage with all of those incredibly talented human beings. Months of work had restored mountains of confidence in me and with one single stroke of the sword (or lack thereof…) I tore it to bits.

Michael Fisher Photography

Now I have replayed this exact moment in my head hundreds of times which typically includes a lot of physical wincing and head shaking. The second I raise my sword and my co-star realizes I have no idea what I’m doing. The words and the looks of pity I received as I exited from friends and cast mates. I wanted to be worthy of sharing a stage with them but I suddenly decided that because of one mistake, one bad performance after a month of what I believed was my best work to date, I’d ruined everything.

But here’s the kicker folks, you’re probably reading this going. “Caitlin, this doesn’t sound so bad. Your fellow performers understood and the audience still thought you were a cool bad ass. So what’s the big deal?” And in a way you’re right, I didn’t need to beat myself up the way I did. It was unnecessary and slightly abusive the way I spoke to myself. But in another way, it was a big deal and taught me an incredibly valuable lesson about creating art and the human condition.

Here was my big revelation: There is no way to sustain yourself physically if you are not taking care of yourself emotionally. Okay….so you probably all knew this, but let me explain. In college I was pretty well known for playing depressing roles and essentially sacrificing my being for them. I forced myself to endure all kinds of self inflicted emotional (and sometimes physical) abuse in the name of art and I truly believed it was worth it.

Michael Fisher Photography

During the rehearsal process for Macbeth, I was in therapy and spent most of my free time at home watching Nextflix and drinking. Macbeth was my escape and when I wasn’t in the rehearsal room or running lines I didn’t even want to think about Caitlin, I just counted the seconds until I got to become Macduff again. When opening night came I had actually developed two very large cysts on each of my ovaries. My doctor warned they were partially from a medication, partially from stress, and that they could burst at any moment. They were incredibly painful and I spent most of my time back stage with my pants unbuttoned laying on the floor.

Clearly my routine was not sustainable, my body was rebelling and I was actively choosing to ignore it. Every night I entered the stage I was so full of my character work and rehearsals I couldn’t see the toll my personal neglect was taking on me. I had the audacity to believe I knew my character so well that no mistakes could be made, no matter how terrible I felt. But I was exhausted. I had gone so far down the path of becoming Macduff that I forgot that Caitlin was someone still in need of love and affection. Her care was just as necessary to sustain the world I had built for my character.

Michael Fisher Photography

Being a performer is complicated. At any given time you may have 2, 3 or 4 different people existing inside of you. Each character has a mind of their own and needs to be tended to and cared for, but you can never forget the one that needs care first and foremost is yourself. Forgetting my fight choreography that night taught me I am never above the work of self care. If I want my character to shine, I need to love myself and let myself shine too. Mistakes will happen, I’m sure this isn’t the last mistake I will make on the stage. But next time I will be kinder, I will tell myself it is okay, and I will learn.