A Different Kind of Peace

Winter gusts blow freezing air all around me as I stand outside the antique shop in a white t-shirt and jeans, waiting.

Everyone and everything else are inside.

That includes my coat.

But I stay in the Midwest snowstorm, looking through dirty windows, listening for the one word that will let me in.

The director calls ACTION.

I grip the icy door handle, the bell chimes, and I start my scene.

I’d driven to set through a winter snowstorm that morning, forty-five minutes one-way, parked in a lot full of snowdrifts, and in grey Keds, hurried inside.

As we shoot the scene over and over, I walk back and forth from the humid warmth of the antique shop into the dry cold of winter in Michigan.

Why did waiting outside in a snowstorm in a baggy t-shirt and jeans, hair in a ponytail and wind whipping down my neck, bring me peace?

We’ll get to that. Fast forward.

I’m on set in Geneva in five-inch stilettos, around two in the morning. Mascara streaks down my cheeks. My strappy black dress falls above my knees. Hairspray and cigarette smoke fill the air.

The actor next to me wraps his arm around my shoulders and I lean into the warmth of his suit. The clack of a train disappears into the night.

The direction calls ACTION.

One hand gripping my fellow actor for support, one hand gripping my Corona, we walk through the mud, past flashing paparazzi, and slide into the backseat of a sedan with tinted windows.

The driver rolls down the street, stops, and reverses back at our starting point. The actor helps me out and we trek through the mud, past the paparazzi.

Someone mists more hairspray into my hair and the actor with me lights another cigarette.

ACTION!

Why did staying up half the night, walking through mud in five inch stilettos, bring me peace?

We’ll get to that. Fast forward.

I slam my subordinate against a filing cabinet so hard they shake. Shoving my arm against his throat, I demand an answer. He's at my mercy, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

CUT!

We reset, and I slam the actor opposite me into the cabinets again…and again…and again.

Late that night we wrap and I walk across the dark parking lot to my car.

Why did slamming my co-actor into filing cabinets bring me peace?

Present day.

There’s something about being in front of a camera that calms me.

All my focus centers on the scene. What I’m wearing, how my hair and makeup is done, the way I carry myself, my actions and reactions, my lines, all depends on this small bubble of a world we stepped into.

One word, ACTION, lets me in. One word, CUT, takes me out.

Acting is one of the few times in my life where I think about only one thing.

When I’m not in a scene I’m usually working in other capacities, getting texts, calls, emails, thinking about that other project I need to be doing while working on this post. Usually I'm working out while watching educational videos, practicing a dance routine while thinking how I should be practicing my violin, writing while thinking about that person I need to connect with… The list goes on.

But for those brief moments between ACTION and CUT, everything in my life is in unity.

While my mind is usually in multiple places at once, I’m getting better at being present.

Still, when I step into a scene I step into a world where none of my other realities exist.

In the scene I’m the drunk model. I’m the girl outside the antique shop. I’m the ringleader of a gang. I have one goal—whatever the character’s goal is.

It’s calming in a way I can’t describe.

For the length of the scene, I’m fully present.

One word, ACTION, lets me in.

I know what to say and when to say it. I know exactly what to do next. I’m at peace.

One word, CUT, takes me out.

I love the creative process. I love the array of work I get to do on a regular basis. I love the chaos and the excitement.

But stepping out of the craze of creativity into someone else’s world is a refreshing change of pace.

It's a different type of chaos.

Once in awhile, it’s more peaceful to walk through a group of paparazzi, lights flashing, then to sit down in silence in front of the faint glow of my computer screen.

It’s just a different kind of peace.