Trust

Just before the pandemic shut down theaters, and everything else, I played a role in a fantastic play given a fantastic and very successful production at one of my favorite theaters, a theater where I had wanted to work ever since I moved here.  I was working with a stellar cast, two of whom I had known previously and two of whom I was secretly a very admiring fan.  This ended up being one of the prime experiences of my stage acting life.

There was a glitch, however, which dimmed the bright light of the experience.  During one performance, I left out a chunk of dialogue.  It didn't damage the story at all, and the stage director, watching from the booth, didn't even notice the omission.  But the woman I was acting the scene with did.  She is one of this city's most sought after actresses, and with good reason.   She is incredibly talented, versatile, and always rock solid in her performances.  I was, and continue to be, terribly embarrassed by my gaffe.  She didn't make a big deal of it, but I rather suspect that, in that moment, she may have decided, even if unconsciously, that I was someone she wouldn't want to work with again.  And I really couldn't blame her.

In the moment of my forgetting, I broke trust with her.  On some level, she might from then on have had in the back of her mind, "Is that going to happen again?  Can I count on her (meaning me)?  Am I safe in our scenes or do I have to stay on my guard?"

Breaking trust with someone, even when it's accidental, always comes with a price.  When my darling Sweet Hubby says he's going to be ready at a certain time, whether it's to walk out the door or sit down to dinner or settle in for a movie or whatever, and then he isn't, I begin to think I can't always count on his word.  And I know the same goes for me breaking my word to him, by saying I'm not going to have snacks in the evening and then help myself later on, or that I'm going to write that day and then don't, or any time I say I'm going to do something and don't do it, I make a dent in his trust.

Worse, of course, is that I make a dent in my trust for myself.  During the play, after I forgot that one small section of dialogue, I was probably more worried than my fellow actress.  Was I going to forget again?  I became more anxious, and the performances became just a bit less fun.  When I break my word about anything - eating, writing, working out, accomplishing anything at all - I stop believing in myself.  I damage my own integrity, my personal reputation.  So that the next time I make a promise, or a decision to do something, I don't quite believe it, and as a result, can be sloppier about keeping that promise or seeing that decision through, because, oh well, I already knew I probably wasn't going to stay true.

However, every single moment is an opportunity to build up one's integrity, one's sense of self, one's strength of character.  I have to remember that, take that with me into all the next new moments.  As a wise friend reminded me, I need to have as much compassion for myself as for others, because we're all human, all doing our best.  Even when our best sometimes looks pretty darned raggedy.