By Bayla Rubin
My tendency in life was to play it safe. As I kid, I preferred watching TV to going out in the snow. In school I’d always choose the class or activity that I knew I’d be good at and avoid those that might be hard. I was so scared of roller coasters that I cried if my siblings went on them. At the cliff overlooking a beautiful desert in Israel, I decided to sit out and watch instead of rappelling down.
Combatting my fears started because of my consistent regret, disappointment, and self-inflicted shame at sitting out and missing opportunities for adventure. A long time ago, I decided to stop letting my fear tell me, “If you quietly and calmly back away, no one will notice,” and started letting it scream “Bayla, get in there!” I’ve cursed roller coasters on the slow ascent uphill, and then jumped immediately back in line after the thrilling ride ended. I stood dizzy with vertigo on a tiny wooden plank before flying trapeze for the first time, a place that is still scary but one of my favorite activities. Against the advice of my stomach, I stood in front of an audience and performed stand-up comedy for 5 minutes. I’ve devised physical movement in a room full of experienced and trained performers that I did not believe I deserved to work with. I performed five roles in the remount of Vainglorious and delivered a monologue underscored by my pounding heart directly to my peers in We Are Bandits. The lesson I learned again and again is that if I’m scared, it probably means I should do it. My practice has become saying yes before the fear convinces me to say no.
In 2008, I began my career as a professional stage manager in the Philadelphia theater community. I had the right skill-set, people said I was good, they needed me, and I didn’t have to put myself on the line, or at least not my SELF. (To be clear, I love stage management. It is hard work that is satisfying and rewarding, especially in a town that appreciates its behind-the-scenes team.) I am so grateful for my six years of stage management in Philadelphia, particularly within the devising community that often asked me to contribute artistically as well as managerially. But six months ago, I decided to say goodbye to pursue performance work of my own, giving up my safe and comfortable identity as stage manager.
Now I sit with the fear that I’m sure every performer shares: that I’m not good enough. I have spent my life telling others and convincing myself that I am not creative or artistic, that I lead with my brain and not with my gut, that I don’t have anything interesting to say, and certainly nothing new. I’m pushing against one of my biggest fears: calling myself an artist. Can I live up to that title? Surely I haven’t earned it. I can’t compare to my peers that have trained hard and put their souls out on stages. But I’m taking the plunge. I’m saying “artist” before I say no.
I have a long way to go; I feel pretty lost; but I think it’s the good kind. It’s like being lost in a amusement park: even if sometimes the rides are terrifying, sometimes boring, or sometimes cold and wet, wherever I turn there is something new and exciting to experience.
IN ADDITION: A Thank You.
To my Applied Mechanics family – You all welcomed me into the clan, a gift I still can’t believe I received. Our work as a group and your work as individual artists constantly inspires and motivates me. You all believe in my potential, and have provided me with endless support and encouragement as I begin to navigate this new and scary world. You remind me that being human is okay, that I am not alone in my fear and doubt, and that just being myself is really rad. You have provided me with space to explore and permission to take on my new name: artist. I truly would not be where I am without all of you and without this company.