The Power of a Play

When we pay attention to little things, a universal energy flows through our present, magnifying the meaning of events.

- Alexandra Stoddard, Tea Celebrations

In November 2009, I gave a presentation at the Alexandra Writer’s Centre in Calgary about my experience of writing A Widow’s Awakening. After I had finished speaking, a Greek man by the name of Andy asked me to explain in more detail about the ‘awakening’ process because “so many people,” he said, “seem to be sound asleep.”

I paused a moment before answering, trying to think of the best words to better articulate my perspective on the concept.

“The day after John died,” I finally said, “I remember noticing how slowly my parents seemed to be speaking to me. In fact, right from the moment I was told John fell, it felt like I was functioning on a different level than everyone else…almost as if the shock of John’s death had launched me into a heightened state of awareness.”

Andy nodded so I continued. “I remember being really irritated with people in those first few days. It was as if my soul inherently understood the significance of John’s death, while everyone else around me seemed kinda stunned. And it became clear to me very quickly that I had to write a book about the experience.”

“So do you think people need a tragedy, or something really significant, to happen to wake them up to the importance of pursuing their dreams?” he asked.

“No. I think there are plenty of people living their dreams simply because they chose to do so and then took the necessary steps to achieve their goals – rather than being forced to do so after experiencing some sort of tremendous loss, tragedy or life-altering event.”

Andy shook his head. “I don’t agree. I think most people do need a pretty loud wake-up call. It just seems to me that the vast majority of people are so asleep that they aren’t paying attention to what’s going on around them…or in them.”

In hindsight, I can hear the angels laughing. For the very next day I got a powerful wake-up call that hurt like the dickens…but it wasn’t in the form of a tragedy. At least, not a real one.

It was a play.

I’m really starting to suspect that the universe communicates to us through the mediums that will have the best chance of catching our attention. As a playwright and lover of the theatre, it makes sense that it would be a play that instigated a major life decision.

It’s kind of like listening to the radio…we tend to listen to certain stations, so although we may flip between two or three different ones, the universe likely won’t send us an important news bulletin on a station we never listen to.

At any rate, the play was called I, Claudia by Kristen Thomson and it was about a twelve year old girl hiding out in the boiler room of her junior high. It was a one-act, one-woman play where the actress played four different characters: twelve year old Claudia whose parents were recently divorced, the school janitor, Claudia’s grandpa and her dad’s new wife, Leslie.

The actress playing the four characters put on different masks and outfits and changed her voice and behaviour to convey which character she was at any given moment. Isn’t THAT a metaphor for how we often live our lives?!

About two thirds of the way through the play, twelve year old Claudia was so distraught that she was now screaming at us – the audience – about her horrible experience over the weekend of having to go to her dad’s wedding. She had a ruler in her hand and was waving it at us as she got angrier and angrier explaining the humiliation of having to wear this God-awful dress with a huge bow on her bum.

I howled with laughter at this image. But something didn’t feel quite right. I mean, although I was laughing out loud, it felt as if a whole bunch of emotion was…stuck behind my eyes.

Then Claudia went on to say, through tears, how FURIOUS she is at her dad for leaving their family and how lonely her mother would be now and how she wouldn’t get to see her dad very much anymore and how he obviously didn’t care about her feelings…

I wasn’t laughing anymore. I was bawling – and barely stopped for two days.

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us

– Franz Kafka

In my case, the axe was I, Claudia.

When the play ended, you could have heard a pin drop in that theatre. I wasn’t the only one impacted. I turned to my mom in the seat beside me. She took one look at the tears streaming down my face and freaked out.

“Oh my God! What have I done? Look how hurt you still are over the divorce! What could I have done better? That goddamn father of yours!”

“Mom,” I said, “let’s go get something to eat.”

My parents divorced when I was six. My dad remarried a couple of years later. The catch was how he told me the news: he picked me up one day and casually announced, over his shoulder to me in the back seat, that he’d got married over the weekend.

Thanks for the invite.

“You cried for days,” my mom told me over dinner after the play. “You were so upset that my boss sent me home from work to take care of you.”

I didn’t remember that.

I do know that my dad didn’t intend to hurt me. He just made the best decision he could at the time. But looking back on the incident now, I think the best word to describe his behaviour is…indifference. And I guess I’d buried the pain resulting from that indifference until an annoyingly effective play brought it to the surface.

After dinner, I went home and cried some more. Although my dad lived with me at the time, he happened to be away that week – which was probably a good thing.

The next morning, I woke up feeling significantly better about that matter. But then I proceeded to start crying again.

“Oh for God’s sakes,” I snapped at the fireplace, “now what’s the problem?”

And in my imagination, I heard a tiny voice whisper, “You can move on now.”

“WHAT?” I snapped.

“IT’S TIME TO MOVE ON!” the voice in my head yelled, tired of the gentle approach. “YOU ARE DONE HERE. YOU HAVE DEALT WITH ALL YOU NEEDED TO DEAL WITH IN CALGARY AND NOW YOU CAN GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE.”

I looked around my familiar living room with fresh eyes. Why am I still living in the same neighbourhood I grew up in? In the same house that John and I bought? I am a 41 year old widow living with my father. Is this what I signed up for?

For the short term, yes…but now that chapter was coming to a close.

My dad had moved in three years ago and had been a tremendous help to me with my home, yard and dogs during a period when I had an awful lot of other demands on my time. As I continued to cry my way through that Sunday morning, I realized that, even though it had taken my dad thirty-five years to come back to me, in his own way, he did…when I needed him most.

Wow.

I guess dislodging all this childhood stuff must have made room for a buried dream to bubble to the surface because my next thought wasn’t about the past. It was about my future. And, for the first time since Saturday afternoon, I smiled.

A couple of hours later, I called my mom. “I’m moving to the coast,” I said. “At long last, I’m gonna be a writer by the sea.”

“What?!”

I told her the details I’d worked out so far, including selling my home in the spring.

“Why don’t you just rent it out,” she suggested. “In case you change your mind.”

“Because John’s dead and he’s not coming back,” I heard myself say. “And because this is a house for a family and I’m obviously not having one. So why would I want to keep the door open to a life that was slammed shut nearly a decade ago?”

Silence. Then, my mom said softly, “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“What about your dad?” she asked. “Where will he go?”

“He’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’ll find him a new place to live.”

Three months later, my dad moved into his own digs, happy as a clam to be on his own again. Three months after that, I moved to a bungalow on Vancouver Island where I write by the sea.

All because of a play.

Maryanne Pope is a playwright, screenwriter and the author of A Widow’s Awakening. She is the CEO of Pink Gazelle Productions Inc and the Board Chair of the John Petropoulos Memorial Fund. Please visit www.pinkgazelle.com or www.jpmf.ca for details.