Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
In these workshops that range from learning the cha-cha to firing pots in an ancient
Japanese kiln, you'll get the chance to share who you really are, to say “This is who I am,
and this is what I stand for.”
All of us have so much to express. We have so many thoughts rolling around in our
heads, so many boiling, seething dreams and plans. But instead of expressing them, instead
of saying, “Here's what I think,” we buy a Hallmark card and let somebody else say it for us.
Very early on, we turn over the reins to someone or something outside ourselves. The
coach tells us whether or not we're good enough to be on the basketball team. The music
teacher decides if we have the talent to sing in the choir. Our teachers give us grades that are
supposed to indicate if we're smart enough to make the honor roll, bright enough to get into
college. Our art teachers give us the rules we're expected to follow: Grass is green, skies are
blue, and flowers do not have faces.
Robert Fulghum's now famous essay “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kinder-
garten” was made into a stage play. In one of the first scenes, the kindergarten teacher asks
her fresh young students how many of them are dancers?
“I am! I am!” they all shout exuberantly.
“And how many of you are singers?” she continues.
Again, all of them wave their hands wildly.
“Painters?”
Unanimous hand-waving.
“Writers?
More unanimous hand-waving.
In fourth grade, another teacher asks the same questions of the same students. Now, only
a third of the students are dancers, singers, painters, or writers.
By high school, the number who are willing to claim artistic talent is down to a paltry
handful. Where did the confidence and enthusiasm go?
Some well-meaning parent or teacher probably told them they were not really painters.
Some aptitude test with a fancy title gave an official score that said they had better give up
that misguided ambition to be a writer. Try accounting instead. Some guidance counselor
broke the news that only a chosen few have artistic talent.
But when we were told the same things, why did we listen?
At times, it seems like a daunting task, adding your voice to the chorus. You wonder:
“What do I have to add to the world's great body of art?” “Who am I to join the likes of Bette
Midler, Mikhail Baryshnikov, and Peter Ustinov?”
Perhaps the better question is: Who are you not to? What right do you have to refuse
the voice that whispers to you every morning, every afternoon, and every night as you retire
spent and exhausted from denying again and again the hand of the Great Collaborator.
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