React to Flying Peanut Butter

Dear Little Sister,
I'm an actor. Did you know that? I haven't really told you very much about myself, so I never know what about my life will come as a surprise. But I love acting. My brothers and I made movies when I was growing up, and then I was in a high school film club and a few plays both at school and Church.
     I was once Brigham Young in a play for Young Women New Beginnings, actually. I was the only guy. It prepared me well for college, where I'm generally one of three guys in my preferred fields of study.

     Anyway, acting isn't something that I'll ever pursue professionally, and I understand it a lot better than I can do it. Have you ever had that, where your theory in something is far greater than your ability? I get that a lot. But I wanted to improve in my thespianism, so I took an acting class at BYU last fall. It was so much fun, and I learned a lot, but mostly I loved learning kinesthetically, by doing. Most college classes just make you sit down and take notes, but this one was in a giant room with twelve people (one of three guys again) all sitting along a wall facing the center of the room so we could perform for each other. And often, all of us performed at the same time, being loud and weird and not caring.
     One exercise that we did a lot was to pick a scene partner and create a scene, wherein we had to have 1 objective, 3 props, and 5 tactics. Oh yeah, everyone had to sit down at any point in the scene. We created our characters and relationships, and we had to meet between classes to run through it once or twice, we wrote down the rough points we would hit, and then we improvised. The objective was something we wanted to get out of or from the other person, e.g. money, permission to go to a party, to borrow their clothes, a date with their sibling, or in this case, that I would make my "wife" a sandwich. The props could be anything, really. It was fun to see how creative everyone got. In this scene, our props were mostly peanut butter, jelly, bread, and a knife. We may have had more, but I can't remember. Our tactics were actions words: to trick, to mimic, to pester, to deceive—things that had to be done through the other person. If my tactic were to mope, that's lame; I'm just doing it to myself. But if I switch from "to mope" to "to tantrum," then I'm wailing at the other person directly, so it's still engaging them. The scenes were only a minute and a half, so the tactics got switched up a lot. One in particular from this scene was "to strangle," which my friend and "wife," Rachel, would use on me.
     Also, in this scene—side note—we had to have a secret from each other that we wouldn't find out until after the scene. It was meant to motivate our actions without our scene partner catching on. Mine was that I had just gotten laid off, and hers was that she'd just found out that she couldn't have children. Not the most fun, obviously, but it grounded the emotion really well.
     Anyway, curtain rises. We're doing our scene. She wants me to make her a sandwich and cuddle on the couch, and I want her to go out dancing with me. We're going through our tactics—patronizing, mimicking, and guilt tripping each other. We even got to act like zombies.
     Anyway, like I said, one of her tactics that we'd decided beforehand was "to strangle," and the moment finally arrived. We were on stage right next to the "kitchen," where the PB&J stuff was set out on top of a makeshift block wall. Somehow, I upset her, and she pretended to (comically) throttle me. It sounds weird, but it made sense and it was hilarious; I promise. But when she shoved me against the wall, my back hit the peanut butter and sent it flying across the room. We both stopped in the middle of our scene and watched it go tumbling down. It was unintentionally fantastic timing. We got our composure and made a comment about it, continuing the scene.
     When we finished, we waited for everyone's feedback, and I was so worried that our professor would tell us we should've stayed in character and ignored the peanut butter. But when he critiqued us at the end, the first thing he said was that he loved it! He said it was super important to be natural, to act like real people; and when something unexpected happens, real people react.
     "All the world's a stage," and we're just trying to put on a show. There's nothing wrong with that. But I've realized that much like in acting, we have such a strict set of expectations for how everything should play out that we don't acknowledge anything out of the ordinary. We want to appear as though we have everything together and that we can't possibly make mistakes or crack under the pressure. But of course we can! We're human beings who're barely learning to walk. Life is tricky, and there's a lot we don't know.
     Sometimes, peanut butter flies across the stage. Whether or not it's your fault, whether or not it creates a mess, it still happens, and there's nothing you can do to take it back. The whole audience saw it, and you just have to deal with it. Everyone will know if you ignore it, and no matter how you react, they'll all go home talking about the flying peanut butter. So make sure that what they say is positive. You can control how they take it once it's happened, whether you make a joke out of it or make some sort of meaning. It's up to you how the audience sees your mistake, and they will always respect you for acknowledging it.
     Have you ever met somebody who laughed at his or her own mistakes? Not someone who bullies himself, but someone who recognizes his shortcomings and deals with them without taking them too seriously? It's refreshing when somebody can be that level of "real." I have a hard time with that, but I love and respect those who can say, "You know what? I'm imperfect and I'm okay with that." I think that's the ultimate sign of humility—not being ashamed that other people can see your mistakes.

     So as you transition into this new phase of life, don't be afraid to react to the flying peanut butter. Mistakes happen, and not everything goes according to plan. Have fun with it and take advantage. What may seem like a disaster at the time will eventually be a funny memory. It's not every day you get to watch peanut butter tumble across a room.





"We can make quiet but more honest inventories of our strengths, since, in this connection, most of us are dishonest bookkeepers and need confirming 'outside auditors.' He who was thrust down in the first estate delights to have us put ourselves down. Self-contempt is of Satan; there is none of it in heaven. We should, of course, learn from our mistakes, but without forever studying the instant replays as if these were the game of life itself."

~ Elder Neal A. Maxwell, Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1981-2004)




Konrie's Korner:

I love what Richie said about the flying peanut butter, but I see another meaning. It is okay if people not only see your mistakes but that they see your weaknesses, that they see when you are struggling or afraid or sad or frustrated. Those are real human emotions, and it is completely acceptable to feel them.

Remember the saying to put yourself in someone else's shoes? How would you feel if you saw someone sad or afraid or frustrated or struggling? I think most normal people would want to help that person. What if that person was a stranger or someone we originally thought was the happiest person in the world? We would still help, I would even say that I would feel honored to help them and see that I wasn't the only one struggling with life, I would feel blessed to be able to see the person in their weak moments. If it doesn't bother us to see someone else struggling, why is it that I (and I think most people) have the tendency to believe that no one wants to see us when we are struggling? Why are we so insistent on putting on a brave face when we are actually crying on the inside?

My survival tip for this week: put yourself in someone else's shoes and allow yourself to feel, allow yourself to be helped by others when you are weak, and allow yourself to have weak moments. That is not to say we should always mope and whine and cry—we need to allow ourselves that moment to stare at the flying peanut butter and react to it, no matter who sees, then get back to the show.