Pug Hill - Alison Pace [71]
When asked about my anxiety level, I say, “Nine,” because as bad as it was, I know it could have been worse.
“Lindsay,” Beth Anne asks, “would you like to try again?”
“No!” she blurts out, her leg jerking out in front of her. “Not really.”
“Okay, class,” Beth Anne says, standing up very straight and Taking the Room, leading it by example, “I’m impressed with all of you. Everyone stood up very straight, which is so important, and everyone at least tried to Take the Room. I hope you all found that practicing the relaxation techniques outside helped to lessen the anxiety.” I see Lawrence nodding happily, vigorously. I have yet to believe that Lawrence, in fact, has any anxiety.
“I hope you’ve all seen that not only was tonight an opportunity to practice and to be taped”—she nods in the direction of the camera—“but also an opportunity to take ourselves out of the moment. Because you were busy thinking of your poems or, uh, your remote viewing.” She pauses, angles her body slightly away from Rachel. “You allowed yourself to forget a little about the actual public speaking.” I’m not altogether sure that happened for me, but I’m glad I was able to finish my poem.
“The next assignment is one that many students have found a great deal of success with, one that they get engaged with, and have found works really well to distract them from their anxiety.” Everyone waits. “For the next two classes, I want each of you to prepare a fifteen- to twenty-minute speech on this subject: The One That Got Away.”
Amy’s hand shoots up.
“Yes, Amy?”
“The One That Got Away? That seems a bit personal.”
“Well, yes, that’s part of the idea, to really put yourself out there, and also to come up with something on your own. Interpret the subject matter however you see fit.” She turns away from Amy and scans the room. “Any other questions? No? Okay, class, remember your groups, and when you’re preparing your speech, really let go, really get into it and come back willing to share. I know it’s a bit unorthodox but it indeed helps!” Beth Anne seems so excited. I almost feel bad for what I’ve been thinking: that the assignment makes no sense at all.
“What about pretending we’re underwater, didn’t you talk about that, what about an exercise like that?” Amy asks.
“Yes, sometimes students find success in getting out of the moment by pretending they are underwater. That might be something productive for you to all try at home. You could even read your poems as if you are underwater.” Beth Anne nods enthusiastically, and continues, “Unfortunately due to the relatively short length of this class and the fact that I want us to all be able to watch our videotapes, we’re not going to have time for that. ”
“Can we vote on doing the underwater thing instead? I just think that getting up here and talking about something so, well, vague and abstract isn’t really going to help me as much, and I think it’s very personal.”
“Well, Amy,” Beth Anne begins after taking in a soothing, cleansing-type breath, “I’d like that you try this assignment.” She pauses for a moment before explaining, “Part of this class, this journey that we are all taking together is that we trust each other, trust each other enough to share. It all helps. I really believe that thinking about and sharing something personal helps more than anything else in taking oneself out of the fearful moment.”
Beth Anne turns away from Amy and Amy sneers at her. I can’t help thinking that this assignment should be really easy for Amy, that if she’s a writer, and from what I can gather, a depressing writer at that, she can just whip out an essay and read it. And I can’t help thinking that such an assignment might be really hard for me.
chapter twenty-one
All the Ones Who Went the Way My Boyfriends Tend to Go
Alec’s hand reaches around me