Narrative Paragraph #1
“I think risk-taking is a great adventure. And life should be full of adventures.”
- Herbie Hancock
Everyone falls at some point in life. When some fall, they choose to give up. They stay on the ground, and submit to their defeat and wallow in self pity. It is a choice; stand up, or stay down and suffer. When times become tough, I step right up off of the ground, brush the dirt off of my shoulder, and carry on. When I missed my lines in the play, I was traumatized. However, I chose to persist and pick myself up off of the ground. Last year I was in the Fenn/Nashoba winter musical. We spent months rehearsing, at least two to three times a week. In the play, I was a main character, with a two page monologue. I dedicated hours to the memorization and the mastery of this monologue until it was as close to perfect as it would get. As the performances approached, rehearsals became more frequent, and I became more nervous. Before I knew it, the opening night had arrived. The first of three performances. Hands shaking, sweat dripping, I walked out on stage to recite my monologue. I began speaking, and became more comfortable as I carried on. As I concluded it, the audience roared in approval. Clapping hands and smiling faces surrounded me. I killed it. The second night went just as well, if not better. By the third and final night, I was so confident and comfortable that I didn't even bother to recite and practice my monologue a few times over before I stepped out on stage. As the curtains opened, I swaggered out on to the stage, completely in character. I begin with a strong start, as confident as ever. As the second paragraph began, I stopped. I couldn't remember what to say. There I stood, in the middle of the stage. Alone. The light beamed down on me. I ask for a line from backstage. Nobody responded. I tried to remember, nothing. My mind was went blank. The audience was silent. They stared blankly at me. Paralyzed, I hadn't the slightest clue what to do next. I paced back and forth on the stage, thinking of what to say next. Nothing. It felt surreal. “This can’t really be happening” I thought to myself. But, it was. It was very real. After about the longest thirty seconds of my life, I remembered the very last part to my monologue. I recited it, however it was poorly done considering how humiliated and horrified I was. I walked off of the stage, after finishing the last section. The audience clapped in appreciation and encouragement, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I just wanted to be home, go to sleep, and not have to worry about anything ever again. Unfortunately, the show must always go on. At the end of the show during curtain call, I walked out onto the stage, trying not to hang my head in shame. I got through the painful curtain call, and exited quickly. The entire cast was celebrating the production’s end as I rushed through the crowded hallway. I left the building, and sprinted to my Mom's car. She was still inside the theatre, and had seen the whole thing. I sat in the car, staring blankly. She came into the car and started talking to me. She was an experienced actor herself, so she was speaking from knowledge and understanding. She told me not to worry about it; to shake it off. I simply couldn't. I began to cry. The crying led to sobbing. For the next few days it was all I could think about. I was miserable. I developed a strong fear of acting and public speaking. I put some serious thought into the whole experience. Why it happened, how it happened, how I could prevent it, and so forth. It led me to a single conclusion; I mustn't let this prevent me from acting again. Although it was nothing less than an utterly traumatizing experience, I refused to let it haunt me for the rest of my life. I would not let fear oppress me and control me. I shall conquer my fear. I would do this by speaking in public as often as I could, and by doing the musical once again.
When you take a fall, don’t stay of the ground and let it hold you down. Get right back up, and conquer it.