Creatures of Detail

I am not a sports fan. Growing up as the eldest of three girls, there were rarely hockey games on the television – my Dad did give my sisters and me a strong base of traditionally male influenced experiences such as the annual father-daughter fishing trip that we took out to a very manly hunt-camp (though it was sometimes hard to tell after a weekend of girl-immersion… those weekends were filled with a wonderful and strange mixture of hairdos and animal guts). My Dad also made sure that his little girls had a general roadmap to a good tool box (making certain that we knew the difference between Robertson and Phillips screwdrivers), that we could drive our boat-like caravan without hitting too many trees (although I think this particular activity was partly to blame for his slowly graying beard), and taught us an appreciation for all things science fiction – but when it came to relaxing in front of the television as a whole family, my father was unjustly outnumbered every time. In fact, hockey as a pastime never crossed my mind until I moved to North Bay.

I am still not very interested in the sport, but I have made friends with a large group of people who are genuinely passionate about the game and so for the past few months I have been trying to learn some of the athletic jargon, or at least a decent grasp of the rules, et cetera. At present I find myself enduring yet another face-off in the company of my friends, all conversation staying far above my head; however, the time I am spending here with my notepad, huddled in the corner, is serving an interesting purpose. I am studying reaction.

Though not everyone is gifted with the skill of close observation in attitude or cue, we are all creatures of detail. When something is important to us, it consumes our attention. How can something so removed from our reality have such a dramatic effect on us? (One of my guy friends has just leaped up from his seat to holler a comment drenched in personal frustration at the referee. I doubt that he can hear him.) It amazes me that something so small can trigger such a reaction in a person. The puck didn’t go in… it’s not the end of the world. It’s not even the end of the game.

As I watch my friends get into mock-fights in representation of their favourite players who have just had a clash on the ice, I am suddenly wondering if I can learn from their strange connection to these far-off unknown allies.

You may not know this about me yet, but I am a budding actor-to-be this and next semester. I am in an acting class, theatre appreciation specifically, and I am learning to apply some of what I see in my life into my work between the curtains and under the lights. On stage, I am reacting to other people, other actors, but I am also acting as though I am living the life of my character. I am going to have to draw upon memories I don’t have and a history that doesn’t exist to make the connections to the audience authentic. If I can pull from memories in my own history that can be made applicable to the situation at hand, if I can find the moments of hockey-like reaction or fishing trip importance in my mind before I take the stage, then those are the details that I need to draw on.

The big picture is awesome and grand but it is only truly great if the details are in focus. That is where the beauty is found – that is where the reality lies – in the details.