When I was in high school, I had the lead role in a big musical production called The Music Man.
I was Harold Hill, the fast-talking salesman who breezes through town with a plan to charm them, swindle them, and take off again before they knew what hit them. I had the acting part okay, but the singing part was a different story.
I didn’t know then that I was autistic and ADHD. So I assumed that my difficulties with the singing part were things I could train myself to do better. I tried EVERYTHING. But despite relentless training and rehearsal, my musical parts were off key and off time. We were performing with a live orchestra, and the conductor (and my vocal coach) was sweating it out the whole time just trying to keep in time with me.
I got increasingly flustered in my rehearsals. I was leading a huge 60-person cast, and no matter what I did, I could not stay in sync with them.
Then one day in rehearsal, I had a meltdown.
This was probably my first public meltdown since being a little kid. The cast was visibly disturbed by my outburst. I kept escalating with the people around me, until I was in tears and distraught.
One girl from the cast came and gave me a hug. A meaningful hug. The hug felt like she was saying “I see you”.
Later, she handed me a note. Roughly the note said, “I know you’re working hard on the play, and you’ll figure it out. But your nature is not to be directed. You are like a panther. You must be free to roam, and to express yourself as you.”
“You are like a panther. You must be free to roam.”
I managed to do the part reasonably well in the end, with much frustration from my director, and the entire cast. I was hated by the cast, and my singing difficulties were the butt of many a joke.
I didn’t know it then, but the charge I experienced from the cast’s obvious frustration was sending me into fight-or-flight panic. All live theater work became imbued with this charge for me.
I haven’t set foot on stage since.
I was reminded of this experience yesterday, when I saw this documentary piece about a black panther in captivity.
The panther was aggressive, not allowing anyone near his enclosure. The trainer was desperate, so he called a woman who had had success in communicating with animals. Incredibly, the documentary shows this woman establishing a connection and communicating with the panther.
She reassures the panther, who had been confined and abused in a zoo, that the trainers working with him were not going to make any further demands of him. They respected his freedom.
The trainer was shocked to see the panther relax.
As soon as she reassured him there would be no demands on him,
the panther relaxed.
The panther, who had not yet dared to leave his night enclosure, started to roam. The woman said his energy had changed to relief, and curiosity.
The trainer, awestruck by this change of heart, started to communicate with the panther. His frustration changed to appreciation, reverence, and respect.
The panther returned the trainer’s appreciation, with playful vocalizations and a relaxed energy. The woman translated the vocalizations for him:
“Thank you.”
That cast member was right about me. The panther is my spirit animal. It is simply not in my nature to be directed. To be confined. To be controlled.
To be anything at all, I must be free.