“Almost Perfect” by Shel Silverstein
"Almost perfect... but not quite."
Those were the words of Mary Hume
At her seventh birthday party,
Looking 'round the ribboned room.
"This tablecloth is pink not white--
Almost perfect... but not quite."
"Almost perfect... but not quite."
Those were the words of grown-up
Mary Talking about her handsome beau,
The one she wasn't gonna marry.
"Squeezes me a bit too tight--
Almost perfect... but not quite."
"Almost perfect... but not quite."
Those were the words of ol' Miss Hume
Teaching in the seventh grade,
Grading papers in the gloom
Late at night up in her room.
"They never cross their t's just right--
Almost perfect... but not quite."
Ninety-eight the day she died
Complainin' 'bout the spotless floor.
People shook their heads and sighed,
"Guess that she'll like heaven more."
Up went her soul on feathered wings,
Out the door, up out of sight.
Another voice from heaven came--
"Almost perfect... but not quite.
It’s my sophomore year in high school and I’ve auditioned for the school musical “Into the Woods”. All the castings have been made except one; the role of Little Red Riding Hood. It seems that two of us are still auditioning every day to see which one of us has this major role and which one of us is the understudy who will play the walk-on role of Snow White. Nikki and I both show up to every rehearsal during week one still giving it our all trying to win the role while the rest of the cast can casually work through blocking and lines confident in the role they are playing. About three weeks into rehearsals and things are getting awkward; we run around the stage together like a weird sideshow version of Red where we finish each other’s sentences while try to outshine each other.
Finally at the beginning of week four our drama teacher pulls me into his office and delivers a blow even more crushing than what I was expecting.
“I know you’ve been working hard at rehearsals, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
He sees in my face what he already knows; it’s a little late for that, buddy. But I’m ready to gracefully accept that beautiful, blonde, charismatic Nikki is getting the part. As he delivers the decision my shattered hopes get ground into sand.
“Nikki is really the one we wanted to cast for this part, but her grades weren’t high enough for extracurricular activities. We cast you as the backup if she didn’t improve them. Since she did, we are casting you as her understudy and you’ll be playing Snow White.”
The man had built me up, given me hope, made me believe I could be amazing enough to be a major role, that I was just as good as beautiful, blond, charasmatic Nikki and then pulled the rug out from under me and told me I was actually never good enough in the first place. That I was just a backup plan. The Understudy.
To quote the one line Snow White has in this play, “Excuse me?”
I took the blow pretty well for an angsty, pre-goth teenager. I held it all in until I got home where I then cried alone in my room while listening to The Cure and burning candles on my white and gold Queen Anne dresser top. Then, I went to every rehearsal, I made sure I knew all the lines for a part I would never play and I had my very first kiss ever from a boy I didn’t really even know just because he was Snow White’s Prince. (This first kiss experience is probably it’s own blog post…)
I still have a soft place in my heart for that musical, but it’s bittersweet much like many of the things I love.
During my senior year in high school I auditioned for the play “Wait Until Dark”. Of course, I auditioned for the lead, Suzy Hendrix. I adored Audrey Hepburn and could imagine no other part I’d want to play. Because the cast list was so small, our drama teacher decided we would do a double cast. One cast for the Friday showings and one cast for the Saturday showings. I had double the chance to get the lead. The day of casting came and I ran up to that sheet of paper that showed who made the cut. Oh, I got in. Not being cast at all might have been easier on my tender ego. The casting next to my name read “Lisa (Understudy for Suzy)”
I was cast as the understudy. Again. For a play with TWO CASTS. Which means both lead Suzy’s would have to be sick or injured. And if you know the story of “Wait Until Dark” and you find at this moment your asking yourself, “Which one is Lisa?” She’s the dead girl in the closet. This same drama teacher made me show up to every rehearsal to learn Suzy’s part knowing full well there was no need for me to be there and all I got out of it come show time was 45 minutes of being stuck in a cramped closet to be revealed in a black mini dress for 20 seconds.
I didn’t have the heart to audition for a play again for over 20 years.
In my moments of self pity and dark humor I refer to myself as The Understudy of Life. Being cast the understudy wasn’t just an experience I felt in drama club. I have spent many years of my life feeling second best. Not bad, actually pretty damned good… just not quite enough.
The top ten percent of the students in my high school received scholarships. I busted my butt in school to get good grades. Guess who was at 10.5%? For a project in college, the top five student product presentations won a trip to another city to tour a real product design lab. I was ranked number six. I stood in line to get tickets to a concert I really wanted to see for six hours. The person in line in front of me bought the last three. I have been one of the top two candidates for more jobs than I care to remember where I was told I was good enough, but the other person was just a little bit better.
There is a Shel Silverstein poem that haunts me; the voice of Mary Hume who sits in the back of my brain saying “Almost perfect... but not quite”. Line up all my ‘not quites’ and I have enough to hold the biggest Macy’s parade of pity parties. Well… almost… I’m sure someone has a more depressing list.
Now I never let this get me down for long, but it does keep rearing its ugly head. I learned and performed many forms of dance after high school, but I never entered a competition. I still couldn’t survive another blow of being Not Quite.
Then I discovered a love of burlesque. I lived and breathed it (and in most ways I still do.) I found my tribe. One of the things I love about this artform is you are the director, choreographer, costumer and performer. You are second to no one. You can cast yourself in the leading role. You are no one’s understudy. You bring your unique take on things and bring your best to the stage. Sure, you are in competition of a sort with other performers, but you can throw yourself into your act, making yourself better and not focus outside of that. At least, that’s how it feels most of the time... Not Quite certainly likes to stand on the sidelines and throw a tripwire in my path when I least expect it.
Just two short years after officially diving into burlesque I threw my hat into the biggest ring I knew, the Burlesque Hall of Fame Weekender. No building up to that goal. No smaller festival. I just went for it. I knew my chances were slim, but I felt pretty good about my talent and skills. More realistically, I also figured if I applied now, by the time I had something they would really love, the adjudicators of BHoF would know who I was. And, let’s face it, being known is half the battle.
But I didn’t get the expected rejection letter. I was accepted! It was one of the most joyous days of my life. I had gotten up at 3:45am to open for my coffeeshop job and checked my email before heading to work. In my excitement I screamed and jumped onto my husband, Derek, on our bed, scaring him awake thinking the house must be on fire or some other tremendous emergency.
I had been accepted into the Thursday night Movers, Shakers and Innovators showcase. I couldn’t think of a bigger accomplishment. Two of my dear friends had made the Best Debut Competition that same year. (They were one step away from the Queen of Burlesque competition, which many consider the most important title in burlesque.) We were a mess of joyful tears and excited chatter. There was a whirlwind of preparation. Excitement from our local community. And then the weekend finally came.
I was backstage for the Thursday showcase. Honored to be among such talented people. One of my idols, Waxie Moon, was there to perform a beautiful modern dance piece. I was set to perform just before Jonny Porkpie whom I saw as VIP of the burlesque world. It was also the night I met our future King of Burlesque, Ray Gunn.
I performed. It wasn’t my best rendition of this act if I’m perfectly honest, but it went pretty well and I was able to fill that giant stage with just me and my fan veils. Once Thursday’s show was over, I got to spend the rest of the weekend relaxing and enjoying the performances of our living legends (another blog post waiting here…) and upcoming stars including two stunning performances by my beautiful friends, Charlotte Treuse and Angelique DeVil.
Sunday morning we were having brunch with a group of friends discussing the weekend. What we liked in the shows. What we didn’t. That’s when Not Quite threw out a trip wire.
“Ray Gunn’s performance on Thursday was amaaaazing! It’s really too bad they didn’t put him in a real showcase.”
The comment came from one of our friends at the table. They weren’t looking at me and, quite frankly, probably weren’t even thinking about the backhanded insult served at me, but there was Not Quite standing there smiling at me with smug satisfaction. Somehow I managed to gracefully get through the rest of breakfast without too much of a sign that I was hurt, but the trip wire cut deep.
It changed how I talked about my opportunity to be on the BHoF stage. When I told people about it, I’d say things like, “Well, I was just in the Thursday showcase.”
Just. I hate how often I let that four letter word tear down my accomplishments. I had let that one comment turn my biggest accomplishment as a performer into just another Almost Good Enough. I let myself become the understudy once again.
It is impossible to not compare myself to others and to some degree I think it’s good for artists to look around. It inspires the art to grow. It helps artists learn how to be better or different. It challenges us. It’s when I let it drag me down, make me feel I’ll never be enough and stifles my own growth, that is becomes a problem.
I personally hate competitions because even when I know I should be proud to even be there and can pick out who will be winning because they absolutely deserve it, I will still let envy in. In moments of weakness envy turns me bitter against those that get the thing I almost had, even when those people are my own friends and I know in my heart I should be genuinely happy for them. I feel terribly guilty, but a small part of me wants them to fail and she cackles like a villain when it does happen. This side of me is ugly and unhealthy, but painfully honest.
I tell myself in these ugly moments what I know to be true; I am good enough. The problem is sometimes being good enough isn’t enough for me. Every once in a while I want to feel perfect. Every once in a while this understudy wants to have the lead role.
And then I remember that those moments are around me all the time if I would only pay attention.
When my high school English teacher “cast” me in our recitations section as Lucky from “Waiting for Godot” who only has two “lines”; one of which is 700 words long. When my daughter tells me that I am the “Best Mom Ever” and you can see she truly means it. When a friend genuinely tells me, “I’ve always looked up to you.” When I write an article from the heart about “Sisters in Dance” and it becomes the #1 hit for a online magazine that year. When my idol, Waxie Moon, pays me a compliment. When my husband of almost 18 years is still my best friend. When I headline a large-theater show in Canada.
Line those up against Not Quite and I have the motivation and energy to keep going, to keep growing. I remind myself that as soon as I feel like I am the best in my artform and have nothing to work on, then it’s time to quit. But I’m not ready to quit.
Giving up would be easier, sure, but I love what I do. I love my crazy, harried, overly busy, art-filled life. I cannot give in to this Not Quite demon, but I do have to acknowledge that she is a legitimate part of me. I have to allow her some space in my life, but I don’t have to let her be the Queen Bee. Once she’s had her moment, I can harness her power to motivate myself to work towards being better and throw myself into my art.
Recently, for the first time since high school, I auditioned for a play. No, I wasn’t cast in the role I auditioned for, but I did get cast for a bit part. Sure, I was disappointed, but I still have the privilege to be on that stage. I will be present, I will be engaged and I will put as much energy as I can into the small role I do have. I will keep growing. I won’t let disappointment stifle me.
Always the understudy, never the lead. Maybe that is who I am. Maybe that exactly who I’m meant to be. But here’s the thing to remember, at least the understudy was good enough to be cast in the play at all. The understudy still has a place at the table. The understudy is ready to be there when it falls apart. And when it does fall apart, the understudy becomes the real hero.
"Almost perfect... but not quite."
Those were the words of Mary Hume
At her seventh birthday party,
Looking 'round the ribboned room.
"This tablecloth is pink not white--
Almost perfect... but not quite."
"Almost perfect... but not quite."
Those were the words of grown-up
Mary Talking about her handsome beau,
The one she wasn't gonna marry.
"Squeezes me a bit too tight--
Almost perfect... but not quite."
"Almost perfect... but not quite."
Those were the words of ol' Miss Hume
Teaching in the seventh grade,
Grading papers in the gloom
Late at night up in her room.
"They never cross their t's just right--
Almost perfect... but not quite."
Ninety-eight the day she died
Complainin' 'bout the spotless floor.
People shook their heads and sighed,
"Guess that she'll like heaven more."
Up went her soul on feathered wings,
Out the door, up out of sight.
Another voice from heaven came--
"Almost perfect... but not quite.
It’s my sophomore year in high school and I’ve auditioned for the school musical “Into the Woods”. All the castings have been made except one; the role of Little Red Riding Hood. It seems that two of us are still auditioning every day to see which one of us has this major role and which one of us is the understudy who will play the walk-on role of Snow White. Nikki and I both show up to every rehearsal during week one still giving it our all trying to win the role while the rest of the cast can casually work through blocking and lines confident in the role they are playing. About three weeks into rehearsals and things are getting awkward; we run around the stage together like a weird sideshow version of Red where we finish each other’s sentences while try to outshine each other.
Finally at the beginning of week four our drama teacher pulls me into his office and delivers a blow even more crushing than what I was expecting.
“I know you’ve been working hard at rehearsals, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
He sees in my face what he already knows; it’s a little late for that, buddy. But I’m ready to gracefully accept that beautiful, blonde, charismatic Nikki is getting the part. As he delivers the decision my shattered hopes get ground into sand.
“Nikki is really the one we wanted to cast for this part, but her grades weren’t high enough for extracurricular activities. We cast you as the backup if she didn’t improve them. Since she did, we are casting you as her understudy and you’ll be playing Snow White.”
The man had built me up, given me hope, made me believe I could be amazing enough to be a major role, that I was just as good as beautiful, blond, charasmatic Nikki and then pulled the rug out from under me and told me I was actually never good enough in the first place. That I was just a backup plan. The Understudy.
To quote the one line Snow White has in this play, “Excuse me?”
I took the blow pretty well for an angsty, pre-goth teenager. I held it all in until I got home where I then cried alone in my room while listening to The Cure and burning candles on my white and gold Queen Anne dresser top. Then, I went to every rehearsal, I made sure I knew all the lines for a part I would never play and I had my very first kiss ever from a boy I didn’t really even know just because he was Snow White’s Prince. (This first kiss experience is probably it’s own blog post…)
I still have a soft place in my heart for that musical, but it’s bittersweet much like many of the things I love.
During my senior year in high school I auditioned for the play “Wait Until Dark”. Of course, I auditioned for the lead, Suzy Hendrix. I adored Audrey Hepburn and could imagine no other part I’d want to play. Because the cast list was so small, our drama teacher decided we would do a double cast. One cast for the Friday showings and one cast for the Saturday showings. I had double the chance to get the lead. The day of casting came and I ran up to that sheet of paper that showed who made the cut. Oh, I got in. Not being cast at all might have been easier on my tender ego. The casting next to my name read “Lisa (Understudy for Suzy)”
I was cast as the understudy. Again. For a play with TWO CASTS. Which means both lead Suzy’s would have to be sick or injured. And if you know the story of “Wait Until Dark” and you find at this moment your asking yourself, “Which one is Lisa?” She’s the dead girl in the closet. This same drama teacher made me show up to every rehearsal to learn Suzy’s part knowing full well there was no need for me to be there and all I got out of it come show time was 45 minutes of being stuck in a cramped closet to be revealed in a black mini dress for 20 seconds.
I didn’t have the heart to audition for a play again for over 20 years.
In my moments of self pity and dark humor I refer to myself as The Understudy of Life. Being cast the understudy wasn’t just an experience I felt in drama club. I have spent many years of my life feeling second best. Not bad, actually pretty damned good… just not quite enough.
The top ten percent of the students in my high school received scholarships. I busted my butt in school to get good grades. Guess who was at 10.5%? For a project in college, the top five student product presentations won a trip to another city to tour a real product design lab. I was ranked number six. I stood in line to get tickets to a concert I really wanted to see for six hours. The person in line in front of me bought the last three. I have been one of the top two candidates for more jobs than I care to remember where I was told I was good enough, but the other person was just a little bit better.
There is a Shel Silverstein poem that haunts me; the voice of Mary Hume who sits in the back of my brain saying “Almost perfect... but not quite”. Line up all my ‘not quites’ and I have enough to hold the biggest Macy’s parade of pity parties. Well… almost… I’m sure someone has a more depressing list.
Now I never let this get me down for long, but it does keep rearing its ugly head. I learned and performed many forms of dance after high school, but I never entered a competition. I still couldn’t survive another blow of being Not Quite.
Then I discovered a love of burlesque. I lived and breathed it (and in most ways I still do.) I found my tribe. One of the things I love about this artform is you are the director, choreographer, costumer and performer. You are second to no one. You can cast yourself in the leading role. You are no one’s understudy. You bring your unique take on things and bring your best to the stage. Sure, you are in competition of a sort with other performers, but you can throw yourself into your act, making yourself better and not focus outside of that. At least, that’s how it feels most of the time... Not Quite certainly likes to stand on the sidelines and throw a tripwire in my path when I least expect it.
Just two short years after officially diving into burlesque I threw my hat into the biggest ring I knew, the Burlesque Hall of Fame Weekender. No building up to that goal. No smaller festival. I just went for it. I knew my chances were slim, but I felt pretty good about my talent and skills. More realistically, I also figured if I applied now, by the time I had something they would really love, the adjudicators of BHoF would know who I was. And, let’s face it, being known is half the battle.
But I didn’t get the expected rejection letter. I was accepted! It was one of the most joyous days of my life. I had gotten up at 3:45am to open for my coffeeshop job and checked my email before heading to work. In my excitement I screamed and jumped onto my husband, Derek, on our bed, scaring him awake thinking the house must be on fire or some other tremendous emergency.
I had been accepted into the Thursday night Movers, Shakers and Innovators showcase. I couldn’t think of a bigger accomplishment. Two of my dear friends had made the Best Debut Competition that same year. (They were one step away from the Queen of Burlesque competition, which many consider the most important title in burlesque.) We were a mess of joyful tears and excited chatter. There was a whirlwind of preparation. Excitement from our local community. And then the weekend finally came.
I was backstage for the Thursday showcase. Honored to be among such talented people. One of my idols, Waxie Moon, was there to perform a beautiful modern dance piece. I was set to perform just before Jonny Porkpie whom I saw as VIP of the burlesque world. It was also the night I met our future King of Burlesque, Ray Gunn.
I performed. It wasn’t my best rendition of this act if I’m perfectly honest, but it went pretty well and I was able to fill that giant stage with just me and my fan veils. Once Thursday’s show was over, I got to spend the rest of the weekend relaxing and enjoying the performances of our living legends (another blog post waiting here…) and upcoming stars including two stunning performances by my beautiful friends, Charlotte Treuse and Angelique DeVil.
Sunday morning we were having brunch with a group of friends discussing the weekend. What we liked in the shows. What we didn’t. That’s when Not Quite threw out a trip wire.
“Ray Gunn’s performance on Thursday was amaaaazing! It’s really too bad they didn’t put him in a real showcase.”
The comment came from one of our friends at the table. They weren’t looking at me and, quite frankly, probably weren’t even thinking about the backhanded insult served at me, but there was Not Quite standing there smiling at me with smug satisfaction. Somehow I managed to gracefully get through the rest of breakfast without too much of a sign that I was hurt, but the trip wire cut deep.
It changed how I talked about my opportunity to be on the BHoF stage. When I told people about it, I’d say things like, “Well, I was just in the Thursday showcase.”
Just. I hate how often I let that four letter word tear down my accomplishments. I had let that one comment turn my biggest accomplishment as a performer into just another Almost Good Enough. I let myself become the understudy once again.
It is impossible to not compare myself to others and to some degree I think it’s good for artists to look around. It inspires the art to grow. It helps artists learn how to be better or different. It challenges us. It’s when I let it drag me down, make me feel I’ll never be enough and stifles my own growth, that is becomes a problem.
I personally hate competitions because even when I know I should be proud to even be there and can pick out who will be winning because they absolutely deserve it, I will still let envy in. In moments of weakness envy turns me bitter against those that get the thing I almost had, even when those people are my own friends and I know in my heart I should be genuinely happy for them. I feel terribly guilty, but a small part of me wants them to fail and she cackles like a villain when it does happen. This side of me is ugly and unhealthy, but painfully honest.
I tell myself in these ugly moments what I know to be true; I am good enough. The problem is sometimes being good enough isn’t enough for me. Every once in a while I want to feel perfect. Every once in a while this understudy wants to have the lead role.
And then I remember that those moments are around me all the time if I would only pay attention.
When my high school English teacher “cast” me in our recitations section as Lucky from “Waiting for Godot” who only has two “lines”; one of which is 700 words long. When my daughter tells me that I am the “Best Mom Ever” and you can see she truly means it. When a friend genuinely tells me, “I’ve always looked up to you.” When I write an article from the heart about “Sisters in Dance” and it becomes the #1 hit for a online magazine that year. When my idol, Waxie Moon, pays me a compliment. When my husband of almost 18 years is still my best friend. When I headline a large-theater show in Canada.
Line those up against Not Quite and I have the motivation and energy to keep going, to keep growing. I remind myself that as soon as I feel like I am the best in my artform and have nothing to work on, then it’s time to quit. But I’m not ready to quit.
Giving up would be easier, sure, but I love what I do. I love my crazy, harried, overly busy, art-filled life. I cannot give in to this Not Quite demon, but I do have to acknowledge that she is a legitimate part of me. I have to allow her some space in my life, but I don’t have to let her be the Queen Bee. Once she’s had her moment, I can harness her power to motivate myself to work towards being better and throw myself into my art.
Recently, for the first time since high school, I auditioned for a play. No, I wasn’t cast in the role I auditioned for, but I did get cast for a bit part. Sure, I was disappointed, but I still have the privilege to be on that stage. I will be present, I will be engaged and I will put as much energy as I can into the small role I do have. I will keep growing. I won’t let disappointment stifle me.
Always the understudy, never the lead. Maybe that is who I am. Maybe that exactly who I’m meant to be. But here’s the thing to remember, at least the understudy was good enough to be cast in the play at all. The understudy still has a place at the table. The understudy is ready to be there when it falls apart. And when it does fall apart, the understudy becomes the real hero.
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