Troublemaker, or The Freakin Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatright

Troublemaker

Troublemaker, or The Freakin Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatright

Written by Dan LeFranc
Directed by Lila Neugebauer
Limited Season · Thrust Stage
January 4–February 3, 2013
World Premiere

Running time: 2 hours and 30 minutes, with two intermissions

Get ready for Troublemaker, or The Freakin Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatright. Only Berkeley Rep could unleash this wild world premiere, commissioned from hot young playwright Dan LeFranc. It’s nineteen mighty-four. In working-class Rhode Island, Bradley and his bestest friend tangle with rich kid Jake Miller and his middle-school goons. And their nemesis has help from a bunch of zombies and grown-ups! Put down that backpack, turn up the soundtrack and let’s cut class. Faster than a speedboat, more fun than a video game, Troublemaker has a sassy mouth and an irresistible heart of gold.

Berkeley Rep’s Ground Floor held a workshop for Troublemaker in July 2012 at our inaugural Summer Lab. The workshop provided a key stepping stone in the path toward production. Learn more about The Ground Floor here.

Creative team

Dan LeFranc · Playwright
Lila Neugebauer · Director
Kris Stone · Scenic Design
Paloma Young · Costume Design
Alexander V. Nichols · Lighting Design
Jake Rodriguez · Sound Design
Dave Maier · Fight Director
Leslie M. Radin · Stage Manager
Madeleine Oldham · Dramaturg
Amy Potozkin · Casting
Stephanie Klapper · Casting
Lian Walden · Assistant Director
Caite Hevner · Assistant to the Scenic Designer
Kathryn Lieber · Assistant to the Scenic Designer
Marissa Parkes · Assistant to the Scenic Designer
Tyler Albright · Casting Assistant
Lauren O’Connell · Casting Assistant
Tristan Cunningham · Clown Consultant
Jeff Raz · Clown Consultant
Lisa Anne Porter · Dialect Consultant

Cast

Matt Bradley · A-Hole #1 and others
Chad Goodridge · Mikey Minkle
Gabriel King · Bradley Boatright
Ben Mehl · A-Hole #2 and others
Jeanna Phillips · Lorette Beretta
Jennifer Regan · Patricia Boatright and others
Thomas Jay Ryan · Principal Putters and others
Danny Scheie · Sturgis Drang and others
Robbie Tann · Jake Miller

“A wild ride…as fantastical as a superhero comic book, and thrice as funny…The actors’ dexterity with LeFranc’s wildly imaginative tween expletives is as essential to the story’s success as Paloma Young’s hilarious zombie-pirate and other fantasy costumes. Neugebauer’s clever use of Kris Stone’s deceptively simple, urban-dreary set evokes the restless pace of young minds…The inventiveness of LeFranc’s superhero fantasies are enhanced by the solid emotional grounding he achieves.”—San Francisco Chronicle

“Wildly fun!…Steeped in the kick-ass aesthetic of video games and comic books, the action barrels along at warp-speed for three utterly outrageous acts. Our backpack-toting, hoodie-clad hero Bradley battles zombies, pirates, Nazis, bullies and his mom in a zany coming of age saga that takes place in the ‘nineteen-mighties,’ a mashup of the ‘80s, ‘90s and aughts…irresistibly breezy!”—San Jose Mercury News / Bay Area News Group

“A rock-‘em, sock-‘em riot!…It’s the first show to hit the main stage from the Rep’s new play development lab, The Ground Floor, which kicked off last year with a bustling summer residency. Director Lila Neugebauer’s beautifully paced staging makes the play’s two and a half hours (with two intermissions) seem to fly by…LeFranc’s dialogue is the star attraction. It’s crisp, inventive and often hilarious, mixing adventure-serial bombast (‘Give this little Ms. Pac-Man the concussion of his tweens’) with quirky catchphrases and near-constant euphemistic expletives (‘funny as farts but loyal as freak’). Troublemaker’s fabulously flashy exterior invites comparisons to the comic book and movie Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, but at root it’s a bittersweet story about growing up and getting by at one of life’s hardest ages, when just getting through the school day takes heroic fortitude…Bradley Boatright is not a superhero, but he’ll make you believe he is…Troublemaker is pretty freakin’ kick-A!”—KQED Arts & Culture

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Prologue: from the Artistic Director

Every generation has its troubles. Growing up is always a struggle for and against Something, even if that Something is your very self. And since very few adolescents like to fight with themselves, they focus on whatever oppressor is trying to ruin their lives: horrible parents, cruel teachers or any of the other inherited figures of authority that seem bent on causing their eternal unhappiness. These conflicts cut across class and race and are so timeworn they seem archetypal. But while the opponents in these battles play similar roles throughout history, the situations are never exactly the same. History keeps changing. All troubled kids feel misunderstood, and to a degree they are correct. Parents seems perpetually befuddled. “Sure, there were problems in my day, and yeah, I did some crazy stuff,” they say, “but nothing like this!” The generation gap is a testament to the fact that change is relentless. Because the circumstances of growing up keep morphing, coming-of-age stories will never be out of fashion.

As evidence of this dynamic, every generation creates its own language, a language that is an expression of its unique identity. Physical, aural, visual…It says, “We’re different than you. We don’t see the world in the same way and the fact that you don’t understand the words/gestures/movements we’re using proves that you are completely out of it! Don’t even try to figure it out because you never will!”

All of which struck me when I read Dan LeFranc’s new play, Troublemaker, or The Freakin Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatright. Trying to capture the experience of being inside the head of a young, modern American boy, Dan has found a languagethat is positively propulsive, an exciting combination of rocking rhythms, invented syntax and made-up words. Characters speak in a way that feels both unique and authentic, demanding an identity that the world is not yet ready to confer upon them. The words themselves practically leap off the page in a way that feels both subversive and fun.

Producing this play, then, is a little like creating a new world: the one we are living in but haven’t quite acknowledged. The one we know is there but can’t quite figure out. We’re simply not able to see that far or that well. The great gift Dan has given us is that he’s let his imagination and intuition lead him and us into that mysterious vortex. We’re all kids in Troublemaker, trying to make sense out of the world as we go along. “Enjoy the wild ride,” he’s telling us, bumps, bruises and all.

Sincerely,

Tony Taccone

Prologue: from the Managing Director

Troublemaker, or The Freakin Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatright marks the first play to come out of our new research and development lab, The Ground Floor: Berkeley Rep’s Center for the Creation and Development of New Work. Quite simply, The Ground Floor is the expansion of our 44-year commitment to new plays. Under its auspices, we commission new work; we host staged readings and workshops; and our literary and artistic staff engage with writers and directors about the early development and trajectory of these works. For the first time last summer, we established The Ground Floor summer residency lab. This one-month program may be the best illustration of our investment in new work because it is the summation of our various commitments to writers and creative artists. The lab feels like we are doing all those things on steroids!

Berkeley Rep offered Dan LeFranc a new-play commission when he first came to our attention as an exciting new writer with whom we wanted to be in dialogue. The summer residency afforded Dan the opportunity to refine his script for Troublemaker at the very theatre that presents its world premiere, and to work with director Lila Neuberger and group of actors to develop a visual vocabulary for his wildly imaginative story. Coincidentally, having Lila here was a delight for many of us who had watched, five years ago, as she emerged as a talented and impressive young professional during her season as a Berkeley Rep intern.

The Ground Floor has many benefits for the Theatre and for our larger theatre community. We will be able to help dozens and dozens of artists to create works that will grace our stage and stages across the country for many years to come. For the members of our staff, the program presents a less obvious though extremely important benefit. They are able to see a play in its earliest stages and are therefore able to think, from their departments’ unique perspective, about how they can help the artistic team fulfill the promise of the play. This can only be to the good of each new play that emerges out of our Ground Floor.

We look forward to bringing other Ground Floor-initiated projects to you in years to come—and we sincerely hope that you will enjoy and embrace this new venture with us.

Warm regards,

Susan Medak

Words, words, words: Writers and their most malleable tool

By Nora Sørena Casey and Julie McCormick

From “one fish two fish” to “antidisestablishmentarianism,” a fascination with words often begins early and lasts a lifetime. We find a childlike glee in words that sustains us—from poetry and books, to the Scrabble warriors who have committed all the two-letter words to memory, to the dedicated tweeter. In Troublemaker, playwright Dan LeFranc uses theatre as a space to push the boundaries of language. Through the creative code of his characters, Dan invites us into a unique world that continues a long tradition of verbal innovation.

There’s a line in Beowulf, “wordhord anleac,” which literally means, “he unlocked his wordhoard.” It’s a lovely description that brings to mind a jumble of words sitting in a storehouse, plundered by Anglo-Saxons on their raids across the North Sea. We dig through our wordhoards every time we open our mouths, searching for the perfect word that fits our idea, mood and audience. Parents waking their children up for school use very different language than the technical jargon they bandy at work or the comfortable shorthand they slip into with old friends. These different modes are called registers, and switching between them requires an extremely complicated, if largely intuitive, act of juggling social cues and speech patterns.

The cultural identity of the different languages that English incorporates—Anglo-Saxon, Viking, Celtic, French and Latin—plays a role in how we speak today. For example, to describe cattle in scientific terms we look to the Latin phrase “bos primigenius;” when talking about livestock we switch to the Anglo-Saxon word “cow;” and when the same animal appears on our plate we describe it with the French-derived “beef.” Many (although not all) of our “bad words” come from Anglo-Saxon words for uncouth subjects, while words more clearly derived from Latin—such as “copulate” or “excrete”—are considered socially acceptable (if still awkward). After the Norman Conquest, a form of Latin-based Old French was the language of the ruling class in Britain; so it’s possible that if the Normans had lost the war in 1066, Anglo-Saxon phrases would have been associated with high society and we could all be cursing with four-syllable words today.

On the subject of cursing, Troublemaker’s protagonist Bradley Boatright leads his cohorts in an original symphony of what popular euphemism deems “colorful” language. Dan LeFranc’s personal wordhoard gives us expressions that are already familiar to our ears, but that have been completely refashioned and infused with new meaning. For example, when Loretta Beretta declares “spangles” after someone has pleased her, she is not referring to glittery baubles. She’s communicating appreciation by co-opting language in a way that young people especially delight in doing.

Teenagers in particular are masters at inventing words that find their way into popular culture. A company called Global Language Monitor estimates that a new word is created every 98 minutes, and that there are over a million words in the English language (though others put the number even higher). In a world where new words are constantly falling in and out of usage, the dictionary can seem like a life raft in a bewildering lexical sea. Some people believe that if it’s not in the dictionary (or spell-check), then it’s not a word. For many, using proper grammar and diction is paramount to good taste.

But the implications of “proper” versus “improper” language go far deeper than mere manners. Language can be a powerful means of individual assertion, especially in situations of political unrest. Jamaican Rastafari culture rebels against the English language, which it sees as a tool of slavery and colonialism; Rastas deliberately change words and grammar to assert their unique cultural beliefs. For example, the pronoun “I” is seen as a means of self-assertion, agency and spiritual connection, and so the phrase “I and I” is often used when speaking in place of traditional pronouns such as “me” (which places the speaker as an object), or “he and I” (which separates the speaker from his or her companions).

In the play, Bradley and his friends use their words in defiance of authority. They refuse to be told not only what to say, but how to say it. Acknowledging the adult world’s directive that cursing is off-limits, the kids avoid using traditional curse words, thus obeying the letter of the law. But they flout the spirit of it by repurposing words like “grapes,” “freak” and “gap” to substitute for the more traditional descriptors. Though the words ring familiar, their usage creates something entirely new.

Though languages shift and new words are created organically, they are also deliberately invented by authors, dreamers and linguistic enthusiasts. The quirks of our mother tongues can be annoying (in English, “i before e” is bad enough without words like “foreign”), and an inability to understand one another is at the root of endless confusion, frustration and conflict. Over the centuries, enterprising language lovers have created over 900 invented languages, from the more famous Esperanto to obscure specimens like Ulla, Balaibalan and Loglan. Whether inventors were motivated by dreams of peace through universal communication or by personal ambition, their languages met the same dismal fate. By and large, people have been unwilling to trade in the languages of their families, religions and nations.

That’s not to say that invented languages can’t gain popularity. More than 250,000 copies of the Klingon dictionary, a language spoken by an alien species in the Star Trek series and invented by linguist Marc Okrand, have already been sold. Sci-fi and fantasy writers will often draw on new language to create a world that is recognizable, but unlike our own. This may range from simple invented slang, like the “muggles” of Harry Potter or “moodge” of A Clockwork Orange, to the inventions of whole languages like Klingon or JRR Tolkien’s Elvish. In art forms like novels, poetry and theatre, the creation of language helps bring audiences into a new world—conveying a unique perspective from the minds of space travelers or wizards.

Outside of fantasy, authors may explode the rules of language to re-introduce audiences to a familiar world. James Joyce invites us into a child’s mindset when he writes, “there was a moocow coming down along the road” at the beginning of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Creating new words can be seen as an extension of the way authors are already using metaphorical language. When Homer describes dawn with “rosy-fingers,” the pairing of ideas is just as unexpected, but understandable, as the mixing of words to create a “moocow.” Sometimes, when invented language captures a thought particularly well, these phrases can make the jump from a single artist’s head into the popular mindset.

We have the inventiveness of many authors to thank for popular words and phrases, and one above all: William Shakespeare. The Oxford English Dictionary credits the Bard with “first use” for over 2,035 words, not to mention phrases like “to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve” or “clothes make the man.” Publishing companies were starting to take off in the late 16th century, but books and newspapers were still scarce, and most people couldn’t read anyway. Unlike today, when new words gain notoriety on Twitter or the blogosphere, expressions like “to channel,” “eyeball” and “to champion” went viral on the early modern stage. A playwright would coin a new word that hundreds of people would hear during the performance, and then go out and use it in the noisy London streets. Shakespeare’s success in popularizing phrases may also tie into a fundamental aspect of theatre: on stage, language always exists between people. When a new word like “compassion” was introduced in a Shakespeare play, the audience didn’t need the definition to learn it; they felt its meaning through the emotions of the actors and the drama of the story that those new words helped to create.

Perhaps this explains why theatre has so often been a home for creating new meaning: what better place to introduce a shared contextual meaning for a large group of people? When characters speak to each other, their words do more than simply convey information. Words do some heavy lifting—by describing a location, the audience imagines the stage as that space; by calling someone brother, a family is formed. But the theatre also allows language to function subtly. A single word can be a conduit for many channels of communication. Characters speak to each other, and in hearing this, the audience is in dialogue with the playwright. After all, whenever we talk to each other we depend on words to express so much more than information. And the lawless, expansive idiosyncrasies of language are a testament to that; words reflect the heights and depths of human experience, which has shaped the language we speak and which, in turn, continues to be shaped by the way we understand ourselves and connect to one another.

Making Trouble: An interview with Dan LeFranc

By Madeleine Oldham

In 2010, Dan LeFranc received the New York Times Outstanding Playwright Award for his play Sixty Miles to Silver Lake, and his work has been seen and developed all over the country at theatres like Playwrights Horizons and Yale Repertory Theatre. Dan’s deep affinity for comic books and films has led to a number of intriguing experiments in style; one of his early scripts, Origin Story, is actually written in graphic novel form. Although each play does something a little different in terms of style, a common theme that runs through his work is what it’s like to grow up and make peace (or not) with your family.

Troublemaker, or The Freakin Kick-A Adventures of Bradley Boatright began as a Berkeley Rep commission in 2008, and ever since then, Dan and I (as the dramaturg) have been in close cahoots as the play has taken form through workshops, readings and innumerable phone calls. This past summer at The Ground Floor residency lab at Berkeley Rep, Dan joined forces with director Lila Neugebauer and a team of actors to help prepare the piece for its run. A few weeks before rehearsals began, I sat down with Dan to discuss how Troublemaker was born, the Hero’s Journey and whether or not we’re all just A-Holes.

Can you talk a little bit about your protagonist Bradley Boatright, and how Bradley became Bradley in your mind?

A few years before I started writing Troublemaker, I had this image in my head of a teenage, middle-class character like Batman, but without real power, money or training. And I thought that would be an interesting television or film character.

But when I went to work on this play I wasn’t really thinking about that. I thought I was interested in writing an epic involving young runaways. While I was doing research for that idea, I started scanning through a database of runaway children online, and one of the kids I found on there, I think he was from Utah, was named Bradley Boatright. He has this great picture, a really goofy toothy kid…

Do you know that after all these years of working with you on this play, I had no idea that Bradley Boatwright was real?

Yeah, he’s a real kid.

Wow.

But there was a long stretch where the character I was developing didn’t speak. He spoke in music, and the other characters spoke in English. You asked me the question, “What would happen if he spoke?” And I decided to try it, and from his mouth flew this strange, made-up language.

Do you think that language is related to the fact that it started with music?

I actually think Bradley’s language came from thinking: okay, these are 12-year old kids. When I was 12 years old and not around adults, I had a really vulgar mouth. But I felt like that that would be really uninteresting and just exhausting to have on stage for too long, and it also just didn’t seem like much fun.

So as I started to write what the character would say, I began substituting curse words with these made-up curse words. Some of them are pretty common, others…I don’t think any kid has used them quite in the way that they do in this play.

There’s this rhythm that suddenly emerged: it’s not necessarily that it’s staccato, but there is a music to it. It’s very clear to me when it’s not working, or when it’s not right, because there’s just a way that it sounds in my head.

For a while, you were thinking a lot about Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey. You and I used to talk about that a bunch, and then those conversations petered out. Do you still think about it? What is the relationship between the play you’ve written and the classic Hero’s Journey structure?

Oh I think it’s the most Hero’s Journey-tastic play I’ve ever written. It follows a particular kind of narrative that we see a lot in film, we see a lot in television and we do see in plays, but I don’t think it’s as overt as it is in film. We know it very well from The Odyssey, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars and The Godfather. You take a person, you turn their world upside down, and they have to go through a series of struggles that change their worldview. They get their ass kicked, they get knocked down and then they’re at the moment where they have to choose, “Am I going to try to return to what my life was like before, or am I going to change?” And more often than not—at least the ones that end on a more optimistic note—we find out what happens to them after they make that decision.

And if your other plays are not as “Hero’s Journey-tastic,” what are your other plays doing?

I think some of my other plays do have those elements. It’s just so embedded in our culture, in our storytelling traditions, that I think anyone who sits down to bang out a story is going to be using those tropes whether they’re aware of it or not. But for this project I decided to actually study them and not have these things occur by accident as much. My hunch is that this play took longer to write than usual for me because I became self-conscious of a thing that I was just doing naturally and it suddenly became difficult and a little alien. It’s like training for a sport. You think, “I know how to run.” Then the coach comes in and says, “Dude, you have to be aware that your feet need to fall in a particular way.” You’re gonna run like an idiot for like a month or two months, but four months down the road you’re going to be much faster. Your ability is going to be much stronger.

What’s been the most challenging thing about writing this play for you?

There’s a certain wildness to it that I think is important. However, it’s also a pretty big story and there’s a lot to tell. So it’s been a struggle to figure out what the balance is between letting it just be its crazy gangly self, and knowing when to rein it in and be super vigilant about pacing and sequence of events.

It’s also been hard because Troublemaker is a hybrid between a hyper-stylized action-adventure world and a naturalistic domestic drama. It’s been a really thrilling challenge to see how those two things coalesce in building the rhythm of the piece—making sure it doesn’t get too naturalistic or too slow but also doesn’t go too fast for too long.

I think when the play is succeeding, you stop noticing the language and you are able to really empathize with the characters. My hope is that we aren’t seeing them from a distance, but that we are in it with them. It’s really tricky to be playing the style game that we are playing while also wanting audiences to feel like they are on the ground with our boys.

When you’re writing do you have an audience in mind or do you just write?

I just write. If I have an audience in mind I’m paralyzed. I have a hard time imagining them. When the first draft is coming out of me, I feel like it’s a good sign when I’m giggling, and I’m like, “That’s pretty funny,” or “Ooh, I’m excited.” Maybe my first audience is both myself and my collaborators. There have been moments working on this play where some of the humor or twists and turns come from my desire to surprise and delight the actors, or you or Lila. I think, “This is a fun line, they’re going to appreciate this.”

This play was a commission for Berkeley Rep. Is writing a commission different from writing a play just because you have an idea to write a play?

Yeah, it is. I find it really hard to write commissions. I don’t think I’m alone. I think I can find it paralyzing because of that question you asked earlier, because once I imagine an audience it’s like, “Oh my god I can’t do it.” It’s much easier when I have this story I feel like I need to tell and then after the fact try to figure out who it’s for.

The play in its current form came from me saying, “Forget it, Berkeley Rep is never going to produce this play. I just have to forget that I’ve been asked to write this play for this specific theatre that I admire more than just about any theatre in the country.” It was too much pressure and I had to say to myself, “I’ve got to write what I’m gonna write, and they’re never going to do it, so just go crazy.”

But I think that was what was great about it. We commissioned you to write a Dan LeFranc play, not what you thought would be a Berkeley Rep play. You managed to trick yourself out of paying attention to the pressure, which worked out really well.

It did help. It freed me up. And I think that a lot of the spirit of the play comes from that, that kind of reckless abandon.

This is a tricky play to read on paper, and asks different things of people than a more straightforwardly written script does. Can you talk about that a little?

I think the play is very much for the theatre, but there is a cinematic quality to it. There are some things that the play is demanding—crazy stunts, action sequences—and when reading the script you wonder, “How the heck is someone going to pull that off?” Then there are things that seem basic, like, our characters need to walk and talk a lot while the language is moving very quickly and the audience needs to hear it very clearly. And you don’t realize how cinematic that is until you’re in a room with actors. Then you realize, “Oh my god, you can’t just walk around the room because you’re going to lose half the words, and it doesn’t really quite do what it’s saying it needs to do on the page.” So even something as simple as walking has become a really big challenge for the production team. In some ways, some of the larger flourishes are not as challenging as some of the more subtle things that the play is demanding.

Lila and Kris Stone, the scenic designer, have been working really hard on the set, and it’s been really fascinating seeing how the design has evolved. These characters are not in some abstract void. They live in working-class Rhode Island, which is a real place. However, the play demands that our imaginations do a lot of work, and I think it would be a mistake to make the entire set hyper-realistic. This play has a really tricky balance visually, and I’m very impressed with the work that everyone has done.

What do you hope this play will do after this production? Because it’s such a unique beast. What do you see for it?

I don’t know. I think it’s a pretty big universe for Bradley Boatright. Part of the struggle in writing the story was that I felt like I had so many characters and so many ideas that it was difficult for me to focus in on what this episode was going to be about. In some ways, it felt like Bradley Boatright had had a TV show for a number of years and gone on all these crazy adventures, and this was his big motion-picture feature.

So if I’m thinking outside the bounds of what is normally possible, I’d like to write a comic-book series about what happens to the characters, or a cartoon. I know that’s a bit pie in the sky, but I could write these kids all day long. There are so many more stories waiting to unfold. Like, I want to see Bradley do the school play, I want to see Bradley join the debate team, I want to see…

The boat chase that got cut?

Yeah! As the play has gone on we’ve lost all of this golden material because it doesn’t fit in with the story we need to tell, but it’s very clear to me that there are a lot of possibilities with this world.

Is Bradley’s world at all similar to Dan LeFranc’s world?

When I was a tweenager-teenager, there was a lot of turmoil at home. I too, like Bradley, was raised by a single mother, although I was not an only child, I had a brother and a sister. I ran away pretty often, and would spend weeks at friends’ homes or at the homes of girls I had crushes on.

When I look back at that time, everything felt very black and white. It felt like my mom was the enemy, and I was the hero. I’d been wronged, and I needed to show the world how right I was and how wrong everyone else was, and one day they’d figure it out, these idiot adults.

But as I grew up, I started to realize, as I think a lot of people do, that things aren’t that simple. I’d been acting like an asshole. You move from feeling like a victim to suddenly realizing you’re more of a victimizer. As I began working on this play, suddenly the same thing happened again. I was in my late twenties-early thirties and having these same revelations. In my mind I was thinking, “I’m a good guy, I’m cool, I’m nice to people, people like me, I’m generally a good citizen. I do good in the world.” But when I started doing a bit of self-evaluation, it occurred to me that actually, I’m kind of a jerk sometimes, and there are certain things I do that alienate people or are really upsetting, but I refuse to see them. I think a lot of people do this. We’re blind to our faults and flaws and we don’t want to see ugly things about ourselves.

When I began the play I thought I was writing a story that was just about 12-year-olds, but I’ve realized it’s a struggle that we go through our entire lives—a constant struggle to really see and evaluate ourselves honestly and recognize the consequences of our behavior both small and large. And it’s a journey. I don’t think it’s the kind of thing we ever get to the end of or solve. It’s something we all grapple with until the day we die.

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