Shakespeare, finally.

I became a director during my undergrad years at Harvard, where you can't actually major in theatre but nevertheless approximately 25 shows are put up every semester, most student-directed and student-produced.

This results in a lot of well-meaning, over-educated, under-trained wanna-be directors flailing about beautifully and boldly, taking on absurdly challenging (and sometimes misguided) projects right out of the gate. I know, I was one of them. And I loved it.

Undergrad directors often have limited access to new scripts as well as a fascination with the classics they're studying in their literature classes. This means a lot of productions of Hamlet, Streetcar, and Oedipus directed by 19-year-olds who have never blocked a scene before.

After sitting through one too many evenings of what Joanna Settle calls "punitive Shakespeare" directed by cocky undergrads (whose virtuosic textual grasp of the verse and deep connection with the struggle of the character didn't actually result in something enjoyable to watch), I made a vow.

I decided that I wouldn't direct Shakespeare until I was 30. Surely by age 30 (that then-distant shore!) I would have gained both the directing skills and the psychological maturity to take on the Bard.

Thirty is now fast approaching, and along with it, my first time directing Shakespeare. It's just a scene for class (from All's Well that Ends Well), but I'm happy to be finally breaking my ten-year ban. Perhaps a full production will follow.

Chekhov, however, has to wait til I'm 40.