You do not have to be everything.
You also do not have to be one thing.
You can be a few things.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Friday, October 11, 2013
Movement
I'm sitting in a freezing cold room, wearing a sweater and my husbands hoodie, my hands needing breaks now and then to warm up. Just spent the morning reaching out to people who have posted Cold Tangerine content on their FB pages, letting them know about the show. Have been editing act one to create more of an arc for the whole show. Chopped two pages barely blinking. So glad about that!
Stumbling around moving boxes, we are saying our goodbye to the last week of living in our little tree house apartment. It just hit me that we will be leaving our first home. We got married almost three years ago and this little place has been a wonderful cocoon of love and warmth and growth. And also inflicted with massive amounts of noise and disruption from the surrounding inhabitants. But really, gratefully, none of that from within. To really stop and reflect on these last few years deserves more time and brain space and honor than I have to give at the moment, but even just this tiny tribute to our tiny place, the home for our little baby marriage to begin, to develop, to brave the storms, to learn, to rest, is worth taking. This place has been good and beautiful, messy and sweet, quaint and lovely. Even in the midst of bass boom and German shepherds and noro virus. Oh, man, noro virus. I now know why so many people died in the plagues. Whew.
We've stuffed this place full of friends, on St. Patrick's day with its three corned beefs. On our birthdays, and fall festivals. We've pushed our couches together to snuggle up for hours of SNL, Modern Family, Redbox rentals, No Reservations and our favorite Saturday morning cartoon-- Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. I've waxed on and on about shelves, we've broken bolts mid pot rack installation, bonked, bruised and burned ourselves enough times to initiate a system of needing what we lovingly refer to as "Safety Meeting." Each year out Christmas tree got a little bigger, from a Charlie Brown tribute, to a rosemary bush pruned in a tannenbaum-ian fashion, to an even bigger potted spruce. At this rate we will have a 100 foot baby by our 50th anniversary.
We've sat around our version of Dave Ramsey's old oak pedestal table and learned and cried and evaluated our finances, took Financial Peace University, got on a budget and are whipping our money into shape. We will forever be changed by our decisions and actions made here in this little place.
It really is time to go, and our new place is great. It's definitely not our final stop either, but another wonderful place to make home. It has its quirks; its round robin design, the funky heating and cooling units taking up two of four walls, it oddly placed mini bay window. But it has a kickin' kitchen, place for a dinning table and with a little creativity, two desks. My husband will finally be able to move his office from its current location, i.e. the couch. It is way bigger, has a mini yard, and a place outside for the grill and some plants. Dan can't wait to grow some "spices" as he always calls them because he can never remeberthe word, "herbs." Oh, and it has laundry. In. The. Apartment. It could have snakes and rats and I'd probably still want to move for the washer and dryer. Ok, snakes and rats is pushing it a bit, but I'm really exited about it. Maybe spiders and slugs. No, I really hate slugs. Ok, I don't want any of that, I just want clean clothes more often than every 6 weeks!!! (Don't worry, I have a lot of underwear.)
The best part is that we will be living just a block and a half away from my dearest friends who are expecting their first baby in February. I cannot tell you how much it means to me that God helped us tough it out until this place became available so that we could be family away from family to this couple. Grandma might not be able to move in for the first few weeks, but Auntie Lynn and Uncle Dan can. And will.
There is so much beautiful good in all of this. Here's to more. And here's to surviving for another week amongst this:
If you don't hear from me for a while, check under the piles of cardboard and rubble. I'll be the one singing, "Oh, what a beautiful morning!"
Oh, what a beautiful day.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
These are a few of my...
...favorite things.
Things I love:
Earl Grey tea
over easy eggs on crisp toast
my wedding ring
pink
sweater weather
the smell of cement when it has gotten wet
my 13 year old car that is doing great
people who truly enjoy their work, some much so that they can be genuinely kind in it
Breyer's Butter Pecan Ice Cream
Dansko clogs
down blankets
my grandma's perfume: White Linen
not too sweet, not too crunchy chocolate chip cookies
wind breakers
leather
happy babies
pasta with butter and parm and garlic and pepper
fireplaces
twinkle lights
cinnamon bread
listening to your inner voice
collaboation
actors
The Splendid Table
PBS
NPR
PRI
stories
Downton Abbey
dresses
built in nooks and crannies in old houses
old houses
budgeting
Dave Ramsey and Financial Peace University
making broth
oatmeal
Camelot Preschool and their wildflower kiddos
being able to squeeze things in
connecting with a friend when you have to be on their side of town already
bikes
my mom's chair orphanage in our old falling down garage
seeing something you own in a magazine or book and being much prouder of it after that
baby powder (i.e. not having to wash your hair but every three days. Whew.)
ramen
powder chai
the feeling of getting into bed and the soft coolness of the sheets
sleep
how each friend fills a specific place in my heart and each one is so uniquely valuable in their own way
old churches/going to mass
being at home in the evenings
listening to the West Wing in the background while washing dishes
The West Wing pretty much any time
traveling
Big Sky Cafe, blue corn pancakes with pecans and bananas, pozole with a poached egg and warm mugs of coffee
SLO
Bloomington, IN (that's another list altogether)
The list could go on an on, but this one has done its job, let me refocus and cool down from the day before regearning (gearing up?) to get some work done. For now, Earl Grey Tea, a cloudy day, a warm computer on my lap, and thankfulness.
Things I love:
Earl Grey tea
over easy eggs on crisp toast
my wedding ring
pink
sweater weather
the smell of cement when it has gotten wet
my 13 year old car that is doing great
people who truly enjoy their work, some much so that they can be genuinely kind in it
Breyer's Butter Pecan Ice Cream
Dansko clogs
down blankets
my grandma's perfume: White Linen
not too sweet, not too crunchy chocolate chip cookies
wind breakers
leather
happy babies
pasta with butter and parm and garlic and pepper
fireplaces
twinkle lights
cinnamon bread
listening to your inner voice
collaboation
actors
The Splendid Table
PBS
NPR
PRI
stories
Downton Abbey
dresses
built in nooks and crannies in old houses
old houses
budgeting
Dave Ramsey and Financial Peace University
making broth
oatmeal
Camelot Preschool and their wildflower kiddos
being able to squeeze things in
connecting with a friend when you have to be on their side of town already
bikes
my mom's chair orphanage in our old falling down garage
seeing something you own in a magazine or book and being much prouder of it after that
baby powder (i.e. not having to wash your hair but every three days. Whew.)
ramen
powder chai
the feeling of getting into bed and the soft coolness of the sheets
sleep
how each friend fills a specific place in my heart and each one is so uniquely valuable in their own way
old churches/going to mass
being at home in the evenings
listening to the West Wing in the background while washing dishes
The West Wing pretty much any time
traveling
Big Sky Cafe, blue corn pancakes with pecans and bananas, pozole with a poached egg and warm mugs of coffee
SLO
Bloomington, IN (that's another list altogether)
The list could go on an on, but this one has done its job, let me refocus and cool down from the day before regearning (gearing up?) to get some work done. For now, Earl Grey Tea, a cloudy day, a warm computer on my lap, and thankfulness.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Believing and doing
I believe people can do the things they really want to do. And I guess the best way to prove that belief can be a reality is to do it myself. To do the things I really want to do.
I had this sense when I was waiting tables that anyone not doing that had the best life in the world. I would listen to people talk about how busy they were or how they had to stay home to let the plummer in, or pick their kids up at school and I'd think, "What a luxury." Everything that wasn't waiting tables, having to be there in the evenings, losing that part of the day, some part of myself, was an unfathomable luxury. It felt prison-y. Or at least indentured servant-y. I was actually ministered to by watching Downton Abbey. It allowed me to come up for air, to realize I wasn't a real servant, I wasn't working from dawn till dusk every single day, in the excesses of one family. I wasn't in a lower class, I could go to and be served at a restaurant once in a while if I desired. I was free to find different work. And it took a while to find, but I fought for it, and I did find it and I'm keeping my eye out for more or different, but I don't have to work at a restaurant right now and if I ever do again I will only accept a place that is mature and respectful. I will never work for someone or some place that makes me feel trapped.
I don't want to feel trapped. I don't want other people to feel trapped either. I don't want other people to be so stuck that anything other than what they are doing feels like a luxury. But I can't just say I believe it like a camp counselor and then send them home and wish them luck. I can't tell people that they can change their life or live their dream because I think they can. I can have that valid voice only when I have fought, honoring my values, for the life I want and achieved it. Not like some high holy hill of finality, but of learning the discipline to daily pursue and do and figure out how to pay for the dreams that I am making into a reality.
Earn that voice.
Hmm...
I have a desktop. I work at it from a desk. It does not go places with me. It does not experience the world, open at coffee shops, get out of the house and dream. It sits at a desk like a boss with a tie. Business business business, it says. But not tonight...
No, I didn't take my desktop off the desk and plop it somewhere else, although I have been known to do this. I'm just stealing my husband's laptop, lounging on the couch like I'm watching Hulu cause I can't sleep. Even with the swig of Z-quil (the best invention ever) and the mug of cereal. But no Hulu for me tonight. Something wouldn't quite let me zone out like that other part of me wanted to.
I'm working on a project. I haven't shared that here yet, but one of the main reasons I started this blog in all actuality is that I'm working on a project.
I'm an actor. I am completely comfortable with this fact, have accepted it down to my bones and am even proud of it. Not proud of it like, "Look at all this stuff I've done," or "Status update: I got an audition today!" or "I'm actually acting currently in some capacity, no brag intended, I'm just doing something." Not those ways proud, even though I have done all of these things at different times. I'm just excited that I know part of what I really want to do with my life. I'm proud that I was able to articulate that and find a great place to do it as a student. Proud that my parents supported me--that's big of them. And proud that I've survived, people, I've survived and kept my heart in LA for almost 9 years with the sole purpose of having a great life and working towards getting to create and pay my bills with telling stories.
I'm cool with going to auditions, getting the rehearsal schedule and showing up prepared, (most of the time.) I'm cool with going to fittings and hanging out on set and feel comfortable being an extra or the one the spotlight is on center stage. (Funny that the one time the actual spotlight was on me center stage, I would have given anything to just be an extra, cause the experience was so rough, so that's a mini lesson on what you think success is might not actually feel like it to the person living it.) I'm cool with teaching improv, even as I'm very not cool about practicing it--that s%#t is HARD. I love that stuff. I got that stuff. I'm down. Look how down I am. I'm so down, I'm Downey.
Let me tell you what I'm NOT cool with--what freaks the heck out of me--what makes me literally want to PACK MOVING BOXES or DO THE DISHES INSTEAD OF DOING. Create something from scratch, or try to make that thing that is now created happen, come about, produced.
Freaks me the heck out.
So much so I'd rather do the dishes.
Or sleep 2 hours past the alarm.
Or watch Hulu.
So, about that project, guess what it is?
Yeah, making something. From scratch. And producing it.
Damn thing!
Perhaps there are actors out there, or there were ages in time where people who liked acting, were disciplined, and trained to do it, got to do it some or most of the time. Perhaps there are people who are given a schedule and wake up and go in and are disciplined and do good work and then go home and have dinner with their families and then go back the next day to the schedule that someone else created.
Maybe there are those people.
Talk about the 1%.
If you are an actor, you know that even if you are totally AWESOME as a person and as an actor, this is a rare occasion! Even rarer to get paid for days like that! And there are great actors who get paid to do this who love it, and there are those for whom this is annoying work like any other business business business. Some of those actors are happy and some are miserable and working as an actor promises to make you happy just as infomercials promise to make you skinny! And I've been in one of those infomercials! The Ab Space Shooter will not make you skinny by itself in ten minutes, but committing to adapting your lifestyle and your food choices and working out for an hour a day plus ten minutes on the Ab Exploder for three months WILL!!! It is about the person inside the situation that makes it a good one or a not so good one along with a million different other variables.
All of this to say that when we "working actors" actually get to be "working actors" we are very happy. Background, lines, no lines, solos, paid or unpaid, whatever, usually this makes us happy. Thankful, perhaps, is a more appropriate word.
So, what do we do when we aren't working?
We are not prepared for this, those of us who have gone to school for "acting." I loved it, my four years of camp with a degree at the end. I worked hard, and I got good grades in my other classes too, I'm not saying it was always easy. I did homework at the library for hours on Fridays. I wrote an essay on the history of China and I fell asleep in math class and I took Cosmology and the teacher laughed at me when I asked a question. It wasn't easy like easy breezy, the process was full of EASE because I was doing what I loved doing in a warm and friendly environment. I'm just saying that I got to play play play play play and grow grow grow grow grow and someone told me when and where and I showed up and went along for the ride.
And then I moved to LA.
And no one gave me a syllabus.
And I sat on my figurative and literal butt and wished a syllabus would fly in so I could follow it, so I could play and grow.
And no syllabus came and Life introduced itself to me and said I'd be playing the part of "Adult" and it was up to me what it was going to about. The play that is Life.
If I had been trained as a writer, or if I had gone to film school, perhaps a bit more of my training could have been called into play (or maybe not, perhaps all schools help their students a bit too much, script a bit too much for them, don't take off the training wheels, and maybe that's not School's job, but Life's job.) I never had to really create anything at school besides a role that was already written. I took a playwriting class and did most of my writing the day before it was due. (Lots of my plays took place at Waffle House and were conversations between a couple of friends. Were they transcribed directly from my own conversations? We will never know.) I wrote a cabaret about my old house my parents were selling, and I asked for a couple of professors to read it over for me, which they did, and give feedback, which they did. It was harsh. Stuff like, "Maybe you should move this song before the other one." Or, "How about clarifying this detail." And that was enough for me to be scared and shelve it. But I did create a bunch of roles/characters that were already written. And man did I show up at rehearsals that were scheduled for me.
So flash forward to now. And this project. I recognize that I have skills in certain areas and that I haven't had experience in this other area. I could have produced/directed/written/created anything I wanted if I had wanted back then in my safe haven college days. But I didn't, or was scared to. Mostly I was really content getting to play with things where the hard work had already been done. But I decided to keep doing this professionally, and I'm plowing my fields, and the work is coming, but ya know, not really coming, not really throwing itself at me, "PLEASE LYNN, PLEASE BE IN MY AMAZING FILM WITH THIS CHARACTER THAT IS INCREDIBLE AND WE WILL PLAN THE SCHEDULE AND PAY YOU. PLEASE!" Not that kind of work, so in fits and starts I've realized, hated, fought against, gotten excited about, run away from, negotiated out of, hulu-ed instead of, and am finally trying to get cool with the fact that:
If you want to do it, do it.
You have to create your own work. You do not have a choice in the matter. Either do this or do something else, because it is too hard to live out here just waiting for someone to want you. You must want you. A few years ago I realized I needed to stop waiting for someone else to believe in me before I'd believe in me. So I did. I decided that I believe in me. And if someone else wants to, that is very cool. I love that, but I will not wait for it. I will believe in me, now.
But that doesn't mean it's constant or black and white decided. That was a turning in a different direction. Now I'm learning to walk forward.
So I have this project.
I will learn how to produce it. I will create that syllabus. I will obey myself and show up prepared. It will become real and it will be done. And I will do it, damn it. I will. Oh, help.
But more on that later. For now, I wanna watch some Hulu before my Z-Quil fully kicks in. Cause I created this. And if I created this, I can create. Little by little, piece by peace.---Whoa. That was a typo I just about corrected but caught myself... Piece by peace...
Hmm...
Piece by peace. Or maybe peace by piece...
Oh, and the project. Right.
It's called Cold Tangerines.
No, I didn't take my desktop off the desk and plop it somewhere else, although I have been known to do this. I'm just stealing my husband's laptop, lounging on the couch like I'm watching Hulu cause I can't sleep. Even with the swig of Z-quil (the best invention ever) and the mug of cereal. But no Hulu for me tonight. Something wouldn't quite let me zone out like that other part of me wanted to.
I'm working on a project. I haven't shared that here yet, but one of the main reasons I started this blog in all actuality is that I'm working on a project.
I'm an actor. I am completely comfortable with this fact, have accepted it down to my bones and am even proud of it. Not proud of it like, "Look at all this stuff I've done," or "Status update: I got an audition today!" or "I'm actually acting currently in some capacity, no brag intended, I'm just doing something." Not those ways proud, even though I have done all of these things at different times. I'm just excited that I know part of what I really want to do with my life. I'm proud that I was able to articulate that and find a great place to do it as a student. Proud that my parents supported me--that's big of them. And proud that I've survived, people, I've survived and kept my heart in LA for almost 9 years with the sole purpose of having a great life and working towards getting to create and pay my bills with telling stories.
I'm cool with going to auditions, getting the rehearsal schedule and showing up prepared, (most of the time.) I'm cool with going to fittings and hanging out on set and feel comfortable being an extra or the one the spotlight is on center stage. (Funny that the one time the actual spotlight was on me center stage, I would have given anything to just be an extra, cause the experience was so rough, so that's a mini lesson on what you think success is might not actually feel like it to the person living it.) I'm cool with teaching improv, even as I'm very not cool about practicing it--that s%#t is HARD. I love that stuff. I got that stuff. I'm down. Look how down I am. I'm so down, I'm Downey.
Let me tell you what I'm NOT cool with--what freaks the heck out of me--what makes me literally want to PACK MOVING BOXES or DO THE DISHES INSTEAD OF DOING. Create something from scratch, or try to make that thing that is now created happen, come about, produced.
Freaks me the heck out.
So much so I'd rather do the dishes.
Or sleep 2 hours past the alarm.
Or watch Hulu.
So, about that project, guess what it is?
Yeah, making something. From scratch. And producing it.
Damn thing!
Perhaps there are actors out there, or there were ages in time where people who liked acting, were disciplined, and trained to do it, got to do it some or most of the time. Perhaps there are people who are given a schedule and wake up and go in and are disciplined and do good work and then go home and have dinner with their families and then go back the next day to the schedule that someone else created.
Maybe there are those people.
Talk about the 1%.
If you are an actor, you know that even if you are totally AWESOME as a person and as an actor, this is a rare occasion! Even rarer to get paid for days like that! And there are great actors who get paid to do this who love it, and there are those for whom this is annoying work like any other business business business. Some of those actors are happy and some are miserable and working as an actor promises to make you happy just as infomercials promise to make you skinny! And I've been in one of those infomercials! The Ab Space Shooter will not make you skinny by itself in ten minutes, but committing to adapting your lifestyle and your food choices and working out for an hour a day plus ten minutes on the Ab Exploder for three months WILL!!! It is about the person inside the situation that makes it a good one or a not so good one along with a million different other variables.
All of this to say that when we "working actors" actually get to be "working actors" we are very happy. Background, lines, no lines, solos, paid or unpaid, whatever, usually this makes us happy. Thankful, perhaps, is a more appropriate word.
So, what do we do when we aren't working?
We are not prepared for this, those of us who have gone to school for "acting." I loved it, my four years of camp with a degree at the end. I worked hard, and I got good grades in my other classes too, I'm not saying it was always easy. I did homework at the library for hours on Fridays. I wrote an essay on the history of China and I fell asleep in math class and I took Cosmology and the teacher laughed at me when I asked a question. It wasn't easy like easy breezy, the process was full of EASE because I was doing what I loved doing in a warm and friendly environment. I'm just saying that I got to play play play play play and grow grow grow grow grow and someone told me when and where and I showed up and went along for the ride.
And then I moved to LA.
And no one gave me a syllabus.
And I sat on my figurative and literal butt and wished a syllabus would fly in so I could follow it, so I could play and grow.
And no syllabus came and Life introduced itself to me and said I'd be playing the part of "Adult" and it was up to me what it was going to about. The play that is Life.
If I had been trained as a writer, or if I had gone to film school, perhaps a bit more of my training could have been called into play (or maybe not, perhaps all schools help their students a bit too much, script a bit too much for them, don't take off the training wheels, and maybe that's not School's job, but Life's job.) I never had to really create anything at school besides a role that was already written. I took a playwriting class and did most of my writing the day before it was due. (Lots of my plays took place at Waffle House and were conversations between a couple of friends. Were they transcribed directly from my own conversations? We will never know.) I wrote a cabaret about my old house my parents were selling, and I asked for a couple of professors to read it over for me, which they did, and give feedback, which they did. It was harsh. Stuff like, "Maybe you should move this song before the other one." Or, "How about clarifying this detail." And that was enough for me to be scared and shelve it. But I did create a bunch of roles/characters that were already written. And man did I show up at rehearsals that were scheduled for me.
So flash forward to now. And this project. I recognize that I have skills in certain areas and that I haven't had experience in this other area. I could have produced/directed/written/created anything I wanted if I had wanted back then in my safe haven college days. But I didn't, or was scared to. Mostly I was really content getting to play with things where the hard work had already been done. But I decided to keep doing this professionally, and I'm plowing my fields, and the work is coming, but ya know, not really coming, not really throwing itself at me, "PLEASE LYNN, PLEASE BE IN MY AMAZING FILM WITH THIS CHARACTER THAT IS INCREDIBLE AND WE WILL PLAN THE SCHEDULE AND PAY YOU. PLEASE!" Not that kind of work, so in fits and starts I've realized, hated, fought against, gotten excited about, run away from, negotiated out of, hulu-ed instead of, and am finally trying to get cool with the fact that:
If you want to do it, do it.
You have to create your own work. You do not have a choice in the matter. Either do this or do something else, because it is too hard to live out here just waiting for someone to want you. You must want you. A few years ago I realized I needed to stop waiting for someone else to believe in me before I'd believe in me. So I did. I decided that I believe in me. And if someone else wants to, that is very cool. I love that, but I will not wait for it. I will believe in me, now.
But that doesn't mean it's constant or black and white decided. That was a turning in a different direction. Now I'm learning to walk forward.
So I have this project.
I will learn how to produce it. I will create that syllabus. I will obey myself and show up prepared. It will become real and it will be done. And I will do it, damn it. I will. Oh, help.
But more on that later. For now, I wanna watch some Hulu before my Z-Quil fully kicks in. Cause I created this. And if I created this, I can create. Little by little, piece by peace.---Whoa. That was a typo I just about corrected but caught myself... Piece by peace...
Hmm...
Piece by peace. Or maybe peace by piece...
Oh, and the project. Right.
It's called Cold Tangerines.
Monday, September 23, 2013
If you're afraid of failing...
... you're afraid.
If you're afraid, then you're afraid. It doesn't actually matter what you are afraid of. The of is not the problem. The of has actually no value in this equation. Most of the time. If someone is pointing a gun at you, or shoving peanuts down your throat when you have a known allergy, these are reasons to be afraid. Fear has its survival purposes, granted. But for most of us, when we are afraid, we feel the same levels of fear as if we were being chased down by a cheetah, and we are actually just getting ready to go into a room where there is another human being who has a camera. Or into a door where we will hand a piece of paper to another person and ask them to give us work to do. Or to talk to another human being about something that most humans beings can understand. Or of being wrong. Or, MY LEAST FAVORITE, of thinking that another person is going to think something about you. Of looking silly. Of not being able to do what we set out to do.
Guess who can't do what they set out to do?
EVERYONE ON EARTH, the first time they try.
Guess who can't do what they set out to do?
Babies.
Babies try to walk. They can't. Stupid babies. They look so silly. They shouldn't ever try that again, I mean, people might laugh at them.
Guess who else can't do what they set out to do?
Scientists. They spend their entire careers asking How? Why? How? Why? And then, when a break-through occurs, when the heavens open and knowledge is poured fourth, they say, "Oh, I figured that out, but now I need to ask How? and Why? about the next thing." Oh, we sent something to space and it exploded? Wonder why, and how to fix it...
Guess who can't do what they set out to do?
EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER ACCOMPLISHED ANYTHING BEFORE THEY ACCOMPLISHED IT.
EVERYONE.
My dad used to point out when I would say, "This is easy," "That was easy." He would remind me that it was hard just moments before, before I knew how to do it, before I figured it out, it had been impossibly hard. In the "Strength Finder's" assessment, an awesome tool that breaks down 35 core human strengths that we all have, just in different orders, there is one called "Learner." When reading through some of the info, I thought I for sure had learner, because I always loved school and I always loved knowing stuff. But then I read that "Learner" is a strength of loving going through the process of not knowing something and journeying to knowing it. I quickly adjusted. I KNEW I didn't have that strength. Learning is NOT what I like. I like KNOWING. Learning, having to learn something, just points out your stupidity on the subject!!! The process of learning SUCKS! It makes you look stupid! You don't know stuff! I have a hard time not knowing stuff. I love knowledge. I love tidbits. I collect information like some people collect stamps. Collecting information to use later for some good purpose. What I actually have, the strength I thought this was, is called "Input."
My genius Uncle Bobby, and I mean genius, genius, helped tutor me for the SATs my junior year in high school. I wanted to go to a private University, and needed a high SAT score to get the best scholarship possible. I took a class in school. I had my genius uncle tutor me. Or rather, my dad had my genius uncle tutor me. I wouldn't have willingly entered into that chasm of not knowing if my dad hadn't pushed.
I adore this uncle. He is a fount of wisdom and knowledge. For someone who loves information, especially about historical moments and people, I wish I could just have Uncle Bobby walk around with me all the time. Remember when we didn't have google or iphones? Uncle Bobby was like that. And he was not just full of information, but he loved to share it, he loved to have conversations, loved to teach, and whether he loved it or not, he would tell us stories. Oh the stories.
We would beg, we would plead that as we, my cousins, his kids, and I would fall asleep in the bunk room of my grandparents house around Christmas time, that he would tell us stories. These were better than any choose your own adventure story, because he would play to his audience. His audience of us! And he knew us, so he would make sure to add in something for everyone. Whatever we had be discussing or dreaming about or learning about during the day, this was the fodder for the stories at night. They were adventure stories about us cousins, going off to the creek or into the wilderness and we would always be magically transported somewhere else. Maybe it was a "Lord of the Flies" action tale or maybe we'd somehow land in pre-revolutionary Russia where we'd reason with the crazies of the Island or the powers that be to spare us, each pacifying them in our own way with our clever abilities. My cousin David would reason with them with his physics knowledge, or run away using his baseball skills. My cousin Rachel would sassily fight back with her clarinet playing or command of the French language. I would generally summon my super nice, friendly and gregarious personality to get out of jams, or maybe some of my Jewish uncle's understanding of my Christian beliefs, or lots of times just ballet dancing, not because I could ballet dance, but because I wanted to be able to ballet dance. Just when everything was going to blow up and our danger was at its peek, we were magically and happily transported back, generally just time for to savor of of my grandma's delicacies, warm out of the oven. They were some of the best times of my childhood, these stories, and I had a pretty darn good one.
So it seems logical that this trusted, loving, supportive, favorite uncle of mine would be a helpful and safe tutor on those dang SATs. Math, of course, I could English my way out of any sticky situation, but the numbers, oh, the numbers.
We sat at a table away from the hubbub of up to 12 aunts and uncles and 13 cousins, and began. And I could feel it. In my belly. And itt isn't until this very minute that I know exactly what I felt. But I had felt it before and I would feel it again, and that feeling was Fear. Fear and shame for not knowing or not being able to know. Fear and judgment for not being able. Fear. And I held it in for as long as I could and I tried to reason and I tried, and I shattered. I burst into sobs. I, the jubulant, happy cousin, shook and my dad, my dad who is patient and amazing and not really a math wiz himself, but a genius of me took me away and we talked. Bobby was stunned and confused. Sad, maybe, worried about me. But it wasn't him. It was Fear. And he knew something, and my dad knew something, that I've learned and will continue to learn and choose to learn and choose to act in every day of my life for the rest of my life.
It's OK not to know something.
It's OK not to know.
It's OK to not know. There is no shame in not knowing.
The pride of being unwilling to try, the smug gangster outside that is so tough is just hiding the small child that is afraid to try, to fail, to look silly.
But that child needs to feel no shame. That child needs to not fear.
It's OK not to know.
Learn.
And when you have learned, and it's so easy, remember, it wasn't always so. There was a time that that thing you do without even thinking could have paralyzed you, chilled you to the bone. That person out there doing that thing you wish you could do, once, perhaps a long time ago, once, that person said, "I've never done that before. I think I'll try."
Oh, and remember the SATs? I sat back down with my uncle and looked over some more math before that Christmas break was over. And I bet he even told us another story.
I took them SATs. I took them twice. And guess what? I missed the scholarship mark twice, too. First by 80 points, then by 20 flippin' points. Didn't get that scholarship, didn't go to that school. But I am not ashamed of that. I tried, I tried my hardest. I did what I could do, and I'm not great at math, and didn't get that score. But I am proud of the 60 point difference that I did achieve. I did that. No one else. Went to a state school, studied my passion, and have been doing it in LA for 9 years, and the last year was my most successful yet.
Might not have been enough to get me $$ at my "dream" school, but it was enough to set my life on course for the work and wonder I am blessed to experience everyday. Set me on course to know just a bit more about trying and failing and trying again. Set me on course to live the life that I couldn't have possibly dreamed of back then. Not even in one of Uncle Bobby's stories.
If you're afraid, then you're afraid. It doesn't actually matter what you are afraid of. The of is not the problem. The of has actually no value in this equation. Most of the time. If someone is pointing a gun at you, or shoving peanuts down your throat when you have a known allergy, these are reasons to be afraid. Fear has its survival purposes, granted. But for most of us, when we are afraid, we feel the same levels of fear as if we were being chased down by a cheetah, and we are actually just getting ready to go into a room where there is another human being who has a camera. Or into a door where we will hand a piece of paper to another person and ask them to give us work to do. Or to talk to another human being about something that most humans beings can understand. Or of being wrong. Or, MY LEAST FAVORITE, of thinking that another person is going to think something about you. Of looking silly. Of not being able to do what we set out to do.
Guess who can't do what they set out to do?
EVERYONE ON EARTH, the first time they try.
Guess who can't do what they set out to do?
Babies.
Babies try to walk. They can't. Stupid babies. They look so silly. They shouldn't ever try that again, I mean, people might laugh at them.
Guess who else can't do what they set out to do?
Scientists. They spend their entire careers asking How? Why? How? Why? And then, when a break-through occurs, when the heavens open and knowledge is poured fourth, they say, "Oh, I figured that out, but now I need to ask How? and Why? about the next thing." Oh, we sent something to space and it exploded? Wonder why, and how to fix it...
Guess who can't do what they set out to do?
EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER ACCOMPLISHED ANYTHING BEFORE THEY ACCOMPLISHED IT.
EVERYONE.
My dad used to point out when I would say, "This is easy," "That was easy." He would remind me that it was hard just moments before, before I knew how to do it, before I figured it out, it had been impossibly hard. In the "Strength Finder's" assessment, an awesome tool that breaks down 35 core human strengths that we all have, just in different orders, there is one called "Learner." When reading through some of the info, I thought I for sure had learner, because I always loved school and I always loved knowing stuff. But then I read that "Learner" is a strength of loving going through the process of not knowing something and journeying to knowing it. I quickly adjusted. I KNEW I didn't have that strength. Learning is NOT what I like. I like KNOWING. Learning, having to learn something, just points out your stupidity on the subject!!! The process of learning SUCKS! It makes you look stupid! You don't know stuff! I have a hard time not knowing stuff. I love knowledge. I love tidbits. I collect information like some people collect stamps. Collecting information to use later for some good purpose. What I actually have, the strength I thought this was, is called "Input."
My genius Uncle Bobby, and I mean genius, genius, helped tutor me for the SATs my junior year in high school. I wanted to go to a private University, and needed a high SAT score to get the best scholarship possible. I took a class in school. I had my genius uncle tutor me. Or rather, my dad had my genius uncle tutor me. I wouldn't have willingly entered into that chasm of not knowing if my dad hadn't pushed.
I adore this uncle. He is a fount of wisdom and knowledge. For someone who loves information, especially about historical moments and people, I wish I could just have Uncle Bobby walk around with me all the time. Remember when we didn't have google or iphones? Uncle Bobby was like that. And he was not just full of information, but he loved to share it, he loved to have conversations, loved to teach, and whether he loved it or not, he would tell us stories. Oh the stories.
We would beg, we would plead that as we, my cousins, his kids, and I would fall asleep in the bunk room of my grandparents house around Christmas time, that he would tell us stories. These were better than any choose your own adventure story, because he would play to his audience. His audience of us! And he knew us, so he would make sure to add in something for everyone. Whatever we had be discussing or dreaming about or learning about during the day, this was the fodder for the stories at night. They were adventure stories about us cousins, going off to the creek or into the wilderness and we would always be magically transported somewhere else. Maybe it was a "Lord of the Flies" action tale or maybe we'd somehow land in pre-revolutionary Russia where we'd reason with the crazies of the Island or the powers that be to spare us, each pacifying them in our own way with our clever abilities. My cousin David would reason with them with his physics knowledge, or run away using his baseball skills. My cousin Rachel would sassily fight back with her clarinet playing or command of the French language. I would generally summon my super nice, friendly and gregarious personality to get out of jams, or maybe some of my Jewish uncle's understanding of my Christian beliefs, or lots of times just ballet dancing, not because I could ballet dance, but because I wanted to be able to ballet dance. Just when everything was going to blow up and our danger was at its peek, we were magically and happily transported back, generally just time for to savor of of my grandma's delicacies, warm out of the oven. They were some of the best times of my childhood, these stories, and I had a pretty darn good one.
So it seems logical that this trusted, loving, supportive, favorite uncle of mine would be a helpful and safe tutor on those dang SATs. Math, of course, I could English my way out of any sticky situation, but the numbers, oh, the numbers.
We sat at a table away from the hubbub of up to 12 aunts and uncles and 13 cousins, and began. And I could feel it. In my belly. And itt isn't until this very minute that I know exactly what I felt. But I had felt it before and I would feel it again, and that feeling was Fear. Fear and shame for not knowing or not being able to know. Fear and judgment for not being able. Fear. And I held it in for as long as I could and I tried to reason and I tried, and I shattered. I burst into sobs. I, the jubulant, happy cousin, shook and my dad, my dad who is patient and amazing and not really a math wiz himself, but a genius of me took me away and we talked. Bobby was stunned and confused. Sad, maybe, worried about me. But it wasn't him. It was Fear. And he knew something, and my dad knew something, that I've learned and will continue to learn and choose to learn and choose to act in every day of my life for the rest of my life.
It's OK not to know something.
It's OK not to know.
It's OK to not know. There is no shame in not knowing.
The pride of being unwilling to try, the smug gangster outside that is so tough is just hiding the small child that is afraid to try, to fail, to look silly.
But that child needs to feel no shame. That child needs to not fear.
It's OK not to know.
Learn.
And when you have learned, and it's so easy, remember, it wasn't always so. There was a time that that thing you do without even thinking could have paralyzed you, chilled you to the bone. That person out there doing that thing you wish you could do, once, perhaps a long time ago, once, that person said, "I've never done that before. I think I'll try."
Oh, and remember the SATs? I sat back down with my uncle and looked over some more math before that Christmas break was over. And I bet he even told us another story.
I took them SATs. I took them twice. And guess what? I missed the scholarship mark twice, too. First by 80 points, then by 20 flippin' points. Didn't get that scholarship, didn't go to that school. But I am not ashamed of that. I tried, I tried my hardest. I did what I could do, and I'm not great at math, and didn't get that score. But I am proud of the 60 point difference that I did achieve. I did that. No one else. Went to a state school, studied my passion, and have been doing it in LA for 9 years, and the last year was my most successful yet.
Might not have been enough to get me $$ at my "dream" school, but it was enough to set my life on course for the work and wonder I am blessed to experience everyday. Set me on course to know just a bit more about trying and failing and trying again. Set me on course to live the life that I couldn't have possibly dreamed of back then. Not even in one of Uncle Bobby's stories.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Yes, I took all of these in the last few days.
For you my friends, I happily post the following. Enjoy, oh yes, please enjoy.
People warned me about the dangers of Hollywood to my soul, but I never thought it would be spelled out quite so literally.
I got all the way home before I realized I had taken in the wrong car.
There is nothing ironic about this. It is just good.
I generally say "Douche Bag Parking," but that costs more with the letters.
Silly Conan, you don't need a sponsor! (Not this kind anyway.)
Love!
Silly Conan, you don't need a sponsor! (Not this kind anyway.)
Love!
Thursday, September 19, 2013
One week later
I've learned a few things this week, this first week of my 31st year.
Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to write this thing every day. Heck NO! Not in the way I would want to anyway, not in a reflective, non tell-you-what-i-did-that-day kind of way! Unless I carve out that kind of time (which is totally doable, if I choose to do it,) it ain't gonna happen. And maybe it doesn't need to? Or maybe it does and I just have to figure out the hows. I ain't no morning person, oh honey. It took me an hour to wake up from a flippin nap. I realized today that I shouldn't have been going on and on about my long nap to my friend with a 4 1/2 month old, but there you go, that's me. Mornings are hard for me. And now that I have a husband who goes to bed, it just feel wrong to stay up till 3am. So that puts us in the couple important times a week category, or the brief mention thing a day, or somewhere in between.
So here's a thought from the weekend that I don't want to be forgotten.
Saturday, Dan and I shot a pilot for a web series that Dan wrote for us. And here is something I believe. It doesn't even have to be good, it just has to be done. And I think it might even have some good in there. Let us worry about good later. We did it. He's been writing for months, been taking time and putting it into this project. He's not a self proclaimed writer. It's not his passion or training. But he wanted to do this for us. To give us a project that we could do together, that would show us off in the way we want to be seen. And he did it. He went to Starbucks a lot, left home and sat and focused. We had hard and awkward work sessions. I got scared a lot. I got overwhelmed. We scheduled and rescheduled. Did I mention there is a baby in the script? We got a baby. No one is gong to do it for you, no one is going to produce this for you. So we did it. And our director was awesome, brought the camera equipment. Some friends let us borrow their apartment, and I didn't know our characters were cool until we had the location set. Our characters are going to be thought of as super cool cause of the great 'set.' Dan even asked a couple of friends to help, and those friends said yes(!)!!! Imagine that! We had our baby and her mama on set and the baby did great! We did great! I only had a tiny melt down (threw a tiny fit, whatever you want to call it, cause I was scared) and we moved on, through the fear and got it done. We did that. And then we went to two birthday parties. My favorite part of the day was the nap in between. I told you I like to sleep. But that kind of sleep is deserved. It's not running from the fear, its facing it, exhausting yourself and resting up, ready to celebrate.
Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to write this thing every day. Heck NO! Not in the way I would want to anyway, not in a reflective, non tell-you-what-i-did-that-day kind of way! Unless I carve out that kind of time (which is totally doable, if I choose to do it,) it ain't gonna happen. And maybe it doesn't need to? Or maybe it does and I just have to figure out the hows. I ain't no morning person, oh honey. It took me an hour to wake up from a flippin nap. I realized today that I shouldn't have been going on and on about my long nap to my friend with a 4 1/2 month old, but there you go, that's me. Mornings are hard for me. And now that I have a husband who goes to bed, it just feel wrong to stay up till 3am. So that puts us in the couple important times a week category, or the brief mention thing a day, or somewhere in between.
So here's a thought from the weekend that I don't want to be forgotten.
Saturday, Dan and I shot a pilot for a web series that Dan wrote for us. And here is something I believe. It doesn't even have to be good, it just has to be done. And I think it might even have some good in there. Let us worry about good later. We did it. He's been writing for months, been taking time and putting it into this project. He's not a self proclaimed writer. It's not his passion or training. But he wanted to do this for us. To give us a project that we could do together, that would show us off in the way we want to be seen. And he did it. He went to Starbucks a lot, left home and sat and focused. We had hard and awkward work sessions. I got scared a lot. I got overwhelmed. We scheduled and rescheduled. Did I mention there is a baby in the script? We got a baby. No one is gong to do it for you, no one is going to produce this for you. So we did it. And our director was awesome, brought the camera equipment. Some friends let us borrow their apartment, and I didn't know our characters were cool until we had the location set. Our characters are going to be thought of as super cool cause of the great 'set.' Dan even asked a couple of friends to help, and those friends said yes(!)!!! Imagine that! We had our baby and her mama on set and the baby did great! We did great! I only had a tiny melt down (threw a tiny fit, whatever you want to call it, cause I was scared) and we moved on, through the fear and got it done. We did that. And then we went to two birthday parties. My favorite part of the day was the nap in between. I told you I like to sleep. But that kind of sleep is deserved. It's not running from the fear, its facing it, exhausting yourself and resting up, ready to celebrate.
And now I am going to go to bed and then try to wake up in the morning.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Truly Lovely Creations sometimes take 4 million hours
After googling for the 11 millionth time how to take a screen shot, and my computer inexplicably not doing what it used to be able to do, even with the pc erganomic keyboard that I bought for $4 at Salvation Army, I took a pic with my phone and plugged it in to this 97 year old mac to show you what I did today. (And yesterday, and the day before...)
Did I use Word to create an image based document? Yes. Was it a good idea? No. Is it done? Yes?
This is for my mom. She make amazing things, and people for that matter. My bro and I rock! Good job mom! She makes amazing curtains and pillows and bed spreads and dresses and alters everything I own so it fits just right and she even changed the neckline on my vintage 1920's wedding dress. Did we both burst out crying after having helding our breath when she made the cut into the silk and it was perfect? Yes, oh yes.
She also makes incredible tote bags. They are stunning. Thick upholstry fabric, remnants that many designers would throw out, she turns into beautiful, sturdy, functional bags. She calls them love bags. We decided today that love totes is better, because I always think of anatomical parts when I say love bags. So, about the LOVE TOTES, she makes them, would like to sell them, but instead of selling them, she GIVES THEM AWAY!!!!!!!!
OVER AND OVER SHE GIVES THEM AWAY!!!!
She says, "It makes me feel so good to give them away, and it's not worth my time to make any less than $60-$75. I'd rather give them away." I ask, "You'd rather give them away than make $30-$40?" "OH YES!!!" And she has given 700 away. 700.
Ok, not 700, but a lot. You probably have one.
She is not a computer person. She can not turn the thing on, which is a major accomplishment. She can check her email, but that doesn't mean that the email account doesn't inexplicably eat the email with the link to a funny commercial I did. Her account has done this twice.
(Reader's note: Email accounts cannot eat email.)
So, with computers and my mom, Etsy is not an option. And a couple years have gone by.
Why couldn't I open an Etsy account for her? Why? Absolutely no reason.
So JaceDesignsonEtsy has one bag for sale. For $75 damn it!
And I didn't do my list of things for a couple of days because I made her this:
Isn't it nice?
I was going to show you the other thing, but my husband tells me its time to go to boo boo, which I believe is his new word for bed and so I will listen to him and show you tomorrow.
Lovely. Truly lovely.
I hate annoying questions at the end of blogs. They are like worksheets in elementary school. Supposed to be good for something, but mostly just boring.
So in that spirit of love and support, what does your mom that's awesome?
ldb
Did I use Word to create an image based document? Yes. Was it a good idea? No. Is it done? Yes?
This is for my mom. She make amazing things, and people for that matter. My bro and I rock! Good job mom! She makes amazing curtains and pillows and bed spreads and dresses and alters everything I own so it fits just right and she even changed the neckline on my vintage 1920's wedding dress. Did we both burst out crying after having helding our breath when she made the cut into the silk and it was perfect? Yes, oh yes.
She also makes incredible tote bags. They are stunning. Thick upholstry fabric, remnants that many designers would throw out, she turns into beautiful, sturdy, functional bags. She calls them love bags. We decided today that love totes is better, because I always think of anatomical parts when I say love bags. So, about the LOVE TOTES, she makes them, would like to sell them, but instead of selling them, she GIVES THEM AWAY!!!!!!!!
OVER AND OVER SHE GIVES THEM AWAY!!!!
She says, "It makes me feel so good to give them away, and it's not worth my time to make any less than $60-$75. I'd rather give them away." I ask, "You'd rather give them away than make $30-$40?" "OH YES!!!" And she has given 700 away. 700.
Ok, not 700, but a lot. You probably have one.
She is not a computer person. She can not turn the thing on, which is a major accomplishment. She can check her email, but that doesn't mean that the email account doesn't inexplicably eat the email with the link to a funny commercial I did. Her account has done this twice.
(Reader's note: Email accounts cannot eat email.)
So, with computers and my mom, Etsy is not an option. And a couple years have gone by.
Why couldn't I open an Etsy account for her? Why? Absolutely no reason.
So JaceDesignsonEtsy has one bag for sale. For $75 damn it!
And I didn't do my list of things for a couple of days because I made her this:
Isn't it nice?
I was going to show you the other thing, but my husband tells me its time to go to boo boo, which I believe is his new word for bed and so I will listen to him and show you tomorrow.
Lovely. Truly lovely.
I hate annoying questions at the end of blogs. They are like worksheets in elementary school. Supposed to be good for something, but mostly just boring.
So in that spirit of love and support, what does your mom that's awesome?
ldb
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
31 (year old) days of my life
Written last night:
Tomorrow I turn 31. These are the things I wrote down on my list to do today.
I did none of them. At least none of them until 6:30pm. Instead, I wandered back through my computer, found old forgotten projects, video clips from years ago, researched possible new work places, made an Etsy page for my mom. Wondered about the work I'm doing--is there any to do? I tried for the thousandth time to jump start getting my theatrical demo edited. I found an old life coach session that I had recorded in April '09. I listened and learned from '09 me. And I asked '13 me the same questions--money making work! What I had just been searching for!?! Said things like, "I've been at my job for 3 years." If only I would have known I was only half way done! That I would get to leave only after 6 years! I watched the only comedy clip I've ever recorded, 30 seconds of stand up material and it was funnier than I remember--or actually it was funny period. Funny enough to be proud of, worth showing. But I never showed it.
I was prettier than I ever thought I was. I'm not a terribly tough critic, I'm blessed to not struggle as intensely with many of the demons that women these days wrestle with. I'm very thankful that I haven't been to terribly hard on myself, at least since 7th grade, but seeing myself in '08, '09, all the way back to '06(?) I was really pretty! I didn't need to fuss so much about my hair and my eyebrows and my blackheads. [I still don't have to fuss so much about my blackheads, but we all have our thorns in our sides.]
I feel pretty now, I know I'm funny, I know I'm smart. But what do I do with all of that? I think I wondered then, and I wonder now. These TINY ever so few messages from the outer space alien who is me in the past... Honestly, I wish I had more of them. I wish I had posted a few of these, gotten a bit of momentum, found or at least searched from my voice--I thought I was staying away from shameless self promotion--just check out my very first blog on this site to see that, but it wasn't that. I see now that it was shameful fear of not being perfect, of my creativity being rough or bad even, that kept me away.
I recently heard that the difference between making good art and bad art infinitesimally small. Nothing in comparison to the infinite void between creating something at all, and not. That is where the giant leap comes. Tweeking something to make it good is a snap. But if you have nothing to start with...
And the years pass.
30 was good to me. Very good. It felt like coming home. I like to joke that every day I get closer to the actual age I am inside--45. But seriously, when I turned 30 I was like, "FINALLY!" Pieces of myself started falling into place. I got to leave a job I hated and do a job I loved, I booked more acting work in that one year than I had in almost all the rest combined, and definitely more paid acting work. We began learning how to manage money, something that growing up on the lower income side of things rattles me to the bone. Learning that children do what feels right, but adults make a plan and stick with it. I learned how to enter an audition room as myself and stay myself the whole time I'm in there. I learned that if someone offers you a role, the first thing you should do is say, "Thank you, may I read the script." (Also, if someone offers you a roll, just eat is, it is probably delicious.) I learned that my husband is completely spot on right 95%-99% of the time and I should listen to his gut like classical music--it will calm me and make me much smarter. I learned how much I can do without and I learned to push through in a way I never have before. I see the lessons of my life, current and old ones beginning to fit together and make sense in really freeing ways. I'm learning how to be a better wife, wiser human and better creator.
Which brings us to 31. I recently heard that the brain does this funny thing. It remembers the extreme highs and the extreme lows, literally nothing else. This might be a bit of an exaggeration, but generally, as life goes on, the little moments, the things that make us laugh or tear up, or breathe deeper or frustrate us to no end--the real "stuff of life," disappear like a vapor. Maybe that's why the Bible says are lives are like a, well, vapor... We forget every moment we don't record. I know this is true, because of the studies, and I know this is true because it takes me a full minute to recall what I did yesterday, let alone how I felt about it or what thoughts I had along the way. Proof, meet pudding. Now get in there.
Also-shameless self promotion girl. I don't watch may vlogs or read many blog, sometimes I check out recipes, but mostly I just get jealous of people's perfect lives and gorgeous picture taking abilities so I tend to stay away like someone in recovery. But I was looking for cute short hair cuts recently, and I found this girl, this creative, lovely girl who was shy and scared and she challenged herself to 1 year of SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION. And she did it. And guess what she got? She found her voice. She cut her hair off, and she went to London, and she became someone she had always wanted to be. And she has proof, a home grown documentary of this journey. That's not self promotion--that's self discovery. And I'm not lazy, I'm afraid, and it's time to kick fear in the face. Its time to HUMBLE MYSELF, to admit that I am no better than anyone else who needs to use the internet to get one step closer to living the life they want. HUMBLE MYSELF and say, yes, somethings won't be great, but you know what can't be great? Things that don't exist. Realize that in every historical era, HUMAN BEINGS have wanted to be heard, and be remembered, and need a space to get some of the crazy gunk out of their heads and onto paper to better understand what it means to be yourself as an individual and what it means to be human. Blogs are just our version of writting letters and journals. And it's OK.
It's not about finding an audience, it's about finding myself, my voice. If anyone wants to peek in on how my journey is going, join me, you are welcome! I'm writing this for myself, to create a discipline, to honor a structure. And for anyone else who wants to journey into authenticity, creativity, relationships, money battles/victories, day jobs, making ends meet (and making ends meat, as I thought the adage went, more on that later...) getting their heads out of their butts like I need to, self sacrifice, humility, gratitude and believeing. Believing it is all possible.
And I do know my audience. You are friends and people who care about living well, living kindly, people who get distracted and bored and frustrated and celebrate and blow off some steam and keep going. I've been shying away from Facebook recently, it can be a dangerous space emotionally, as we are all learning. That we feel in this generation that we have to brag about the good parts of our life, or rant, or be silent. But I stepped back in a few days ago three times, first announcing I was finally producing a play I've been working on for three years. Then I posted how my company won a very cool award and we got to go to a fancy party. But those two posts back to back weren't the whole story of that day, they weren't the whole truth, so I posted that I also had also, doubts and fears and the whole story is full of all of this, the celebrations and the challenges and I'm exhausted from hearing and promoting only the parts of our stories that make for good marketing. We aren't companies, we don't have to prove, we have to discover. A couple of people liked the first and second posts. 46 people liked the third. 46 people haven't been to may Facebook page in years. One of the 'popular' guys I knew in high school liked that post. People were coming out of the woodwork to say yes. So I say YES. Yes to authentic journeying for yourself, but in a shared space. Lord knows I would rather that shared space be an English country house in 1890 or a village church yard in 1703, but we are gathered together in 2013 in our own way, and I'd rather gather than not.
The 31 [years old] days of my life. We begin today. No. We are already along the path some ways. Today we begin the Captain's Log. Bon Voyage.
And Happy Birthday.
ldb
p.s. I just heard yesterday how if you don't invite your spouse into your dreams, you won't stop dreaming, you'll just stop dreaming with your spouse. Terrifying. I'm going to ask dlb if he wants to join me here...
Mondays: Gratitude List
Tuesday: Observations/Comedy
Wednesdays: Stories
Thursdays: Shout Out
Fridays: Food
Saturdays/Sundays: Optional/Bonus
Tomorrow I turn 31. These are the things I wrote down on my list to do today.
I did none of them. At least none of them until 6:30pm. Instead, I wandered back through my computer, found old forgotten projects, video clips from years ago, researched possible new work places, made an Etsy page for my mom. Wondered about the work I'm doing--is there any to do? I tried for the thousandth time to jump start getting my theatrical demo edited. I found an old life coach session that I had recorded in April '09. I listened and learned from '09 me. And I asked '13 me the same questions--money making work! What I had just been searching for!?! Said things like, "I've been at my job for 3 years." If only I would have known I was only half way done! That I would get to leave only after 6 years! I watched the only comedy clip I've ever recorded, 30 seconds of stand up material and it was funnier than I remember--or actually it was funny period. Funny enough to be proud of, worth showing. But I never showed it.
I was prettier than I ever thought I was. I'm not a terribly tough critic, I'm blessed to not struggle as intensely with many of the demons that women these days wrestle with. I'm very thankful that I haven't been to terribly hard on myself, at least since 7th grade, but seeing myself in '08, '09, all the way back to '06(?) I was really pretty! I didn't need to fuss so much about my hair and my eyebrows and my blackheads. [I still don't have to fuss so much about my blackheads, but we all have our thorns in our sides.]
I feel pretty now, I know I'm funny, I know I'm smart. But what do I do with all of that? I think I wondered then, and I wonder now. These TINY ever so few messages from the outer space alien who is me in the past... Honestly, I wish I had more of them. I wish I had posted a few of these, gotten a bit of momentum, found or at least searched from my voice--I thought I was staying away from shameless self promotion--just check out my very first blog on this site to see that, but it wasn't that. I see now that it was shameful fear of not being perfect, of my creativity being rough or bad even, that kept me away.
I recently heard that the difference between making good art and bad art infinitesimally small. Nothing in comparison to the infinite void between creating something at all, and not. That is where the giant leap comes. Tweeking something to make it good is a snap. But if you have nothing to start with...
And the years pass.
30 was good to me. Very good. It felt like coming home. I like to joke that every day I get closer to the actual age I am inside--45. But seriously, when I turned 30 I was like, "FINALLY!" Pieces of myself started falling into place. I got to leave a job I hated and do a job I loved, I booked more acting work in that one year than I had in almost all the rest combined, and definitely more paid acting work. We began learning how to manage money, something that growing up on the lower income side of things rattles me to the bone. Learning that children do what feels right, but adults make a plan and stick with it. I learned how to enter an audition room as myself and stay myself the whole time I'm in there. I learned that if someone offers you a role, the first thing you should do is say, "Thank you, may I read the script." (Also, if someone offers you a roll, just eat is, it is probably delicious.) I learned that my husband is completely spot on right 95%-99% of the time and I should listen to his gut like classical music--it will calm me and make me much smarter. I learned how much I can do without and I learned to push through in a way I never have before. I see the lessons of my life, current and old ones beginning to fit together and make sense in really freeing ways. I'm learning how to be a better wife, wiser human and better creator.
Which brings us to 31. I recently heard that the brain does this funny thing. It remembers the extreme highs and the extreme lows, literally nothing else. This might be a bit of an exaggeration, but generally, as life goes on, the little moments, the things that make us laugh or tear up, or breathe deeper or frustrate us to no end--the real "stuff of life," disappear like a vapor. Maybe that's why the Bible says are lives are like a, well, vapor... We forget every moment we don't record. I know this is true, because of the studies, and I know this is true because it takes me a full minute to recall what I did yesterday, let alone how I felt about it or what thoughts I had along the way. Proof, meet pudding. Now get in there.
Also-shameless self promotion girl. I don't watch may vlogs or read many blog, sometimes I check out recipes, but mostly I just get jealous of people's perfect lives and gorgeous picture taking abilities so I tend to stay away like someone in recovery. But I was looking for cute short hair cuts recently, and I found this girl, this creative, lovely girl who was shy and scared and she challenged herself to 1 year of SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION. And she did it. And guess what she got? She found her voice. She cut her hair off, and she went to London, and she became someone she had always wanted to be. And she has proof, a home grown documentary of this journey. That's not self promotion--that's self discovery. And I'm not lazy, I'm afraid, and it's time to kick fear in the face. Its time to HUMBLE MYSELF, to admit that I am no better than anyone else who needs to use the internet to get one step closer to living the life they want. HUMBLE MYSELF and say, yes, somethings won't be great, but you know what can't be great? Things that don't exist. Realize that in every historical era, HUMAN BEINGS have wanted to be heard, and be remembered, and need a space to get some of the crazy gunk out of their heads and onto paper to better understand what it means to be yourself as an individual and what it means to be human. Blogs are just our version of writting letters and journals. And it's OK.
It's not about finding an audience, it's about finding myself, my voice. If anyone wants to peek in on how my journey is going, join me, you are welcome! I'm writing this for myself, to create a discipline, to honor a structure. And for anyone else who wants to journey into authenticity, creativity, relationships, money battles/victories, day jobs, making ends meet (and making ends meat, as I thought the adage went, more on that later...) getting their heads out of their butts like I need to, self sacrifice, humility, gratitude and believeing. Believing it is all possible.
And I do know my audience. You are friends and people who care about living well, living kindly, people who get distracted and bored and frustrated and celebrate and blow off some steam and keep going. I've been shying away from Facebook recently, it can be a dangerous space emotionally, as we are all learning. That we feel in this generation that we have to brag about the good parts of our life, or rant, or be silent. But I stepped back in a few days ago three times, first announcing I was finally producing a play I've been working on for three years. Then I posted how my company won a very cool award and we got to go to a fancy party. But those two posts back to back weren't the whole story of that day, they weren't the whole truth, so I posted that I also had also, doubts and fears and the whole story is full of all of this, the celebrations and the challenges and I'm exhausted from hearing and promoting only the parts of our stories that make for good marketing. We aren't companies, we don't have to prove, we have to discover. A couple of people liked the first and second posts. 46 people liked the third. 46 people haven't been to may Facebook page in years. One of the 'popular' guys I knew in high school liked that post. People were coming out of the woodwork to say yes. So I say YES. Yes to authentic journeying for yourself, but in a shared space. Lord knows I would rather that shared space be an English country house in 1890 or a village church yard in 1703, but we are gathered together in 2013 in our own way, and I'd rather gather than not.
The 31 [years old] days of my life. We begin today. No. We are already along the path some ways. Today we begin the Captain's Log. Bon Voyage.
And Happy Birthday.
ldb
p.s. I just heard yesterday how if you don't invite your spouse into your dreams, you won't stop dreaming, you'll just stop dreaming with your spouse. Terrifying. I'm going to ask dlb if he wants to join me here...
Mondays: Gratitude List
Tuesday: Observations/Comedy
Wednesdays: Stories
Thursdays: Shout Out
Fridays: Food
Saturdays/Sundays: Optional/Bonus
Prepare ye the way for the blog
Well, well, well, look who the lolcat dragged in.
It is coming.
My friends, it is coming. The blog 4 1/2 years in the making.
7am, or maybe 9:30am pacific standard time. Tomorrow. Be here or be... just read it later, that's how the internet works.
My first post was written at 1:52 am. This one is at 1:26am. I've grown, these last years, I really have. at this rate I'll be blogging at midnight by my 70s.
What did I say?
Oh, yes, it is coming.
It is coming.
My friends, it is coming. The blog 4 1/2 years in the making.
7am, or maybe 9:30am pacific standard time. Tomorrow. Be here or be... just read it later, that's how the internet works.
My first post was written at 1:52 am. This one is at 1:26am. I've grown, these last years, I really have. at this rate I'll be blogging at midnight by my 70s.
What did I say?
Oh, yes, it is coming.
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