Tonight, I have a one man show in store for me. I try not to analyze these things too much, because then I know I will end up hating much more than I should, myself included in that list.
There always is something. And when hopelessness rears its ugly head, I find this is often a healing way to start fighting it. These are the moments in my day that I am grateful for. (I’ll start with the tangible, because I almost always think with my stomach. I’m okay with that.)
Hearty, two hands needed vegan deli wraps, with avocado, tofu, soy cheese, and vegan aoli. Delish. Also fruit. Period.
Central air conditioning. I’m afraid the South wins that one.
(This next one may take a moment.)
I will never cease to be grateful for and feel blessed to work with passionate, talented people. For about two hours every afternoon this week I have watched such a woman glide about the rehearsal space with the vibrant enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. She loves every moment of the rehearsal process. She is made up of guts, steel and fire; she does not rest until we can all feel the carnal energy prevalent at any moment in a scene. How does she do this? Clearly, she is experienced, and clearly, she is talented, but I firmly believe that one is not the cause of the other. Rather, she seems to be to be so talented because she doesn’t think about talent. She doesn’t judge people by their sets of acquired skills. What’s important is what is there, in front of her, for her to work with, sculpt, and adapt. And isn’t that the true essence of art? We must take what is in front of us, mold it, shape it, and create something we are proud of. We also must love the process. For all the frustrations, we must love it. We must feed off of it.
The beautiful thing about theatre is that the moments actors strive for and the moments audiences live for are the things of human essence, of almost supernatural, ethereal presence, that cannot be replicated, duplicated, or shot and printed on a poster like a commercial Cherry Doctor Pepper ad. I may not ever get that commercial job, because my lips are thin and my hair is short. But nobody’s telling me that I can’t dance, and nobody’s telling me that I can’t swoop around a stage, and nobody’s telling me that I can’t affect the life of a young person with my knowledge and my own experiences. People may tell me I can’t be this or that or play this role, but nobody’s telling me I can’t write down my thoughts and create my own passions. Nobody’s telling me, and I like it that way.
Because at the end of the day, you just have to do it.
What is that that calms me down?
It’s my own two feet, you see.
Why should I not make a sound?
You’re not good enough for me.
My schedules and my plannings
are the way I run my head.
But the world around me turns, somehow,
while I put butter on my bread.
The rhymes begin to calm me;
the clouds begin to part.
There’s still this awful yearning
that’s tugging from my heart.
But still I walk on down the road
not knowing where it leads
Without a sense of final prize,
just peace amongst the breeze.
And if I dream while I’m awake
Then hold me in the door.
I’ll tell myself the truth, you see,
For I am no false hope.
The honesty that longing brings
is quite enough to cope.
Someday will happen.
Someday will come.
Just like the day of morrow–
The trees truly are beautiful
and breathe away my sorrow.
So in conclusion, walking
is instant therapy.
Money isn’t heaven
and heaven is a tree.
When the going gets tough, you power through. When the going gets rough, well, then it’s interesting again.
More than anything I feel this trip was about soul searching. I am saying “was” as if it’s already over; and it hasn’t even started yet.
I’ve been in Minneapolis for approximately thirty hours and have already met some wonderful people and am really looking forward to my job. Still, I find that my heart weighs heavy and my soul is tired. Apparently, when you fly, your body moves so fast that your soul cannot keep up. If that is the case, then I must be flying without knowing it.
There is no perfection. There is only illusion versus what is tangible, what is real, what is present. As I write this I work hard to focus on the chocolate brown of the doors, the tapestries hung around me, and the smell of the old wood. I like these things. These things are real, and they make me smile.
Happiness doesn’t have to be complicated. Happiness isn’t a scheme, a plan, an advertisement, or a destination. Happiness is a state of being, just like sadness or anger, but the difference is, we don’t strive to be bitter or angry or sad. We work towards happiness, because we can get the most accomplished and be the most pleasant when we are happy. Because happiness is, and should be, natural. Happiness should be the neutral. Happiness is enough.
Quinoa. The pseudo grain that is not a grain, but a goosefoot. I am also grateful for the word “goosefoot.”
Incidentally, goosefeet work wonders with sauteed vegetables and a sauce of tahini/sunflower butter, lemon juice, serrano chiles, soy sauce, and garlic.
Impeccable Public Transportation.
Rabbits. Not an animal that boasts a lot of thought, at least to me, especially since the only times I’ve seen them in the south is on a plate with potatoes, though they probably exist in small numbers a few yards away from a rifle or two (I don’t hunt).
Tonight, on my first walk around the city, I saw: one vegetable garden, two rabbits dining on a luscious front lawn, and three stilt walking fire dancers.
Yes, I said stilt walking fire dancers. Yet somehow the fact that this family of hares stared me square in the face without a second thought astounded me more.
Trees. Like this one.
Oh my, Blogger, you make me blush! After all we’ve barely been introduced, and already you’re asking me to go writing with you. What would your mother say?
I admit that, from time to time, I may have stumbled upon your sight, eyes wide and fingers poised at the down arrow, ogling all your pretty words and pictures, but never, never would I have thought myself lucky enough to have a date with you. And whenever I want! No sitting wistfully by the phone waiting for you to call–I just log on and there you are, ready for me to have my way with you.
A girl could get used to this.