Here we go

So here I am again, with my thoughts turned up too loud and I can’t seem to get myself straight. I find solace in a soy milked cup of peppermint tea, Belle and Sebastian, and the thought of Papa on the other end of the phone. But I’m still happy. Confused, yes, but not frightened, unless I tell myself to be, unless I talk myself out of living again. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. And I won’t let anybody do that, either, because I know that nobody else can see my soul and read my mind, and nobody else knows what I am thinking or what I am feeling, not truly, not deeply. 


I am so badly wanting to dance non stop. I have always loved a classroom setting. Being in dance classes are some of the most fully integrated times of my days, and I miss them. It makes me smile that I get to relive that a little bit every day this week as a semi instructor. Movement is so pure, so raw, so whole. I just want to take yummy movement classes all day and drink tea at night. That’s plausible, right?


I apologize for the roller coaster of emotions and would very much like to deepen the integration of this blog with the world around me, but right now I’m busy existing in the world around me. So for now I hope it remains a little piece of inspiration for you, and for me, and for the world around us.


Namaste.

Finding Something to be Grateful For. Again.

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. 

Restorative yoga.

(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.