You Can't Get Enough, But Enough Ain't the Test

When I was 15, I had it all figured out. 

Obviously, if I did, I would have two Oscars by now. 

Where are my Oscars?!

In any case, have you ever been so sure of what you wanted,  pursued a dream so relentlessly, for almost 10 years, that you've found you are no longer sure thats what you want? Don't get me wrong, I still want that dream very much. But I am convinced that the conventional method of obtaining it is not for me. 

Its funny how words can change their meaning - not literally, but how you interpret them. I used to look at compromise like a dirty word. I was focused - I did not compromise my goal. Nowadays, I don't feel like I dreamt big enough. Why can I not have my cake and eat it to? Compromise - I will relentlessly pursue my dream, but I can have enough time to focus on friends, family, relationships, faith -- I don't have to work every waking hour of the day on becoming a top notch costume designer.

Sacrifice, my dear starving artists, sacrifice. We must take pieces of our souls and sacrifice them to our art. For me, I prefer that sacrifice to not be moral or mental. And honestly, I'd simply like to go out to eat once in a while and not scan the menu for the lowest price first. 

I've learned that I shouldn't have to work every evening and weekend for next to no money. What does that get me? Taking every gig, treating them with equal importance, building the resumé... what good does that do if I am burning myself out and letting life pass me by? When you begin to lose passion for your favorite occupation, it is painful to your core. When you wonder, can I do something else? I've been working in this field for so long, is it possible to take a break, pursue something else for a bit, until I recharge my heart?

I've got a birthday coming up, and even at a young age, I realize that I can't waste time. There's not enough time in this life to be spending it with heartache, tears and working for pennies. Compromise - I can work on my dreams, and work on having the life I want as well. 

I have faith that it will all work out well, if I give it up to Him, and focus on being a human again - not a costume-design robot.

I don't know where I'm going from here, but I promise it won't be boring. 

David Bowie (and Me).

No one start singing that Sara Bareilles Song.

Being brave is not easy.
In fact, the most amazing people to me in the world, are truly brave men and women.
There's no doubt that there are different kinds of bravery.

There's bravery in be willing to lay down your life for your country.

There's bravery in be willing to lay down your life for your God.

There are men and women missionaries in Iraq right now, with full knowledge of ISIS baring down on them, ready to be DECAPITATED for their faith -- they have full ability to leave or denounce their beliefs. That's pretty damn brave.

There's bravery in being honest, in openly sharing your feelings - whether it's as simple as telling your friend she's being silly for worrying about a color of candles, or as complex as revealing a side of yourself you never show, with your shortcomings and all.

 There's bravery in listening to someone tell you horrible things about yourself and still being able to respond with love.

There's bravery in holding someone while they cry and telling them things will be okay, when you yourself want to cry.

There is bravery in accepting yourself for who you are. There is bravery in acknowledging that there are things about yourself that need to be fixed. There is bravery in realizing they cannot be fixed on your own.

There is bravery in acknowledging that things are bigger than you are. There is bravery in putting someone's welfare ahead of your own.

There's beauty in bravery. Being brave requires showing that you care a great deal. It means being vulnerable, emotionally or physically. It is scary and difficult.

The greatest things you will ever do are the bravest things you will ever do.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom." 

Things They Don't Tell You When They Say "Never Eat Gluten Again"

When I found out last August that I could no longer have gluten, my main thoughts involved bread and pasta. Little did I know, I would feel amazing and much healthier, despite my lack of wheat-laden products. That being said, I'm very happy I'm gluten-free. I'm happy there are so many options, and I'm happy I have friends and family who are considerate of my needs.

But its not an easy life. Without careful and due diligence, you can screw up.

Screwing up is easy to do. You misread a box of Captain Crunch and rationalize that "oat flour" is probably safe. It's 730pm and its the only cereal in the house. You're starving. Look at that little Napoleon-wannabe, he's practically begging you to eat that crunchy goodness. The box doesn't say "contains wheat", and oats don't have gluten.

It's safe right?
You rationalize that it probably is. You'll be fine.

[What you don't know during this process, is that "oat flour" can actually contain up to 50% wheat flour without having to report it... and it does just that.]

Gluten tastes good.
Like daaaaamn gluten, can I has your numbah? Your momma must be a meter maid cause gluten, you've got fiiiiiine written all over you.

It takes a few minutes, but if you have no gluten in your system and you suddenly eat gluten {especially if you medically cannot have gluten}, you STRAIGHT UP FEEL LIKE DEATH. Monty Python better swing by with the "bring out your dead" skit, cause that's where you go. If you're like me, you get a massive headache, stomachache (and I'm freezing cold... in the middle of summer.) All you will want is your bed and to go to sleep. You might even cry a little for no reason.

Once you taste blood, you want more.

Here's what I don't get about "bandwagon-jumping" Gluten Free People. If you CAN eat gluten, WHY WOULDNT YOU? I'm here, sick and miserable because I ate gluten, and yet.... I want more. I would eat that whole damn box, with that sick little naval bastard smiling maniacally all the while, if I wouldn't die. And half of me irrationally wants to go do that right now. So, now, after months of not screwing up, and almost being able to pretend that "rice bread" and "corn pasta" are just as good as the real deal, its back to stage one of craving all that gluten.

So please, if you can eat gluten, do. Be my gluten proxy. I'll be over here, in a blanket in the corner, trying not think about Captain Crunch

Find your inner Iggy!

As a freelance theater professional, I often fall into a time-wasting portion of life called "between gigs" or *coughcough* fun!employment... We are so used to rushing around, from gig to gig, fitting to fitting, shopping, pulling, buying, sewing - that when I have at least a few weeks before my next gig even begins to get underway, I have no idea what to do with myself.

After a day or so of playing catch-up with all the neglected-during-work-chores, I find myself utterly bored. So I schedule some plans with friends, I start a new workout routine, and I browse the internet looking for more gigs. But let's be real, it doesn't take all that time to daily see if there's any new job posted on the all of three sites that jobs for people like me might be listed. There's only so many times I can refresh my facebook newsfeed and only so much Netflix marathoning that can occur before I want to gouge my eyes out.

So I start little crafty, personal projects, and do what any good Catholic girl who seriously needs to get out of the house does... off to daily Mass! Today happens to be the feast day of St Ignatius of Loyola. Pretty much everyone knows St. Iggy as the founder of the Jesuits (which he is), and the author of The Spiritual Exercises.

St Iggy (all his friends call him that, okay??) was a soldier until about the age of 30, until he took a cannonball to the leg! He was pretty badass like that. While laid up at home, surely questioning this turn of events and what it meant for his career, he picked up a book about the saints!

 

So, unlike me, Iggy was productive with his time "between gigs" and decided that he was going to change his career focus and become a soldier... for Christ. (Spoiler alert! He does it!). In any case, despite not being educated (he went back to grade school!), and under fire from the Spanish Inquistion (which no one expected, right? No one ever expects that), Iggy gathered a bunch of his dudes, and founded the Jesuit Missionaries. His friends were a little reluctant at points (See: Frances Xavier), but this group of men founded a group that thrives on to this very day - there are over 22,000 Jesuits now!

So basically what I am saying, is that boredom can force the mind to get a little creative and dream big AND the bonus message is that a small group of friends, focused on a goal, have the power to achieve anything. Both are things that theater professionals and those involved in youth ministry alike need to remember.

Here Comes the Train Upon the Track

Tonight I saw the movie "Begin Again", which is directed by John Carney of "Once" fame.

I was first introduced to John Carney's musical world thanks to a trip to NYC. My friend and I had tried to get tickets to see Newsies, but when it was sold out, we jumped at the tix for the Tony-Award Winning Broadway adaptation of Once. Not going to lie - I was totally and completely enthralled for the entire two+ hours of the performance. I laughed, I cried - I had only agreed to going because Arthur Darvill was starring in it.

Boy, am I glad I did. I gobbled up the film shortly after that, and I'm wicked happy that I was able to see the new film in theaters. Something about Carney's films takes me away, transports me into the world that I want to see through my headphones. There's a bit about two characters spending an entire date, walking around the city, sharing music.

Beautiful new music is shared with us from these films, but this isn't an in your face "Chorus Line" - the music is from the character's souls, but is also very very real. Its a fantasy that speaks to me, and certainly I am not alone, in thinking that sometimes music can convey our feelings better than our words can.

It reminds me of a Frank Turner song (it always seems to, doesn't it?) The song is "I Still Believe", and the lyrics are:

And I still believe that everyone,
Can find a song for every time they've lost and every time they've won.
So just remember folks we not just saving lives, we're saving souls,
And we're having fun.

It makes me wish I had even an ounce of musical talent, if I could write a song for every life situation I come across, if I could help someone live a little more fully through it.

Because really, when you come down to it, these movies are simply about two souls saving each other with music.

How awesome is that?

On Display

Far too often, we live life in a glass case. Like butterflies in a museum, we let our worth be determined by those who pass by. Our wings pinned to the wall, an undecipherable lengthy Latin word claims to identify us. Thousands of others lined up alongside us, overwhelmingly unique, overwhelmingly ignored.

Human beings are scientific creatures. We like to categorize - insects, arachnids, losers, creeps. We like to break things down, piece by piece - large wings, long legs, fat thighs, skinny knees.We use objective facts to discredit subjective emotions. Bugs are gross.

Glass cases are for protection. If you left a butterfly on display without one, people might touch it. They might feel its hairy body, break its delicate wings. If we have a barrier that no one can see, they can't reach through and make contact with the precious treasure that's inside.

A child in a field gently cups her hands around a flower. When she peers inside, there is a gentle fluttering against her skin, as the butterfly breaks free. Her heart beats fast as she watches the little creature spiral high, flying into the sky, displaying its strength and beauty for all to observe.

Which encounter do you remember for the rest of your days? The museum or the field?

In the end, the only people who belong in glass cases are mimes. Historically, they seem to embrace it. Historically, they also have no voices.

So Many Feels!

I have a lot of feelings. If you've been following this blog at all, I think I've made that fairly clear. Over the past few days, in conversations with some of my best friends, I have realized that perhaps I have been gaslighting myself a bit. See, many times, the phrases I use to express my feelings are "I'm sorry, but..." or "I know I shouldn't but..."

It's kinda like asking for a favor by starting "you can say no, but..." however, this particular phrasing hurts no one but myself. It's a passive way of undermining my own statement. "I'm sorry, but I love ice cream." is far less intense than "I love ice cream."

Why do I apologize for having perfectly normal, human emotions? If my statement is merely an honest and actual representation of how I am currently feeling, why do I feel this impulsive need to add a codasil?

On Saturday, I was lent a book called "Odd Poems" by Mary Wrenn Morris. Privately published by a young woman in Maine in the 1930s, our author begins her tome with an introduction worth listening to. She is honest, but unapologetic:

"The following poems have no place in the world of literary jewels cut with the sharp chisel of ultra modern smartness or polished with the infinite care of the classical. They are the direct expression of an emotional development and therefore are preserved unchanged from the original manuscript and in the order of their creation.
Should either the order or wording be changed they would lose completely whatever significance they have. They were written over a period of years and each poem was written under the stress of an immediate emotional experience.
The experiences have been lived and have taken their place in the growth of an individual. Because the individual is, let us hope, still growing there must be a lack of completeness about the poems as a group and it is my earnest hope that this incompleteness may continue to exist for many years to come.
The poems were written because they had to be written. If even one reader can find in them the pleasure of a shared experience then I should consider it well worth while, for the sake of that one individual, to brave whatever scorn or adverse criticism they might call forth."

Damnnnnn. Girl is brave! Her poems cover a range of subjects that are clearly uncomfortable for an audience in the 1930s. The first poem is to a lover, about how she misses him - the second, is a poem to their lovechild, despairing at the man who has abandoned them. From there, the poems range from lonely and sad, to empowered and vengeful. To caring so much about her child, to wishing she had never created that life. As time goes on, we reminisce about old lovers, revel in the joys of new. We feel her pain as she loses a child, is abandoned over and over by friends, family, men. She confesses to being frightened, to being lonely, to being weak, and yet it only serves for me to realize how strong she must have been.

She knows people may judge her feelings. They can easily use her feelings against her. Yet she is courageous - true, authentic, honest expression of self is the only thing necessary. The fears of judgement and ridicule must take a backseat to her one defining need.

When we apologize for what we are feeling, we are kicking ourselves in the heads. We try to free those seeds of honesty from our heart with one hand, and the other hand is grabbing them and shoving them back inside - "don't look! don't look! Nobody saw the real me, right? Right??".




Robert Frost said "Poetry is what gets lost in translation". I think it may be my new job to focus a little less on expressing my feelings in a manner comfortable to others, and instead turn my attention to expressing myself in a way necessary to my own survival. So the next time I haven't hurt anyone and begin to blurt out "I'm sorr-" feel free to give me a sharp smack on the hand. And certainly don't apologize for it.