The Legacy of a Memory.

You ever have those unexpected moments when you see something or read something and a memory flashes so vividly that you stop breathing?  Suddenly you find yourself barely blinking as the tears roll down your face.  Old feelings well up in your chest and for a moment you are lost in what was.

Maybe it's just me.

I haven't addressed Play.Sing.Give. in this blog.  One would expect I'd rehash the whole thing, talk about what I learned, and blah blah blah.  But I find it was so incredibly personal that I prefer not to dwell for once in my life and instead let it lie.  I've breathed it all in, held it close to me, and expelled the experience out.  I acknowledged the hits and the bruises, accepted its shortcomings, and patted my own back on the successes.  And have moved on.

I haven't felt the need to write.  So I haven't.   But this one memory shocked me so deeply that I began typing before I realized why I needed to.

Feelings are odd things.  These intangible yet incredibly powerful entities that can twist you up until you feel so knotted you are sick to your stomach.  They are things that can have you float through a day in a state of euphoria.  They are dangerous and addicting.  And fickle.  They are hard to trust.  But then there are moments in your life that touch you so deeply that you can recall them so acutely to the point of pain.  The way your grandmother sounded when she belly-laughed.  The smell of the freshly pressed apple cider and autumn air at your grandfather's house.  The touch of your first love's hand as he rubbed your back at intermission.  Or the feel of your mother's sweatshirt and the warmth of the kitchen when you come home for Christmas.

I rarely look backwards.  It is not efficient or helpful or kind.  It always drudges up questions that cannot be answered, regrets that cannot be remedied, and hurts that have healed but left scars.  If it is not productive, there is no point.  If I cannot learn from it, then it does not belong in my life.

But once in a while a memory assaults me.  It violently throws me back to a moment that I sometimes didn't even realize mattered.  And there I am, sitting in the quiet, crying.  I never know what to do in those times.  It's like fighting a battle with a feather duster.  You don't really have a chance at winning.

I will say however, that I like knowing that things in my life have mattered that much.  That people have left that deep of an impression.  If they didn't, those memories wouldn't be so vivid.  
I had a conversation with a friend at dinner the other night where we were wondering what all the effort and work was for.  Does any of this pushing and plodding really even matter?  Yes, it bordered on a little too philosophical.  Sure, both my grandmother and grandpa have passed away.  The first love has long since gone.  Things end. But the fact that those moments, no matter how simple, had mattered so much...it gives me hope that maybe somewhere, someone is thinking of a memory of me. Maybe I mattered to them as well.  That is the legacy.  A memory so vivid that you have to stop your life and breathe it in.

I'd like to matter that much.

RIDE THE WAVE and GET OVER YOURSELF

Over the past few weeks I’ve sat down to try to write something positive.  Something inspirational.  Something worth saying.   And I came up empty.  I had lost my words.  Even now I’m wondering if this post will trail off into nothingness, a mute button that turns on of its own accord.

After my birthday, which was absolutely lovely, I felt this immediate sinking feeling.  I felt emotionally raw, overworked, overtired, overstimulated, and there was an emotional switch that shut off.  If I went to work, I did my job.  But then I came home and crawled into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and prayed that I could sleep as long as possible.

It’s rare that I get like that.  I have little patience for pity parties and depression.  It is unproductive and therefore not of use to me.  I’ve always said that a pity party can last for an evening, a day at most, depending on the situation.  But this.  This was different. 

I was unprepared.  And I lost my words.

I depend on communication.  If I can’t say it, I have to write it.  If I can’t write it, I sing it.  If I can’t sing it, I…implode.  And that’s what was happening.

Why am I telling you this, you ask?

Because I feel like all I write about is pushing through, working hard, not giving up, blah blah blah.  But I don’t acknowledge enough the fact that there ARE times that you simply cannot function.  That there is not enough in you to spin a situation into the positive.  It happens.  You can tell yourself that you know that eating healthy, going to the gym, talking about your feelings, sleeping, and taking time for yourself is the right thing to do.  It will make you feel better.  But you can’t seem to make yourself do any of those things.  Instead, you wade in the murky waters of self-doubt.  You attack yourself with awful insults.  You poke at your own insecurities. And any person who comes along with words of wisdom or positivity annoys the shit out of you.  Instead of hearing generosity, you hear superior patronizing advice of how to “fix” your life. And you get angrier.  You resent the fact that everyone else has their life together and has to tell you about it.

…and then one morning you wake up.  And realize what a shit you are being. 

I don’t know why those spells happen.  I don’t know if they are caused by stress, outside forces, chemical imbalance, or just the need for the dramatic.  But I do know that they are temporary.  That if I ride the wave, eventually I make it to shore.  I may be a bit worse for wear when I get there.  But I get there. 

So. Here are Stacy’s 6 steps to getting over herself:

1.       Clean your room.  When there is chaos within that you can’t control, control the chaos outside yourself.  An organized personal space makes you feel like you can handle your life.  Progress gives you hope.  Hope gives you purpose.  No one can be depressed when they have a purpose.

2.      Go to the gym.  Endorphins are no joke.  Running to pumped up music gives you adrenalin.  It makes you fight to move forward.  The very motion of moving forward physically connects to your will to move forward emotionally.  Even if you hate running like I do.  Anger is easier to manage than despair.

3.      Drink less caffeine and more water.  I do not follow this advice.  And I know that is a problem.  Caffeine increases heart rate and therefore aggravates my anxiety attacks and irritation.  Water will make you feel lighter and less achy.  I should really listen to my own advice on this.

4.      WRITE IT OUT.  Sometimes when you tell a friend or family member your troubles they feel the need to then tell you how to fix said trouble.  When sometimes you only wanted to be heard.  Or even more important, you needed what was trapped inside you to come out.  Sometimes you worry that if you unleash the emotional plague within that you are imposing on others.  That guilt will not help you.  So write it.  If you write it, you can either share with others or not.  It’s your choice.  And if you put it out there, it is up to them if they want to read it.  You are not forcing anyone into your world.  But what was strangling you is now released.  (*note: be prepared however, that everyone has an opinion and if you put it to the public, you must allow them to do the same.  But then it’s up to you to listen or not.)

5.      PERSPECTIVE:  Someone is ALWAYS worse off than you.  I go to the facebook page called Humans of New York.  The posts there are beautiful and heartbreaking and filled with people who’ve experienced raw life in both its worst and best form and they find something miraculous in the daily tumble.  There are people I know who are terminal or in pain or living without essentials.  I may not want to hear it because my troubles have bubbled to the surface, but it is something that will always jar me back to a place of productivity.  Don’t get me wrong.  My troubles are valid.  But they are not all consuming and therefore should not be treated as such. 

6.      And when all else fails….Be kind to yourself.  The minute you say something derogatory about you, throw it away.  Then find something, ANYTHING, beautiful about you.  I know that sounds ridiculous but it is vital.  When you are in the muck and you can’t move, you wrap your own arms around yourself, have a little conversation with God (or your deity of choice. Hey, I don’t judge), and ride the fucking wave until it’s over. 

Because it is temporary.  It will get better. It always does.  And then you can get back to being awesome which is your normal state of being.  Perhaps that will be a new life mantra: Ride the wave, Get over yourself, Be Awesome.

Check, check, and double check.

Life as a Disneyland Ride

I haven't been sleeping well. I've certainly been more stressed out than this before.  I've had worse days and weeks.  So there really is no excuse for the restlessness and worry.  Sure, there is plenty on my plate but I do not doubt that all will get done to the best of my ability.  So what is it that is bothering me?

Well, many things.  But I think I've narrowed the biggest thing down to this:

Disneyland rides.

Yes.  I am anxious about Disneyland rides.  (Prepare yourself for the metaphor of the century while I go get my ice cream from the freezer.)

....

Ok.  I'm back. (said with spoon in mouth)

So. Let me ask you.  If the life you wanted to lead were a ride at Disneyland, which one would it be?
And which one are you actually on right now?

Are you Dumbo?  Riding the easy high and lows, pretending you are flying when really there is no risk or height requirement?

Are you the teacups?  Spinning until you make yourself sick, going in circles, convincing yourself that it's fun and trying to make sure your friends don't see that you want to vomit?

Are you Splash Mountain?  Patiently waiting for hours in a line only to have 30 seconds of an exciting drop and then realize that you are back at the bottom where you started?

Are you Space Mountain?  A ride that frequently breaks down (I think I've been to Disneyland three or four times in my life and it was only working once).  And when it does work, you can't see shit, riding blind, loving the speed and spectacle and yet it is over too soon.

Or are you Indiana Jones?  Also a ride that broke down on me.  But the constant new stimulus and fake dangers are rarely boring.  It feels real until you see the mechanics behind the bushes.  But no matter what, you still duck when that boulder comes rolling towards you even though you know it'll never hit you.  You tell yourself you know all the illusions, but your instincts fall for them every time.

Here's my problem.  I've been bouncing for years from Indiana Jones to Space Mountain to Splash Mountain.  I've been envious of the people who live their lives on the Dumbo.  Wishing that were enough for me.  I've been standing in line watching all those lucky people with figurative "fast passes" hop in the line in front of me.  I get on the teacups of life and try to hold on while that one asshole friend spins the cup faster when all I really wanna do is go to the pretzel stand and sit my butt down in the New Orleans quarter.

When I finally get on those rides, I love the highs and lows.  I'm anxious and excited.  And then incredibly depressed when it ends too soon.  And the longer I stay in those lines, and the more I jump on those rides, the more I realize...it isn't that I've chosen the wrong rides.  Maybe it's that I shouldn't choose Rides at all.

Rides are spectacles.  A visually striking performance or display.  But they aren't real.  So many of us chase after the short term goal.  We strive to ride the ride, ignoring the fact that we can see false mechanics beneath the cosmetic camouflage.  That's why there is such disappointment when the ride is over.  It does not fulfill our life on the grand scale.  ...it doesn't matter.

Perhaps this is all too philosophical.  Or ridiculous.  Whatever.  But what I'm trying to say-what has been keeping me up at night- is that I think I may have been at Disneyland too long.  I think it's time to pack up my feelings (which are like overstimulated tantrum entitled toddlers in need of a good swat and a long nap), get back in the car, and go experience something real.  Something of worth.

I have no regrets with how I spent my twenties.  We've ridden many a ride, my personalities and I and bought many a souvenir.  But I feel a complete change of course coming.  I don't know what it is yet.  But there is more out there than fake castles and painted characters.  I want real castles.  I want real characters.  In real people. In real relationships.

Disneyland is a place to visit.  Not live.

Now how do I get off this ride?

A Pat on the Back and a Kick in the Butt

In my summer travels the question had arisen once again on multiple occasions of what my back up plan is or what I'll do after acting. I was once again confused, a little angered, and a whole lot frustrated.  Did they know something I didn't?  Do I ask them what they will do when accounting or being a doctor doesn't work out?  I have been doing this for nearly a decade and I seem to be ok.  Sure I am not on the scale I want to be.  Nowhere near it.  But I am closer than I was yesterday.  And that is a success.  I am happier than I was yesterday.  That is a success.  I am better than I was yesterday.  That is a huge success.  I'm fighting for my better self, to fulfill my potential.  That may be a quixotic ideal.  I may be chasing windmills. I acknowledge that truth.
But, like faith, we chase the windmills without tangible proof of an ideal outcome.  We believe, we strive, and we, or at least I, endeavor to deserve the breeze that blows our way.
I don't know if five years from now I will be an actor, a writer, a director, a teacher, or even the most well educated pole dancer in Tijuana (not likely, but we must leave room for impossibilities) but I do know that where I am and what I'll be will be MY choice.  I reserve that right to change my mind. Or my career.  Or my hair color (as long as it still matches my headshots...).  But their questions give me pause.

As we begin our descent into autumn, we start to look at the year as coming to an end. Which is frightening, really.  What do you mean my birthday is here already?  What do you mean the holidays are approaching?  Who has a paper bag that I can hyperventilate in?  I HAVENT DONE ENOUGH WITH MY LIFE!

This is when I say to you (and especially myself): Remind yourself how awesome you are.  Look at your successes.  Acknowledge the flubs.  And then tell that voice to shut the hell up.

You must always give yourself a pat on the back AND a kick in the butt.

I normally don't recommend looking too far forward or too far back in your life.  It's grounds for trouble.  But once in a while you must evaluate.  Look at your life.  Look at your choices. Ask yourself these questions.  Then answer them.  Here are some of mine to get you started.

WHAT THE HELL HAVE I BEEN DOING?
Well, Stacy Lynn.  You've volunteered at a charity every Sunday for five months while working three jobs till June.
You worked for a hideously unhappy man who attempted to swallow your self worth whole and instead of cutting him with your homemade shiv and blaming it on the office plant, you learned a huge lesson in humility and found out that 9to5 work in a tax office is on par with what you imagine cleaning toilets with your tongue would be.
But you survived.  And you moved on to your first Shakespeare Festival job as a paid actor in which you looked amazing in a corset and saw a part of the world you never would have seen.  You also got one step closer to defeating your fear of singing in public.  You did all this while raising funds for a huge project that will put your ass on the line.
Then you escaped further from your life and went back to the summer camp that you worked at a decade ago.  One of the few jobs that you regretted how you left, and you mended that fence and rebuilt that bridge.  And damn if that doesn't feel good.
You also spent ten months training for a half marathon in which you knocked ten minutes off your time.  Does your ankle click now and your knees still feel strained?  Absolutely.  But ooooo was it worth it.

You also found closure (or near closure) with three people who left huge gaping wounds in your heart.  In a matter of days, pieces of you that had been missing had appeared again.  They had been hiding behind your brokenness and resentment.  What a beautiful gift from the universe and from yourself for letting that hate go.

Also you've finished a really good first crappy draft of your short film that has helped heal some residual hurt from the passing of your grandma.


WHERE DID YOU GO WRONG?
Now.  This is not to say there were not epic fails or flubs.  You are not where you wish to be health wise.  But you are better than you were.  So. Do better.  Case closed.
You have not managed to find representation or union status.  This is not the end of the world.  But do better.
And that novel you started last year?  Yeah.  Get on it.  It's a good idea.  And it belongs to you.  So few things do.  Finish it.  You'll feel better when you do.
Finally, you have not moved forward in your private life.  Like. At all.  Ok, that's a slight lie.  You've dabbled.  Good for you.  But Do Better.
You are more than your job and where you want to go.  You are a good actor.  But you can only be exceptional if you have a life to draw on.  You can only be great if you allow others to see your ugly side.  So get ugly.  Get dirty.  And let people see it.  Vulnerability is exciting to watch.  And it is honest.  You like "honest."  You respect "honest."

WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
So, Stacy Lynn.  Going into the end of this year, keep what you've done close to you.  But not in front of you.  Leave room for moving forward.  Because that's where you are going.  You are producing and starring in Play.Sing.Give.  You are going to find the funds to stay afloat.  You are going to visit your brother in Colorado.  And next year...you are going to get a life.  And move to LA.

Pat on the Back: So good on you, Stacy Lynn.
Kick in the Butt:  Now do better.

Switching Worlds

I closed my eyes and felt the sun beat down on my face.  My hair, a tangled mess, whipping at my cheeks as the speed boat literally flew over the lake.  The driver likes to churn up the water and then hit the waves so hard that you have to hold on or else be bumped overboard.  Water sprays over my skin and dries almost instantly.  I think it is the first time I've taken a deep, full, unhindered breath all year.  I love speed boats.  I love water.  I love a good ride.
I opened my eyes to see dark clouds forming in the distance.  A voice over the radio told the driver to get back to shore.  When we docked, the clouds had already covered the camp and the rumble had begun. 
After a cold shower I laid in my bed in my bunk and listened as sheets of rain spilled off of tin roofs. The pattering of water hitting leaves worked to soften the clinking sounds.  The walls shook with thunder that boomed right on top of me.  I slept well that night.

It occurred to me that I've been bouncing between multiple worlds.  A visitor that pops in, experiences a brief moment with strangers or friends, and then switches out to yet another microcosm.  Mostly I don't mind.  I don't get bored.   And by the time I get annoyed with anyone, or they with me, I am off to the next world.

It takes its toll as well, though.  By the beginning of September I will have lived out of a suitcase for nearly half the year.  I have no routine (of which I need).  I have no one present and constant in my life to keep me anchored (with the exception of my phenomenal parents who I love more and more each day).  It gets lonely. 
It also means I am constantly meeting new people.  Something I both enjoy and despise.  I am so socially uncomfortable in new settings.  I never know what to say or do and much prefer the solace of my own company.  I don't have to worry about being liked by anyone but myself and I'm quite fond of me.  It's when I'm around other people that I'm reminded of my imperfections and awkwardness.  I've made a living out of pushing myself into new situations because I know that life begins when you show up.

The first world of the year was NYC.  You all know how I feel about that.  It was a tough winter. 

Then there was the near two weeks I spent at "home" in Washington.  Five days were to unwind from the mentality and exhaustion of NYC.  Then the rest was about complete relaxation and hiding away.  It is the one place where I am taken care of and where I allow myself to be still.  It is also a place that I cannot stay too long for fear of complacency.  It is also a bonus to hang out with my mother while we drink wine and find things that make us laugh and then watch Jeopardy with my dad and see how often I can make him laugh (no easy feat).  I live for these times at home.  One of the good things of staying single for so long is I've gotten to know my parents as people.  And what's more...I like them.  In this, I cannot express how lucky I feel.

World #2 South Dakota.  This was a whirlwind.  A single month of working only one job: being a working actor.  Sure, I was fundraising for my November project as well but to be honest that turned out to be more fun than I thought.  I was sick to my stomach with worry that no one would donate but had a blast making all of those MEMES.  (Thank you again to all that donated!). 
South Dakota did not provide much privacy but it was exchanged for comradery which is a good trade for the short term.  I was challenged and scared which is always needed in permanent personal growth.  If there is no fear, there is no risk.  If there is no risk, the reward of expanding towards reaching your better self is unattainable.  Also, it is always good to go somewhere so completely unattached from your own life so you can remember how big the world is.  In my case, you gotta leave a big city to go to a small town to see the big picture.

And now camp life.  In Maine.  I don't really know how to explain the complete bubble that engulfs you here.  Time means nothing.  A regular calendar means nothing.  You live by the ringing of an outdoor bell rather than a clock.  The metallic pinging rings for every event or class or meal.  We eat at the same time every day.  7:30am breakfast.  12:30pm lunch. 5:30pm dinner.  There are no inbetween meals or snacks.  Your days are not your own but instead belong to 280 girl campers.  You work up to 14 hours a day and for the most part...you don't mind.  I work in the theatre and I listen to adorable girls audition for 101 dalmations; most of which come in with the "cups" song from Pitch Perfect.  We work hard and don't always get acknowledged for it since it is behind the scenes.  But I am very glad I came.  It is different from the last time I was here ten years ago.  Or rather I am different.  I know who I am this time.  My fundamentals are the same as they have always been but I am solid in how I work.  I will never be the lighthouse drawing people to me.  I am not the popular "cool" girl.  I am the smart woman who gets shit done.  I am reliable, trustworthy, and honest.  That may not make me 1st pick at the dodge ball game, but I'm pretty ok with that.  Sure, occasionally I feel left out and I have an infinitesimal  moment of middle-school pity party.  But then I remember my many worlds that I've lived in.  And I disengage from the feeling of pettiness and I remember that the next world is coming soon.  On a scale of 1 to Important.  It isn't even on the radar.  What matters is helping my colleagues out, doing my job, being pleasant (I try), and focusing on those girls.  There is some promising talent here.  And I'm hoping to help them along.

I'm afraid this isn't the most sassy or inspiring of posts but this is the best I can do after yet another 14 hour day.   Now excuse me while I go back to daydreaming of thunderstorms and speed boats.

Guess Who's Gotta Learn How to Sing Again? (*points to self)

Soooooooooo...remember that time I gave up singing? 

Most of you know I have awful stage fright when it comes to singing.  It wasn't always such.  I remember clearly singing around the house when I was little and telling my mother that I sounded just like Whitney Houston.  To which she replied, "...no. Not really."  Even then, I was not deterred.

It had always been a hobby.  Something I did as a tension release.  I was in choir since I was six years old and sang in my youth group all over the world.  Sure there were nerves, but I got on with it anyway and liked the feeling that I could do something well. 

When I got to musical theatre school in NYC, it then became "something I do" rather than a hobby.  It became a career goal and a little more pressure went on top.  I also saw that though I had a "pretty" voice, there were limits to what it could do.  All of the sudden words like "technique" started to matter.  I was surrounded by people who could not only sing, but could sing notes that only dog's could hear.  It became necessary to sing louder, higher, longer.  And eventually, singing for fun no longer existed.  I began to look at myself as, once again, mediocre.   Something I violently shy away from as though I've put my hand on a hot stove.

Once I graduated from school, the auditions came.  And auditioning, to me, is so separate from actually performing.  Auditioning for musical theater, is like a circus act.  Because there are SO many actors these days, and so few jobs, sometimes they give you 30 seconds to sing 8bars in which you need to sing the highest and most powerful notes at 9am in the morning.  I began to have so much anxiety and singing lost its appeal.  I didn't want to feel like I was competing all the time.  I just wanted to enjoy a good song, tell a good story, and be part of some great music.  Singing became something I dreaded.  I would botch auditions, forget words, and just hate doing what I was trained to do.

I missed the days of karaoke, cabaret, or even singing in the shower.  So I stopped going to musical theatre calls.  And I found that I LOVED straight theatre, film, tv, and classical theatre.  I liked auditioning (as much as one can like auditioning) for those jobs.  It wasn't so much about competition as it was more of "playing" well with others.  I took it as a sign that singing was just something I was going to do off the books.

However.  The moment I made that decision, I of course have never sung more.  In grad school I sang at the Globe and at the Arches in "non musical" shows.  And now I have a solo in the production of "Taming of the Shrew" here in South Dakota.  Granted, I did raise my hand when the director asked who wouldn't mind a solo.  But I had thought it would be a quick interlude of some sorts.  Instead it has become a full out opening to the entire play. 

Clearly this is a big sign from baby jeezus that says, "Get the f*&k over it." So the challenge has arrived and it is a doozy.  I've not sung this high, for this long, in this style, for years.  The ol' voice definitely tires quickly and my legs are shaking like crazy.  But I'm in it to win it now and refuse to let anyone down.  And who knows, maybe I can work my way back to loving singing again. 

There should be joy in it.  Singing used to be like sunbathing after a long cold winter.  You feel the warmth all the way to your toes.  It would be nice to get to that place again.

Don't Underestimate South Dakota

I have a day off.  I don't remember the last time I had a leisurely day off and a to-do list that only had one or two things on it.  It is both unsettling and revealing that I've been in the City a little too long.

Thank God I took that week to be at home with my parents in Washington.  Had I come straight to South Dakota, I would have been wound so tight I probably would have internally combusted.  The time at home was spent running a few errands, drinking wine with my mother, watching jeopardy with my dad, and running my fundraising campaign for my project Play.Sing.Give.  I'm fairly sure I don't need to tell you what that is considering I've been bombarding Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter with our posts, videos, and MEMEs.  I'm incredibly proud and humbled by how well we are doing so far.  Five days and we are over a quarter of the way there.  And the people who have donated...I had not expected such generosity.  I hadn't expected anything actually. 

Everyone has gifts and talents.  For me, I can run a show.  I can plan it, run it, organize it, and get things moving.  Fundraising and asking for help...not my gift.  It actually makes me so uncomfortable that I make myself ill and lose sleep over it.  I don't know why and I don't know how to get better at it.  But I've given it a go anyway and I am overwhelmed by the results.  That being said, it's friggin' exhausting.

South Dakota, now that was a pleasant surprise.  Whatever your thoughts about the state (and I doubt any of you have been here), let me assure you, it's pretty darn great so far.  Vermillion is a small college town that consists of pubs, gas stations, beauty salons, and small restaurants.  Most of which are located on one of three main streets.  Huge colonial houses create this intimate suburb that has gone quiet since the university let out last week.  The landscape is perfectly manicured.  The homes are sprawling, many of which have colorful shutters, brick chimneys, white columns, and wrap around balconies. There are two movie theatres that are located a block from each other.  One has only one screen, the other only two.  I hear you can see a movie with popcorn for under $10dollars.

 It is clean and fresh and friendly.  Everyone knows everyone and if they don't they'll find out.

The people here like to give you the history and origin of, well, pretty much everything.  From the small hills in the highway, to the background of the basement ceiling and ventilation, to their own personal stories, to even the lay out of the grocery store aisles. 

The Shakespeare Festival folks lent me a bicycle to get around the town.  It's name is Buford and he is an old large handle-barred burnt orange bike.  It took me a hot second to remember how to ride one and I was relieved to find that I hadn't forgotton how to turn.  I will say that it is not the most graceful way of transport and I miss the days when I didn't feel like a complete knob getting off one.  Manuevering that with my short legs is a sight to see.

I took Buford into town this morning to meet with some cast members for brunch at Cafe Brulee.  I was stunned when my bill for three cups of coffee, a strawberry muffin, a side caesar salad, and a grilled cheese sandwich ended up being only ten dollars...with tip. 

The house that I am staying at is one of the large historical colonials. I find it comfortable to hear the old floorboards creak.  When you come down the stairs in the morning, the sun shines through the etched windows and casts rainbows on the floor.

There are two cats in the house.  I am slightly allergic so I've been careful not to touch them too much.  Emmy is the skittish ninja one with big green eyes and stripes.  She is rarely seen but if you get up in the middle of the night to go to the loo, she's usually right outside the door staring you down.  I leave my room for two minutes to brush my teeth and when I come back, she's there sniffing everything I own.  She hasn't quite decided whether or not she'll kill me in my sleep, I think.

Charlie is the friendly one.  At two am in the morning I will wake up to a small rap on the door.  I keep my door closed so that they don't sneak in and shed hair on my pillow.  But Charlie is persistant.  Somehow he hits the old door just right where it squeaks open and all I see is this wee gray paw push it.  Then in he comes, puts his two front paws on my bed, and meows.  He is gray and fluffy but with two light marks above his eyes that make him look like he has eyebrows.  I think it is a losing battle with that one. 

The cast of Taming of the Shrew is very nice.  I don't think I've met a friendlier bunch.  I've been trying extra hard to be sociable.  You know me, I'm more like to do my work then go home and hibernate.  Acting and socializing always leave me a bit raw and feeling exposed and I always default to going home and licking my wounds and insecurities in private.  I know it is a huge failing of mine and makes me come off as bitchy, or reserved, or careless.  So this time I've decided to hang out just a little longer, or say yes if I'm invited somewhere a little more often.  It seems to be paying off.

I am much older than most of the cast.  Many are undergrads or just graduated.  We had a small gathering last night that was sponsored by the Dean of Business at the University that was at a gorgeous house on a bluff and then afterwards we went to one of the young members house.  It was basically like being back in college again.  Or at least it would be had I had a social life in my undergrad.  I had been so focused on my business courses and so incredibly unhappy with my chosen major that I never got out and partied.  So in some ways, I got a little piece of what I had missed in a "real" college experience.  I also learned that I have quite the natural talent for beer pong.  It's all in the elbow, friends.  :)

I've missed acting immensely.  That initial day when you read through the script and are reminded that fun is a part of your job.  This is the first time since grad school where I am working just one job and it is acting.  I concentrate on that, I am paid for that, and I love that.  Of course, after the initial euphoria comes the insecurities.  Did I ask too many questions?  Were they stupid questions? Did I make good acting choices?  Did I make ANY choices?  I should have gone with my instincts. Do I have any instincts? What IS an instinct?  WHO AM I??  AHHHHHHHH.

My introversion sets in and I fight my social phobias that have haunted me my entire life.  It's why I don't date.  It's why I don't like crowds or parties.  But life doesn't halt until you can handle it, so I mutter to myself "self, get the f&*k over it" and crack on.  All the while accepting that I am unintentionally more abrasive than these people because that is what I'm used to.  My sweetest day will be them on their worst.  For now, that's the way it is.

We've blocked the first five scenes or so and had a singing session.  Funny, the minute I gave up singing, I've never sung more in my life.  We all did little acapella solos so our musical director could see what he was working with.  I believe we'll have some 16th Century ditties throughout the show.

I also had my first costume fitting.  Whoa nelly.  You guys should see this.  Locked into a corset, deep brocade maroon fabric, puffy sleeves, period hat.  And the words, "let's cut out more of the neck line to show off what the lord gave ya."  Can't wait to post photos.

So that's where I'm at.  Trying to unwind and internally settle, doing my best to focus and listen and enjoy.  I am both homesick and at peace, inspired and fragile, happy and lost, hopeful and well.  It feels good to speak the lines, to make discoveries, to ride a bike in the sunshine and cool breeze, and to be challenged and stretched in a healthy way.



SHAMELESS PROJECT PLUG:  Please check out our indiegogo campaign for Play.Sing.Give. at :

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/play-sing-give/x/7405089#home

Leap of Faith. Don't Tell Me to Slow Down.

There's a first time for everything.  This, right now, would be the first time that I've sat at my computer and not known how to begin a blog.  I'm so muddled with what I want to say that all I do is start a sentence and then delete it.  I lack focus.  Which is a sign that I'm burning out. 

I'll admit it.  This year is NOT turning out the way I thought it would.   I don't know why I had expected or hoped that things would flow easier than they have.  I think that was rather naive and silly of me. 

  I fully admit I've pushed myself to the brink.  I have heard from many people lately that I'm pushing too hard, I need to slow down, that I need to take a break, blah blah blah.  Rest assured, people, I hear you.  But you have to understand, that's not what I want to hear.

You see, what I really need to hear right now, is that I CAN do it.  I put limits on myself all the time and right now, I need to try and expand them.  I need to see how far I can go.  All this time I've thought that I've needed humility and to lower my pride when in actuality, I've done nothing but sell myself short my entire life.  I need to believe that I am more than what I see and know.  I need to live my worth.  And I won't be able to do that unless I challenge myself to the fullest of my abilities.
 
I need my friends to believe in me.  I need them to help me or keep their doubts to themselves.   I need to believe that my dreams are valid and possible.  Because they are. 

When people tell me to slow down, postpone, or "just breathe", well, it feels patronizing.  I know that 90% of the time, that's just not true.  But it feels like it.  I think that's because I take it (subconsciously or consciously) as a sign of doubt.  Or validation of the my own internal voice that says I am mediocre and that I can't do something. 

A friend once asked what it was that drives me.  Why do I push, run, work so hard?  I said, a person is usually driven out of fear of something.  My fear is of being mediocre.   Of never excelling at anything.  Of never being enough for myself.

I'd say those are biggies.  I'd say that's enough to drive anyone as hard as I drive myself. 

Now before the uproar of "Stacy you are crazy!  You are too hard on yourself!" stuff starts, listen.  Don't be mistaken.  I know how awesome I am.  But I know we are always an evolving entity.  I know that God has put us on this earth only once.  And I'm not about to waste that gift by sitting on my laurels and eating Doritos watching reruns of Full House.  I want to believe in myself enough that I take chances, learn the things I want to learn, and stop being so afraid all the time.  Because I am. 

I want to be able to do a job and know I'm great at it and feel good when I go home.  I want to be with someone and know that they are just as lucky to be with me as I am with them. I want to live in the present and like it.  I can't do that sitting still.  Not right now.

Right now, my "present" is not so great.  A lot of my "survival" jobs this year have really shown me that I've sold myself short.  Like, oompa-loompa short.  And that's gotta stop.  I've kept these jobs because it has given me wonderful flexibility and a handful of people that are very supportive.  But at the same time, there have also been a handful of people or situations that make me go home and dislike myself and them and the universe at large.  My qualifications do not match my paygrade.  I allow people to disrespect me and put up with their tantrums when nothing is keeping me in those positions but myself.  Yes, it scares me to leave comfort.  Especially since I have so little of it.  But I know what I feel and what I believe.  I know that this is also a test of Faith.

The definition of faith is the complete belief in someone or something.  I think it may be time that I have Faith in myself and in God.  That I will be provided for if I take a leap and move on. 
The only way to be "more" than this lifestyle I lead, is to change and live a lifestyle that is "more" than this.  The only way to not be treated like an underling, is to not allow yourself to be treated like an underling.  This may mean that you lose security, comfort, friends, colleagues, etc.  But I think it would make me sleep better at night.  And I think it would get me off this hamster wheel that I'm on. 

We always assume that if we make a big change, it will be negative.  We assume the world is much smaller than it actually is. But what if we take a leap, a leap of Faith, and we land somewhere even better?  Maybe, just maybe, we could land where we were always meant to be. 

I am co-producing a Play. And I'm scared sh*tless.

A bum on the subway once tried to buy me for a dollar.  I could have taken it as flattery, I suppose.  His last dollar and he wants to use it on me.  Or I could have been insulted.  How dare he think I only cost a buck!  Instead, I turned away from him and pondered what on earth gave him the impression that I was a hooker.  Was the sweatshirt I was wearing that evening too revealing? Was it because he was there for my 2nd semester of AMDA when all I was cast as was the Madam of the brothel?
During said pondering, the bum decided that he would put his hands on my bum.  Now.  Here's the point to the story.  You never know whether you are a fight or flight kind of person until your instincts are tested.  At that moment of supreme shock, one would either A) scream and run. Begging some big burly man to be your knight in shining armor.  or B) pivot, turn, clench your fists, cock back your arm, and pummel the bum.  Well, apparently B is my go to instinctual choice.  Luckily I had friends with me who did the "Mommy arm" and blocked me from getting to him.  After I had cooled down I thought about those reflexes and nodded, "good to know."
I'm not a huge advocate for violence.  Actually, I think it would've been incredibly stupid to have attacked that bum.  But it is always good to know how one works internally.

I bring this up because I'm putting myself in a huge Fight or Flight situation.  My goal is to produce and act in one of my favorite plays this Fall.  I want it to be good. Great. Stellar.  I want it to make money that will then go to charity.  I want to attempt to use the "dark" days of the theatre as a Cabaret platform for emerging artists who need a space to perform but don't have the funds to rent one and don't want to ask their friends for a friggin' two drink minimum.
This will be a huge challenge for me.  It will make me incredibly uncomfortable.  It will demand time, money, and networking that I don't necessarily have but will have to find.  It will put me in a place of failing.  Big.
It will make me ask for help from people that I'm not sure I can count on.  I will risk being disappointed if things don't work out.  People might say NO.  For someone who rarely depends on others, this will be almost unbearable.
I will have to do much of this while working three jobs, travelling around the country, training for a half marathon, and still trying to keep healthy. 

This makes me want to run.  Take flight.  In the escape sense.  Not the "I Believe I Can Fly" R Kelly kind of way.
But I want it.

I want to do something I can be damn proud of.  I want to collaborate. I want to help my incredibly talented friends.  I want to give back to charity.  I want to entertain the crap out of the industry and audience.  And I want to Fight. 
 
This year has been many things so far.  And one of those things is testing limits.  I put a cap on my abilities a long time ago.  Lately, I've been pushing hard at the fictitional ceiling I created and putting myself in the line of fire.  If it scares me, it means I might learn something.  Lord knows I've still got a LOT to learn.  And I need to remember that I can be great at something.  I think this might be it.
Already I've gotten a lot of NO's and roadblocks.  But God willing, I'm going to pivot, turn, clench my fists, cock back my arm, and pummel each one.  And if that doesn't work, I'll finesse, pray, negotiate, ask for help, and relish in the success that I want this to be.
So.  Stay tuned for future updates on the project.  Help out if you can and are so inclined.  And if you see me walking around Manhattan lookin' like I've lost a marble or two, be kind and talk me off the ledge. 
Cheers.

Watching the Clock.

Now, let me preface this by saying I am very grateful to be employed and paying my bills. I work at an accounting office right now during tax season.  Yes, I thank you for your condolences and prayers.  Indeed, it does not get much more stressful especially considering that my employer is not exactly a bright ray of sunshine.

This is the first time I've done office work in a while.  Every so often I like to try my hand at what most would call a "normal" job, just to see if it will be enough for me.  I pray each time that it is.  I desperately want to go to work, 9 to 5, enjoy it, then come home and pocket that cash while I google my next big vacation and buy crap on Amazon that I don't really need but hey you can never have too many decorative throw pillows. 

I've said it before, I envy my friends who have chosen to leave NYC and even the entertainment business and are happier than they've ever been.  At least they seem to be.  Sure they have this small part of them that looks back on the tough times in NYC, schlepping it in the hopes of someday "making it" and then being able to grab cheap bottles of wine and hang out and bitch about how tough it is to be us.  But really, I don't think most would give up what they have now for anything.  They have families and pensions and 401Ks (I dont really know what that is but I'm told that it prevents you from being destitute when you are older).  They have stability and a savings account.  And I think that is beautiful.

So I try to take temporary jobs here and there to fill in the employment holes when I am in between gigs and try to see if maybe this will be the time that I can make a life out of it. Each time I fail miserably. 

When I work a theatre job, 9 times out of 10 I don't dread a Monday.  I don't even know what a "monday" is.  Then again, I don't know what a weekend is either.  I will most likely be working 6 to 7 days out of the week and only dreading that one day-off because that's when I'll be doing laundry and cleaning my bathroom.  My mother worries when I work that much but honestly, when you are doing what you love, work is not a bad word.  You may complain about things that annoy you (i.e. a demanding director or not having enough time to sleep), but you don't have that feeling of wanting to claw out of your surroundings.  There is a contentment in the chaos and creativity.  I never waste time and I never count it.  And I rarely resent it.

When I sit at this desk for seven hours a day, I watch the clock.  All. The. Time.  I wish for time to go faster.  How awful is that?  Wishing for your life to pass faster. Wanting a day to end. You will only get ONE March 27, 2014.  You'll never get another.  And you want it to be over. 
When I work a job like this, the weekends suddenly go too fast and the weekdays go too slow.  Or I forget what day it is at all.  I have a hard time staying in the present because the present is just too monotonous and claustrophobic.  I have never spent so much time on facebook and the internet.  And I don't mean that in a good way.  If I am tweeting or posting or googling, it means I am DOING nothing. 

When I was in my first college studying business, I had a bad bout of depression.  We're talking therapy, weight gain, a wee bit of prozac, and a whole lot of dreading Mondays.  Through that I learned that I am the type of person that if I am not DOING, being productive, and working towards something that matters to me, I begin to hate my life and myself.  I wish it wasn't so dramatic and that I could work a different way.  I wish I could autopilot my day job and then enjoy my nights.  But I'm not built that way.

Being idle makes me go crazy. 

I am a smart girl.  I could do many things.  But until I find myself being fulfilled by one of these "normal" jobs the way I feel when I am connected to theatre and film...well, it really ISN'T a choice. 

It is, of course, not without stressers.  I worry that my decision to live like this prevents me from building a good home and family of my own.  I worry that that is one of the reasons I have not done so already.  I worry that as I get older, the lack of funds will take a toll. 

But I also know that I'm very good at what I do.  There's an excellent chance that I'm going to do well.  I also know that going with my gut has yet to fail me.  Any decision I've ever made that mattered has felt "right,"  without explanation.  And I'd rather go with that than watch the clock and wishing for tomorrow.

You know the difference between having an unhappy day or week and being unhappy right down to the soul.  One is uncomfortable.  The other is terrifying and unbearable.  So I will finish up this temporary job, doing my best to please my good hearted but miserable boss.  I will keep praying and pushing myself to give myself the absolute best chance possible. And I will keep swimming. 

I Will Break Your Phone For You. You're Welcome.

I do not own a smart phone. My phone is not intelligent in any way.  Her name is Sugar (I name some of my possessions in the hope that I will take better care of them and they will stop getting lost), she is purple, she turns off when she feels like it (just like any woman), she is cracked, and her ringtones are embarrassing so I mostly leave her on vibrate.  And yet, most people when they see her (after they are done mocking me, of course) say, "Gosh, I wish I could go back.  I'm so addicted to my phone that it's disgusting."

Well, I am here to provide a service, friends.  I will break the sh*t outta your phone.  For free.  Because I'm just that generous.  Because I love you.  And because you are annoying the hell out of me when you ignore me at lunch.

Here's the deal about hanging out, going to brunch, or doing drinks with me.  I will give you exactly five minutes to take a selfie, instagram your food, check in on foursquare, and then turn the ringer off.  If you have any pending texts to your mom, significant other, or hot roommate that you are secretly in love with, then you can take another minute to warn them that you did not get blown up in a terrorist attack or eaten by squirrels, you are just at lunch with a friend and don't want to be rude by ignoring her.

Because that's what it is.  Unless you are showing me photos of your kids or your dogs (I'm a good friend, I'll look at them and Ooh and Aah with the best of them, knowing full well that if/when I have any of the above I will make you do the same thing), or you are waiting for a phone call from Christopher Nolan to star with Liam Neeson in Taken #542, then that phone can be turned off for 45 minutes while we finish our gourmet grilled cheese.

FYI: Unless that grilled cheese was grilled in a way that left a pattern that looks like the face of Jesus or for some reason the chef spiced it up with gummy bears, no one needs to see a photo of it. 

If you reeeeeeeally need to text your Ex because you just thought of an incredibly good come-back or were struck with a moment of nostalgia that you need to share with him, take your phone, go to the bathroom, emoticon to your heart's content, and I promise that I won't put something gross in your mimosa while you are away. 

When you spend more time looking at your phone than at me you are telling me two things:

1. I am wasting your time.

2. You are wasting mine.

Now, #1 may not be true but that is the signal you are giving.  And #2 is definitely true.  If you wanted to text and tweet, you could have done that at home while eating take-out and watching re-runs of Family Guy in your underwear.  And me?  I could have been doing a number of awesome things like my laundry, writing and then deleting pages from my novel, pretending to sleep, or watching The Killing and shouting at the telly that it does not, in fact, rain like that in Seattle.  See?  We could have been more productive with our time.  Because who has time to waste?  No one.

What if I was saying something incredibly charming and worth tweeting?  Hey, it could happen.  I may be tweetable, you never know.  What if I was considering you for a part in my project for the fall? What if I just needed a friend because I was lonely?  You not paying attention to me is like saying that I am not as interesting as Candy Crush. And that makes me incredibly depressed.

I saw a father and his little girl on the street today waiting for the M10 bus.  The little girl must have been three or so.  She was adorable with her hot pink puffy jacket and multi-colored polka dotted stretch pants.  She was looking up at her dad with her arms stretched up to him, tiny muscles straining and reaching for him.  He was on his iphone and texting away.  She reached further, teetering on her tip toes, arms even wider as if she was about to catch a beach ball.  And daddy was texting.  He finally picked her up minutes later and balanced her on his hip, and continued to text one handedly.  

...yeah.  That's how you make me feel when you do that crap.  Like I'm reaching for your attention but you have better things to do.  And I warn you, I have worse and more dangerous tantrums than a three year old.

I read an article once where this group of friends went to brunch regularly and the first thing they did was put all their phones in the center of the table.  The first person to reach for their phone pays the tab.  I think this is a brilliant idea.  Though beware, I'd win every time.  Hands down.

Of course, as always, there will be exceptions.  Your sister's having a baby, your mom is in the hospital, you really ARE waiting for Nolan to call you to star with Neeson, etc.  But then you just need to tell me in the beginning.  And then I'll just sit there scoping out the hot guys in the restaurant and text my mother while you do your thing and we're both happy.  

But I really will break your phone for you if you like.  Technology repels me.  And I can share that magic with you.  All you need to do is ask.

Your "Mystery" Makes Me Cranky.

Do you know what you require in a friend?   Not an acquaintance (for they are temporary and many).   Not a colleague (for there is a certain line that exists that cannot be crossed). Not a family member (you can't do anything about them).   I mean, a real friend.

People these days seem to worry about asking for too much when really you should demand a great deal of your friends.  There is no shame in that, considering that you, in turn, should give just as much.

Have you looked at your friends and seen what they might have in common with each other?
It matters, you know.  It isn't that you are the company you keep, but more like, the company gives and takes from you.  With the wrong combination of people, you may find yourself emptied out.  The right combination, and you may take steps forward towards being your best self. 

I can count on one hand the number of people that I have the deepest and most binding friendship with.  One never has many of these types because they are rare.  Sometimes, they are non existent.
Then there are the good and hearty friends that I surround myself with.  Of them, there are many.  And I am fortunate that they cover the globe.

I started to look at the people who were close to me. The ones I call upon. There seems to be a pattern.  The majority of my friends are Kind, Generous, they have Faith (not always in God, but in something).  They are Inspirational.  They have Hope.  They have Patience.  They do their best.  They accept flaws.  And they have Honesty.

Many of those traits are things I struggle with within myself.  Perhaps I am drawn to these people in part because they hold what I lack.  I pray for patience every day.  I ask for help so that I can let go of the choke-hold I have on my world, so that I can have a Freedom of Faith.  Perhaps I'd have less anxiety then.  I am not always outwardly kind.  Not immediately.  I try, but fail often.  But being around these people, I feel closer to all those things. 

I am a natural pessimist.  Growing up, they called me the "misery chick" in high school.  If there was a downside, I was already sliding down that banister.  But these days, though I still see the half empty glass, I've trained myself to avoid the whining (mostly) and just go get more water (or gin, depending on the day) to fill it back up.  I think the friends I've been blessed with are a good deal of the reason for that training. 

Now, Honesty.  That's one trait I've required AND have also given.  Honesty may be number 1 with me.  Because to me, honesty is respect. Respect is love.  It's all connected.  I had rather be hurt by honesty than lied to or having the truth withheld from me.  Because honesty is a brief cut that heals quickly.  Lies can sometimes give hope where there is none.  From that, you can live on echoes and never be filled.  It becomes an open wound that festers and never quite heals.  The quickest way to my heart is utter sincerity.  The quickest way to be voted off this island is a lie.  "Ain' nobody got time for dat."

I'm not saying I never lie or that I can't forgive.  We all do.  But what I'm mostly talking about is the type of Honesty in who you are.  It's one of the reasons I've liked NYC.  It's honest in its disdain. It doesn't try to cover a lie. I can trust it for its beauty and its evils.  I don't worry whether she likes me or she doesn't.  She's pretty clear how she feels even if she's bipolar and will change her mind the minute the stank wind changes.  But I know that.  I get that.  I can trust that.
That's what I like about my friends.  Not that they are bipolar and stank wind changeable. I can trust who they are.  They aren't predictable, they are dependable.  Mystery does not interest me.  It does not make a person alluring to me.  It makes you confusing.  Confusion tires me. I'm cranky when I'm tired.  So, in sum, your "mystery" makes me cranky.

When I see someone who is living exactly as they are, I have the utmost admiration for them.  They give me the courage to live that way myself.  When they tell me a hard truth, I know I can believe them when they tell me a beautiful one.  When I see them giving selflessly, unafraid that they'll have nothing left, I am encouraged to find compassion that is beneath my insecurity.

I am sure it is not easy to be my friend.  I can be quite the blunt pain in the bum. But I am also sure that if you are one of these truthful people who inspire and believe in me, you will never find anyone more loyal or accepting than (*points to self) this pain in the bum.

So in the words of the Golden Girls...

 


 
 

Being Talented Does Not Give You License to be an A$$hole.

Being talented does not give you license to be an asshole.

In fact, you could just as easily say: Being [insert awesome trait here] does not give you license to be an asshole.  Excelling at anything does not give you that License.

Don't get me wrong.  I totally understand the compulsion.  But you must refrain from being "that guy."  It makes you weak, pompous, and unlikable.  But more, it stunts your growth as well as the growth of others.  And that, my friends, is cruel.

No matter what business you are in, what gifts God has given you, there will always be something that you Can't Do and something that you Don't Know.  And that makes you just as flawed and ignorant as everyone else.

On the other end of the spectrum,  being ignorant does not give anyone license to treat you like a dumbass.
When you think of the word "IGNORANT", I bet you think it is a derogatory term; something synonymous with "dumbass."  Do you know what the definition of ignorant is?  Allow me to enlighten you:

Ignorant= lacking knowledge or information.   That's it.  Simple as that.

I guess if you didn't know that definition, that would make you ignorant of "ignorant."  But I digress.

You see, there is nothing in that definition that implies that you are less of a human, or that you are stupid as a whole and therefore afflicted with dumbassery.  (Trademark to come on the term dumbassery(C)).

You should never be ashamed of saying, "I don't know."  Because usually what follows those words, if you are smart about it and not in front of a person carrying an Asshole License, is you learn how to do that thing that you were ignorant of.

As an actor we are always learning, always changing, always finding the different colors of humanity. We know that.  But what we also need to know is that that applies to our normal life as well.  One is not separate from the other.


So, here's how to avoid earning your Asshole License as well as avoiding Being Afflicted with Dumbassery:

Know. Your. Worth.  But don't shove it down people's throats.

When we "toot our own horn"  we want everyone to look at us and GIVE us our worth.  We expect reaction and applause.  We look to others to fill us up when we feel empty.  You can get information from others, you can get tools and knowledge.  But you CANNOT get your self worth from them.  They cannot give it to you.  If they try, it isn't worth, it's them imposing their need for validation on you.

How do you recognize the difference between knowledge and people shoving need at you?

Well, one feels like a hug.  It feels like someone has handed you a decadent meal when you were starving.  And you can walk away from the experience on your own two feet.

The other feels like you've been patronized and dragged behind the back of a Buick on a leash.  You walk away (if you walk away at all) feeling bruised and small.

I saw a sign on the side of a church once that said "When you recognize your worth, you stop giving discounts."  That's the truth.  When you know it and live it, you don't feel the need to scream it at people or force "what you know" in their faces.  You also rarely allow people to speak to you in a way that is degrading or make you feel subservient without your permission (hence the not giving discounts).

Now.  Even knowing all this, I still fall victim to it.  But there is a difference between a person who is decent with asshole or dumbass tendencies, and those carrying their Licenses.  When I do something well or am rewarded for something that means a whole heck of a lot to me, a part of me wants to let EVERYONE know.  I want a pat on the back and I want them to ask how I did it.  On the other end, when someone I thought I respected comes down hard on me for something I didn't know, I want to hunch down into myself and take the whipping.  But I try to find that middle ground.

Tell your mom how awesome you are.  She already knows and she'll agree with you.  The only person who beeps that ego horn louder than you is your mother.  At least that's true with mine.  But leave your temporary superiority at the door.  It doesn't mean that you can't tell people about your successes, but don't then "school" them in how they can be more like you.  Don't treat them like a subordinate.

Instead, when you are feeling awesome and you find yourself with the opportunity to lift someone up by teaching them something new, treat them like a colleague, make them an ally, because someday you may be looking at ignorance yourself and they may be the one to dig you outta that pile of manure that is the "not knowing."

And when you feel like you are coming down with a bad case of dumbassery, don't beat around the bush.  Don't waste time.  Say "I don't know."  Then go find the answer from someone without a License.  You'll get where you wanna go faster, stronger, and there's no shame in that.