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.



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