Car Conversations

Because the question isn’t: “Would you rather be in a play or not be in a play?” anymore. Maybe that’s what it was a year ago. But my vision has changed, as visions are allowed to do. And more, it’s probably that I’ve allowed myself to see more of my vision, rather than it actually “changing.”

Now, the question is: “Would I rather be in a play, or be in a good play?”

It’s the same coin as the line of thinking that goes: Well, at least you have a job.

That, at its core, is very true, but it seems to me that when we’re living in integrity with our values in as many places in our lives as possible, we’re doing more good – for ourselves and for the world.

When people are living lives that are engaged, they inspire me. There are circumstances that can keep us from this expression of our true selves and skills, surely. There’s war famine racism classism sexism disease and all manner of ill fortune. I recognize the privilege it is that I’ve been able to crawl out of (and partially been born out of) the first tier of “Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs,” out of the pure and simple satisfaction of the needs for food, shelter, clothing, and income.

I am reminded of a phone conversation I had with my mom several years ago. I was in the car with a friend when my cell rang. I answered, we spoke a few minutes, and the call ended. What struck me later wasn’t the content of the call, but how I behaved during the call. My friend overheard every word and all the manner and mannerisms that came out during my conversation – and those behaviors would align perfectly with how I interact with my friend.

There was little to no difference between how I comported myself in relation to my mom and how I was in relation to my friend. That alignment of “personalities” was completely new to me. I was always someone different with friends, coworkers, family members, lovers. Although there are necessary adjustments you need to make in those various relationships, I was always way out of alignment – they all were completely disparate personalities.

My car conversation allowed me to see that I was “aligning the films of who I am,” as I later put it. It wasn’t about a shift from wearing different masks to wearing the same mask; it was about relieving myself of the masks at all – and being the same ol’ me no matter where, when, or who.

This feels completely parallel to my circumstances and predicaments these days: How to bring the same person, with the same boundaries, needs, and self-esteem, to work, to play, to relationship.

How to live in integrity, which, to me, means aligning the films of ourselves. Not participating in self-abandonment, and bringing every endeavor and relationship into the light, and questioning if it meets our standards of what we want for ourselves, and if we’re meeting those standards through our own action.

It’s all well and good to report and purport that I want to cease settling for less in many areas of my life; it’s another endeavor entirely to take actions that support that desire. Again, that’s integrity – being who you say you want to be.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am leaving this play. When my friend last night told me that her “intuitive hit” was that I could find work that I love, I began to well up. It's not about permission to do the play or not do the play, even -- it's about giving myself permission to do that which I love. In every arena of my life right now, I’m endeavoring to find that which I love – which starts from acknowledging and listening to and giving enough credence to self-love to do that.

If I am purporting that I want to do what I love, but there are still these fissures of contrary action, I’m offering a divided message to “the Universe,” but mostly to myself. If I engage in that which doesn’t feed my soul and my joy-meter, I’m giving the message that it’s (still) okay to abandon my desires, and that my desires aren’t that important to me anyway.

It’s time for me to have a car conversation with the Universe, one in which I am myself – self-confident with a hint of doubt, a vehement believer in the need for joy and alignment, more than a tad bit wacky – no matter who’s on the other line. 

Thou Shalt...

I’m always hesitant to share my meditations. Like listening to someone report their dream, which to the dreamer is a fascinating pursuit, and to the listener is … not. But. This morning’s meditation was too illustrative and too relevant to current musings not to report. So, bear with.

“What is blocking me from making this decision around the play?” Around quitting or staying in it. I can’t even get to a firm decision either way, get a spiritual “hit” either way – even after conversation, taking an inventory of my fears around it both ways, and even after regular old "getting quiet" meditation.

So, this morning, I plugged the headphones into my iPod, scrolled to the drumming meant for this type of meditation and went in on a Shamanic Journey to find out what the heck is going on since the “normal” pathways to clarity are so gummed up.

Standing, in my mind’s eye, at the edge of the cliff that overlooks all the land that makes up my self (occasionally I'm reminded of Mufasa showing Simba all the land in Africa that is his domain), I asked the above question: What is blocking me from making my decision?

Without warning, the sky turned black, the light sucked out of the land, and a voice stormed, “You have to do this play.” This was no gentle cosmic answer. This was violent insistence. This was, I don’t care whether you want to do it or not; you have to.

This, is not my voice. But, apparently, it’s there inside me, blocking my decisions. I certainly can’t even know whether I want to do the play or not, if there’s a damning demand to do it regardless of my desire. This wasn’t a request, this was an order. This wasn’t a suggestion, this was a decree.

And if you’ve read me for any period of time, you know that voice is probably internalized from a parental source of the masculine variety.

The fear, no, terror, I felt when everything turned black was so evocative of how I felt as a child, I’d forgotten what it feels like to feel so small, so unimportant. On my couch, in my living room, in 2014, I pulled my blanket tight around me and cowered into the cushions.

There are cases and circumstances when, certainly, we don’t want to do things. As you also know, I hate doing my dishes. But, I do them. I know I “have to.” I know that as a child, we’re required to do things that we don’t want to do, because it’s for the good of the family, the good of your education, the good of your health (who wants to get a teeth cleaning?). But, this isn’t that.

As I recorded in my journal what occurred during meditation, I wrote what came to mind after it – the counter, the compassionate response to this demonic, demanding voice: “Molly, You don’t have to do the play if you don’t want to. There is no wrong decision here: If you do it, you’ll have more opportunities to do things you love; if you don’t do it, you’ll have more opportunities to do things you love. This is an abundant world. Just keep honing your vision and asking for help.”

Because there is no right or wrong here. But I haven’t been able to get anywhere on this choice because there's been this internal override preventing me from making it. I can’t know what I want if I don’t think I’m allowed to figure that out.

This still doesn’t make my decision one way or the other ... yet. But, I suspect that identifying, addressing, and removing the block to making one will help. 

No Blog; Radio

Two elephants are in the shower.

One elephant says, Pass the Soap.

The other elephant responds, No soap, Radio.

* * *

For reasons unknown to me, my mom used to repeat this Dada-esque joke often, but the shorthand just became, No soap, Radio.

It's shorthand for something absurd, but also something just silly to say when someone asks you to pass something.

The reason there's "no" blog today, is I set my morning alarm for 5 PM instead of 5 AM for my morning shift at the Dailey Method workout studio. So, I awoke at 6am and didn't really have the necessary time or "grounding" that serves as the springboard for this lovely (crafted) brain-dump forum.

Therefore, please let this blog serve as an homage to the absurd and an opportunity to picture two elephants in a shower. I'll let you ponder if either of them are wearing a bathing cap.

You Spin Me Right Roun’...

I’ve been looking up meditation retreats. There’s this one I’ve heard about for years that’s a 10-day silent meditation retreat – I remember a guy I knew once shared that his therapist advised him against going on a silent retreat! (He went anyway, and reported great tidings.)

But, one thing I always seem to forget until after I’ve gone on such a retreat or weekend away is that I can effect the same kind of stillness without going so far, and without paying so much.

I remember last year, I went north to Marin to participate in a half-day meditation retreat. The meditation itself was lovely; the grounds are nestled into the hillside near the ocean, and there’s an organic farm and garden you can walk through during the walking meditation part. But… the zen talk… eek.

This day's particular teacher stuck in my craw the whole time, so before the second “dharma talk,” I left. I felt good about having gone, being among the greenery and the eucalyptus. I even saw a chipmunk on my way back to the parking lot. But, I didn’t need to stay and “practice listening” to someone whose personality shone way larger than his teachings. It was way more about him, than his teachings.

As I left, I noted that I could have found the same or a similar degree of stillness, just by driving up into the nearby national park in Berkeley. I didn’t have to sit in a “zen-do” or listen to teachings – really, I just wanted to listen to the silence, and although I can do that in my own home, I prefer to go somewhere nature-y when I really want to recharge. 

I’m reminded of this as I look up retreats this morning: a day-long one at the same retreat center, the 10-day silent retreat place, even a hot-spring zen-center-meets-spa related to a nearby center.

But really, what do I want to achieve or gain or experience? Stillness.

I feel very harried at the moment, with a lot of irons in the fire around creative endeavors, work endeavors, and even friend endeavors.

I’ve been wanting to strengthen my relationships with friends, form new or stronger connections, and this weekend has been the perfect exercise in that – it’s been chock full of friend-related activities that have been truly wonderful. But, I’m tired.

Yesterday morning, spur-of-the-moment birthday plans were texted to me: “Join me in Marin for dinner and a hike under the full moon.”

Um, Yes, please!

None of the 6 dinner attendees knew anyone except the birthday boy, and we had a great time. The hike was fantastic. Epic, really. The view over the Bay, the fog rolling in, the lights below, the reflection of the “super moon” in the water. – That, my friends, was meditative.

But, it also wasn’t. Different personalities require different levels of reverence, and for some people, silence isn’t really an option. – I’d love to go back and experience it in the quiet. It was awe-inspiring.

And, I wasn’t home til after midnight … which if you didn’t know, is way past my bedtime. But, so worth it!

However, I begin to feel a draw inward. I’m an “X” in the “introvert/extrovert” Meyers-Briggs scale. Meaning, I am neither an “I: Introvert” nor an “E: Extrovert” – I fall so perfectly between the two, needing both in such equal amounts, that I am an “X: Right in the middle.”

So, with all of this external push (creative stuff, job stuff, friend stuff), Anty needs a recharge. (Honey, I Shrunk the Kids reference, fyi.)

But, it is important for me to remember that I don’t need to retreat from the whole world, put huge parameters around my life in order to do this. It’s as simple as committing 2 hours, getting in my car, driving 20 minutes, and crunching through the soft-fallen eucalyptus leaves until I get to a spot where I can sit – no incense required. 

Note: In this evening's performance, the role of Pride will be replaced by Truth.

She held up her fingers:

“One: Is it a theater company or director you really want to work with?” No, not really.

“Two: Are they paying you really well?” No, zilch.

“Three: Is it a play you are excited about and really want to do?” No, not at all. It’s awful.

“Then don’t do it,” she concluded.

But I auditioned for him three times.

“So, what? Say that something else came up and you’re really sorry. The thing is, that’s a huge commitment for somewhere you don’t want to be. You’d be wasting time that you could use honing your craft, going on other auditions, taking classes, and finding something you really want to do.”

But it’d be my first lead role.

“Yeah, in a play where the actors outnumber the audience for a play you don’t want to be in. That sucks; take it from me.”

* * *

This was the conversation I had last night with my friend who’s a semi-professional actress when I told her I was having doubts about the play in which I'm cast. She said these were the 3 golden questions her acting teacher said the actor had to answer for himself. The instructor, being at a higher level, said that for him, he has to answer Yes to all three of those questions. For my friend, mid-tier, she was told, No more crap jobs: She has to answer Yes to at least two of those questions.

And for me, beginner, I have to answer Yes to at least one of those questions.

Otherwise, what the hell am I doing with my time? What am I saying my time means to me?

I am very much associating all this with my job/career search. If a guy continues to get promoted up through the ranks at a company he doesn’t enjoy, doing work he hates, but is paid really well, is that enough? I can't say.

If we’re not getting paid well, doing work we love or working with people we enjoy… well, what are we doing?

If we can’t answer Yes to any of these questions in regards to career, why are we there? Why are we wasting any days of this short life?

I don’t yet know if I’m going to bow out of the play in which I’ve been cast. When I told her again that I auditioned for him 3 times — meaning, I feel that he's already put such time and effort into me and my performance I'd feel guilty dropping out — she replied, “Take care of yourself, not them.” … Oh… right.

Because the reality is that I will be in rehearsals for 3 hours nearly every day of the week for two months… for a really awful play. It’s really awful, folks. Not like, passable, manageable, I'm just being picky — It’s really awful. It’s terribly written. I’d walk out, if I were an audience member.

Because it wouldn’t have been worth my time.

No matter how great I am or am not in the play, my heart wouldn’t be in it – and if it’s not, then that’ll show up, too. I roll my eyes every time I read the script. I say aloud to my cat, “This is a really awful play,” each time I start to rehearse it.

I don’t know yet. It’s a hard judgment call, you know? I asked my friend, What about having to work your way up the ladder, and take shitty jobs at first? She pointed me back to those three questions. Where are my values?

Is my hesitation to drop out about my having a lead role, so I can feel pride? Pride over a notation on my resume? Pride over something that I’m not proud of? Is it about status? Is it about feeling this proves that I’m worthy; that I'm good?

How can you feel worthy about something you’re not proud of? That doesn’t compute.

I’m meeting with another actor friend of mine tomorrow to run lines for this play. I’m hoping to get insight in conversation with him – if it’s really as awful as I think it is.

But, I already know it is.

What my friend told me was that I should audition for everything, but don’t go to callbacks if it’s a terrible play!

I’m reminded, once again, of the dating/job interview corollary: It’s great to say Yes to the first date or interview. But after that, you’ve garnered enough information to know if you want to try it out again or not. I don’t have to show up a second time, if I’m really sure this is not a fit.

So, yes, it would be really great to say that I’m the Queen of the Amazons. It makes me feel worthy and proud and like I'm not making a huge mistake in going after this dream. But isn't the mistake not respecting what really want, and settling for (way) less, just so I can say I have a lead? Isn't the mistake I've been loathe to make in relationships settling for less than I want, just so I can say I have a partner? 

Wouldn’t I rather be somewhere where I’m excited and learning something, instead of just clocking time? 

The Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar Question

During my current "job/purpose/life direction/authenticity+security" search, a friend suggested a workbook to me. Yesterday, I downloaded it on Audible (yay, free trial!) and began to listen to it as I upkept my house, doing laundry from the camping trip, unpacking my bags from it. And one of the questions it asks a few chapters in, is one I paused the audio to write down and answer for myself:

“What is the one question I’m afraid to ask myself?”

I was both very quick and slow in my answer. Quick, in that I knew immediately what the question was; slow, in how hesitantly I wrote it on the page, one halting letter at a time:

“Do I think I’m good enough?”

Below this question, I wrote a second one: “What scares me about being with people?”

I drew an arrow from my second answer to my first.

Do I think I’m good enough?

It’s easy to give a knee-jerk, Yes, of course I do. But this question is the quiet force of erosion that hollows out all my actions, my self-esteem, and my ambition.

Interestingly, the question I’m most afraid to ask myself is not: “Am I good enough?” That one is much easier for me to answer affirmatively. It’s the part about “thinking” – do I think I’m good enough – that hampers me.

And therefore, the thinking is the part that I must step away from. That I must begin to give less credence to. Because what follows from that question is, “If I don’t think I’m good enough, do you?” And from here, I begin to place my self-worth in the hands of others who likely rub up against their own self-imposed limitations, and can’t possibly answer that for me in a way, like I said the other day, “that I can feel.”

My ex-boyfriend used to use a word that became an in-joke with us, because it bothered me so much, and he loved to see me get rankled: Adequate.

He deemed things adequate, and this incensed me! Things are never adequate, I’d retort. They’re either good or not good. The food wasn’t “adequate,” it was delicious or it was bland. My performance in bed was never (ever!) "adequate:" it was stunning. (He loved to get me on this one – you could see steam coming out my ears on this one.)

But, I hated that word beyond anything. I hated the idea of adequate, of something being “good enough.” What does that even mean??

Very briefly, I watched a t.v. show based on a Stephen King premise about wish-fulfillment. In it, one of the characters asks the wish-fullfiller for “enough money.” You can only imagine, in this dark tale, that “enough” was never enough. There is no exact value for “enough,” and the woman was always going back for more.

I hated the word adequate, because I interpreted it as NOT enough. If it were enough – you’d say that. If it were “adequate,” you’re just giving a “nice” word to something disappointing.

My ex’s game shows me, now, that my rancor against that word was because I was living in a definition of “good enough” that meant NOT good enough. I always hear the phrase with an inflection on the end that indicates the shoulder-shrug: "Good enough. (shrug.)"

What does good enough mean to me? What does adequate mean to me? Can these be positively interpreted?

Because the massive secret is that if does mean good enough, then there’s nothing to stop me from the pursuit of joy, fulfillment, and living a whole life. If I can change my understanding of “good enough” to mean, in fact, good enough (without the shoulder shrug), then the self-doubt falls away, or lessens greatly.

I am a good enough writer. I am a good enough woman. I am emotionally healthy enough to be in partnership. I am perseverant enough to continue producing art. I am good enough to submit work.

Some (all?) of these sound strange in my mouth, like it’s filled with marbles, awkwardly forming words that I’ve never said before, or have been too dubious to utter. Some of them I so desperately want to believe, I fear saying them at all, for fear that I’ll fuck it up.

It will always be my brain that thinks – but it will always be my soul that wants. It’s the vicious impasse that impedes both their efforts that causes me such anguish.

My brain is not strong … enough (ha!) anymore to override the wantings of my soul. But my soul is not yet bold enough to override the fearful thinkings of my brain.

The tie-breaker, as always, is the action of my body. I can type this without my brain’s approval and put it online. I can send an email to get an audition slot for a musical without my brain’s approval (and believe you, me, I have one chattery brain after sending that email). Action is always the key to change. Whether it’s my soul in the driver’s seat or my head, they can engage in the battle of the century behind my eyes, but meanwhile, my foot is pressing the gas, and I appear to be showing up – adequately.  

"Only Her Hairdresser Knows For Sure!"

I am likely not the only woman to tear up at the sighting of a gray hair on her head. But I may be one of the few who wells up with tears of gratitude.

Yesterday, during my morning primping, I noticed a gray hair. I usually don’t pull them out; this isn’t the first I’ve noticed. But this one, I decided to.

About 5 inches of silver, shiny, light-catching hair. 5 inches that have grown back since it all fell out from chemo in late 2012.

Call me crazy, but I’ve never been scared of going gray. I had none at all before cancer, and several now. But, even before then, I always thought of it as a rite of passage. As a crowning achievement, really. You’ve made it. You are alive to go gray at all. You are passing into the stage of life that is for richness, boldness, satisfaction, self-esteem and a greater degree of self-assurance.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from reading about aging generations, it’s that so much of our self-questioning begins to fall away once we reach “a certain age.” We begin to think less about how others see us, and more to question what we want to leave as a legacy. And this brings with it so much reflection and truth-finding.

Who wouldn’t want to age into that category?

Surely, you don’t have to turn 50 to begin to assess your values and your desires for the remainder of your years. Like me, and surely others, you can do that at most any age. But it helps to have some experience behind you to make those choices from a place of peace, not fear.

The first memoir I ever looked at, I didn’t read.

I saw it on a shelf in Borders (when it still existed) about 7 or 8 years ago. I noted the title, looked at the flap, and went on with my day. But I never forgot about it, and last year finally picked it up to read.

The title? Going Gray: What I Learned about Beauty, Sex, Work, Motherhood, Authenticity, and Everything Else That Really Matters. A woman’s exploration of what that means to “go gray” in our culture and society. A lifelong hair dyer, she made the decision to give up the illusion, and embrace whatever lay under the chemicals, for better or worse.

Author Anne Kreamer looks at the history of dying our hair; goes “undercover” as a woman trying to reinvent herself to re-enter the workforce to see if image consultants will tell her to dye her now growing-out grays (none do); and comes to discover that with her new look comes a new clothing color scheme, and a new confidence.

She also doesn’t purport the superiority of letting her hair grow out. She talks with successful women who do and don’t dye, and let’s them have their experience. All she can speak to is her own.

Surely, it helps that she goes gray in a “nice” way, with silvery and dark chrome strands. Which is much the way I anticipate I will.

With my dark coloring, I imagine that I will go silver, instead of stale gray, or as my mom describes her (dyed) fading blond: dirty dishwater.

So, that "beauty in the beast" helps my acceptance, I’m sure.

But what brought me to tears yesterday as I stood there, admiring this newly-found strand, now plucked and held like a precious object in my hand, was the reality and giddy reminder I feel every time I find one: I made it. I am alive to have gray hair.

I’m alive to see what will happen with it: if they’ll turn out all spidery texture and I’ll lament I ever praised finding them. If I’ll consider dying it after all. Or if I’ll love every single thread of life these gray hairs represent.

I tear up when thinking about this, because it’s true. Because, like someone admiring a sunset, or their sleeping child, or the taste of a food never eaten, it means I’m alive. Which itself means I have a chance and a choice to make my life whatever I want it to be.

My gray hair represents possibility, transformation, and authenticity.

Who wouldn’t rejoice?