"It's not about the applause."

I’m doing it again. This “auditioning” thing. 

It makes me nervous, giddy, excited, daunted, and happy, underneath all the neurosis. Seems I’m the perfect image of an actor, then, eh?!

But really. I was thinking about it when I was in To Kill A Mockingbird recently, about tweaking the title of Lance Armstrong’s memoir, “It’s not about the bike”: It’s not about the applause. 

At the end of the show, the performance, onstage, when I come out for my bow, I don’t really hear it. Adrenaline in my ears, it’s part of a wall of sound crossed with Charlie Brown's teacher’s voice: Wah Wah Wah. It's the briefest moment. Shorter than an orgasm. It can't be why you do it. 

It’s not about the applause. 

Because in the moment that the audience is able to reflect on what they’ve seen and pass judgement positive or negative, they’re already out of the moment — and that’s not what this acting thing is about for me. 

Not that I have much experience! But from that which I do, I realize that it’s more about what’s happening in the moment of performance with the audience, the experience created with them in real time. Whether that’s engagement, boredom, emotional stirring. 

For me, those moments of connection are what it’s about. To create a space and an environment for others to have an emotional experience they otherwise might not have had that evening. 

For me, it’s always been about that. From poems written years ago that highlight my desire to incite a revolution or evolution in people through performance. 

You can hear it from the stage. Whether the audience is holding their breath, gasping at a sudden revelation. Or crying, you can hear the sniffling. Or laughing, or that one person in the audience who laughs harder than others, or is trying not to laugh because no one else is. 

It’s this petrie dish of human experience. How will they respond, react, be moved, if at all?

I love it. I love being a part of it. I love having a small hand in moving people, of allowing them the moments of anonymity in the dark theater to be moved. That intimacy, even though I will never see their faces. That authenticity they get to experience, even though they paid for it. 

Isn’t that what Aristotle spoke of when he said theater was a catalyst of mass catharsis?

So in those few moments when I’m timing when to step out and down to the apron of the stage, and for a moment be Molly instead of character, it’s like stepping out as the man behind the curtain in Oz. Like seeing how a magic trick works. 

It’s lovely and I won’t fein that it isn’t bolstering to get applause, but I rush that part in my head, braced against it somehow, not really hearing it, just trying to bow and let the next person have theirs. 

Sure, it’s gratifying as we, the whole cast, stand there hands clasped over our heads, knowing that this sound is a show of appreciation and gratitude and approval. 

And I won’t say I don’t like it or hope for it. But. 

It’s not about the applause. 

Doing Sh*t

On my way into my first audition last Saturday, a good friend texted me support, saying:
“You’re DOING SHIT!”

This is in stark (pfft, get it?) contrast to one of my most read blogs, Magical Accidental Orgasm (and I can tell from the stats list that many people find it by searching “Accidental Orgasm” on Google!). The blog was about my realization that I was waiting for someone to come along and prescribe for me my life, my bliss, my path without me doing much of anything. I was waiting for someone to (metaphorically!) “give me orgasms,” as I cribbed from The Vagina Monologues.

But today, two years later, I am no longer waiting. Today, I am doing shit.

This morning I woke up and practiced the bass line for the set my band is playing on Saturday. Tomorrow, I’m going to take my first voice lesson from someone who comes with great recommendations. And Sunday, I will start rehearsal for Addam’s Family: The Musical (which still just gets such the kick out of me!).

(Side-bar: Coincidentally, when I was in 4th or 5th grade, I dressed as Wednesday Addams for Halloween. So I guess it’s appropriate that 20 years later, I play her mother!)

Doing shit. Despite my thinking – always despite my thinking – I continue to put good things in my path. I honestly don’t remember how I found that audition call.

But, I do remember finally having coffee with a friend/acting mentor last Sunday to help me in my newbie, greenness. She is the one who suggested the song I sang for my auditions, and who recommended this voice teacher. She invited me to come over last Wednesday and practice my monologue in front of her.

And last Friday, I invited a woman to coffee who is making a go of the “life as singer” life to ask her how I could get out of my bubble of not being seen. She had many great suggestions, just to get me out and singing. Like choruses, and meet-ups, and this piano bar I didn’t know about that’s here in the East Bay.

I don’t want to do shit. Doing shit is scary!! But I also don’t want to wait for someone else to press play on my life, because that person is not coming. I don’t want to wait for the trumpet blast or starting gun or treasure map or even Ed McMahon, because they’re not coming.

This doesn’t mean that I move any quicker, but despite my fears, doubts, self-derision, scarcity mind, I continue to ask for help and put myself in the path of ... shit.

That’s how all these things have happened. I ran into a friend and jokingly said if you need a second bassist, and in fact, he was just trying to put back together this side project, but thought I wasn’t doing music anymore. Well, now! Yes, please! And so, here we are, about to play a show.

I like the responsibility and accountability it gives me to myself and to my dreams, not to mention to others. Having to show up with other people means that I can’t flake out. I have to wake up and practice, or I’ll be disappointed and disappointing. I have to make audition dates, or I’ll languish in “someday” and “wouldn’t it be nice.” I have to take voice lessons, show up at piano bars, take suggestions, or I will continue to say, “Not good enough, not really, not me.”

If wishes were horses… Apparently, I’d ride. 

My Brain Reads Like a Cafe Gratitude Menu...

I am pure, undiluted joy.

Honestly, you could culture my blood for Potions class.

There was an impromptu dance party.

I left an incoherent bubbling message on my mom’s voicemail, and called my brother, too. Who told me I’m awesome. And who I told back that he is, too.

For those who don’t follow my Facebook feed, I found out this morning that I got the role of Morticia in “Addams Family: The Musical.”

The one I don’t even know how I found the audition call for. The one I auditioned for this weekend to my own mediocre reviews. The one I was called back for, to my own mediocre reviews.

I’m sensing a trend here: What I think, and what reality tells me, may be two very different things.

And, here, for the better.

The astounding thing to me is this is the second lead role I’ve been offered in as many months. From, “you know your height gets in your way” to “please join us” … Wow.

There’s a quote that called me to sit for a moment in silence on my bed, breathing heavy from the fist pumping, Elaine-thumbs-out dance party:

Don’t forget to pause a minute and thank G-d for everything.

Thank you. Thank you, Universe, for conspiring for me. Thank you, Molly, for showing up even though you’re scared and doubtful. Thank you, FRIENDS, for receiving those phone calls and texts that ask you to send me love and support. Thank you, friends, for sending love and “likes” and hope.

I need you way more than you know.

And you always show up, which is marvelous – like, something to marvel at. Really.

The play will run mid-September to mid-October. This means that I will spend my October 7th birthday in performance.

I spent my 30th birthday with fondue and friends. I spent my 31st in a hospital bed, saying, "Next year: Brunch, huh?"

I celebrated 32, indeed, at brunch with a dear friend and her two kids whose laughter is part of my salvation.

And, god willing, I will spend 33 in pursuit of a dream I have let languish in a faded costume closet. The clothing of another woman in another life.

Life moves and shakes, it do.

And part of my work is to accept that these costumes, these roles, these friends, this love, this life … are for me, too.

Let’s throw open the doors, pull out these moth-eaten dreams, and hold them up to reality. They may be more solid than I’ve wanted to know.

Thank. You. 

How to Eat an Elephant.

Thank you, to whoever read my blog Perseverance yesterday, which encouraged me to read it, which I’m sure I haven’t done since I wrote it in November 2012. Particularly appropriate today is the following:

With each creative endeavor, as you know by now, I pull back at some point. Painting, acting, writing, singing. I will spend a few months active in pursuance of these interests, and then wane. I will talk myself back from it, in any number of ways, and move back into my mediocrity.

Yesterday, I showed up for two theater auditions. At the first, I sang a bit of a song (“Whatever Lola Wants,” from Damn Yankees) and a bit of a monologue (Sherry Johnson, from The Laramie Project).

It was the first time I’ve auditioned for a musical since high school; I only just heard the whole song on Monday; and I’d never practiced it with an accompanist before. Let’s just say, I could have done better!

(However, I’m “lucky” enough to have already had several auditions where I really bombed, where I said, “I’m so sorry can I start again…” three times! So I know what really bombing is! And I survived.)

At the second audition yesterday, for… The Addams Family, A Musical (HAHAH!!!), I was to prepare only a song, and I sang the same one, this time a little better. But.

There’s a moment in the song, where it hits a high note. It’s one that this whole week I’ve been nervous about hitting, not because I can’t, but because I can’t when I’m holding back. It’s not an unattainable note at all: it’s one I can’t reach when I’m nervous about it, scared I can’t hit it, and am psyching myself out, even as I come to that line.

Then I can’t hit that note. And that’s precisely what happened at yesterday's audition.

And the paragraph from my blog Perseverance is achingly on point. “I talk myself back from it.” That’s exactly what happened.

Now, granted, I’m pretty proud of how I handled everything yesterday, too.

After my first audition, I immediately called a member of Team Molly, and laughed really hard about how I bombed it. The silence of the auditors, the awkwardness, the sad case of the whole thing – I laughed. Because, really, what else can you do? It’s over, it’s done. I can get all butthurt and self-flagellating, or I can ask myself what I learned from the experience.

Which is what I did. I asked it aloud, so as not to give in to the brain gremlins on my drive home: What did I learn?

Well, I learned that I need to practice my songs with accompaniment. I learned that I need to know my songs much better and stronger than one week. And I learned that I really do need to take classes or lessons, if I’m serious about doing this. Which I am.

As with the “real” headshots I finally got done early this year, if I’m really serious about making a go of this, then I have to literally put my money (and energy) where my mouth is. I have to invest in myself.

It’s all well and good to show up partly prepared to these things, and see what kind of results I get. Sure. That’s totally one way to do this. But. That’s not at all what I want. I don’t want to feel I gave it a mediocre chance.

No matter what the results, I really do want to try my best, and this is not at all my best. This is lip service.

Nonetheless. As the first line of my morning pages said this morning, “I did really well because I showed up anyway!!”

I also supported myself throughout the day, instead of falling into despair or hopelessness, which would be really easy. And which would look like coming home to a pint of ice cream and 8 hours of Netflix.

Instead, I drove back to the Bay, went grocery shopping, and went to meet up with friends for an hour to hear their brain dump, and share a little of mine.

And then I went to the second audition.

After which, I created plans for myself so that I didn’t come home and isolate. I made plans with a friend to get out of both our comfort zones and go to this poetry open mic thing that happens monthly nearby. Neither of us were going to read, but just to go to check it out. Try something new. And not be alone in our heads.

It totally worked. I set up for myself stop-gaps for my racing thoughts, for my “not good enough” thoughts. I got into the day and out of myself. And what all of this does is allows me to show up again next time. Because who wants to show up again for something that you tell yourself you sucked at?

Instead, I showed up again, and I will endeavor to support myself with a steadfast vision by taking classes and making sure that I don’t have to feel so psyched out and unprepared next time.

And, just so’s you know. I got called back to the Addam’s Family audition, anyway. ;) Wish me luck!... No, forget luck. Wish me love. 

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. 

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? 

Be a Royal

Yesterday, I auditioned with the weird, avant garde theater company I saw perform briefly on Saturday. Last week, after telling me I didn't in fact get a 'Pride and Prejudice' role as I'd thought, the producer of the company I’ve been auditioning with these past few weeks continued, “You must know your height gets in your way.….

“But, we’re doing this 'Queen of the Amazons' play, and I’d like to introduce you to the director.”

So, I met the director last Saturday. At the weird hippie commune cult Renaissance patchwork crystal-wearing children-of-the-corn-toting ensemble performance.

I’m hippie, people, but I’m not that hippie. Really.

Nonetheless, I spoke with the director for a little while, he invited me to stay for the performance, which I could only for a few minutes, and then the producer called on Wednesday to say the director would like to audition me. And yesterday he did.

He asked at our initial meeting if I really played bass, as is listed on my resume, and I said yes. So he asked me to bring it. And I did, along with my guitar, since I really am only a novice at bass, and can’t really improvise how some might.

We met. He showed me binders and binders of photos from his previous performances. Despite being achingly weird, some of them, they were interesting. Achingly weird. He said American theater bores him – he’s Italian.

And then I played two songs I’d written on the guitar, and sang. And it was strange, just us two, but so nice to be back behind an instrument again. My throat is sore from it, from being out of practice – just another muscle, you can’t just decide to run a marathon without training.

And then he had me read some of the scene. The main role, the Queen of the Amazons.

It was challenging. I’m not that experienced, you know, and it was great to have his feedback on what I was doing, like a private acting lesson. “Be more open, more proud, you’re a queen.” Smile, melt us with your smile, make us love you even when you’re angry. Speak from down here, not up here. Crouch, get physical, you’re an AMAZON.

Ha.

It was weird, and fun, and hard, and intimate, and vulnerable. And it’s still unclear to me if I’m “in,” and because of my "too-soon" (my brain can’t find the word I mean – need more coffee) -- PREMATURE!! -- that's it -- premature declaration the other week about landing a role, I’m cautious to do that here. But. It seems very positive. And even if not, I got some great notes.

It’s clear to me that I have some education to continue around acting. That it would be worth it for me to look up classes or lessons again. If I do get this role, it’s intense, starring, physical, musical, and (word for pushing & challenging I can’t think of). It may be more than I can chew, but I’ll face that if I get the role.

The piece that stands out to me about the audition yesterday was the director inviting me to be more queenly, assertive, confident. To allow what he saw as I played my instruments and sang. To let that person out. To not be a queen through me and my mishegas (not his word!), but to be a queen as she would be.

I drove from the audition to a very long, but good meeting at work, and on the ride asked myself aloud, “What does it feel like to be a queen?”

Role or no role, it’s my job to find out. 

“Just about the time you’re rotting with seriousness or serious boredom, something happens or else you’d die.” ~ Lorine Niedecker, poet

“The thing about grief,” she told me, “is that something is broken, but you’re not – and you’ve got to keep going.”

Years ago she told me this, and I reflect on it in so many situations.

Yesterday, after writing that blog that tore me up a bit, I had to go assist at a work event, and then head to an audition for a play. I really wasn’t feeling it.

It’s been two months now since I’ve auditioned, as I'd been cast in a play (yay!), and then turned down for other parts that allowed me the time to go on vacation. In the meantime, I did go on vacation, and had elaborate experience and processing about relationships, values, love. I also got clearer about my career goals, and implemented some action around them at work, which not surprisingly, I was told last week were great ideas but probably aren’t going to happen “within the next year,” if at all. So, there’s been processing around that, too.

In all, it’s been kinda heavy around here. Making check-points of where I am, where I want to be personally and professionally. And so I showed up to that audition, late and lost in the hills of Berkeley, with little more than the feet I was standing on.

But, most times, that’s enough.

God, it was fun. I really had forgotten that I love this stuff. I’d forgotten the titillation and excitement, and the nervous sizing-up from the other auditioners, and the frantic reading of sides before your name is called, wondering if you’re supposed to do an accent or not.

It was great. It’s less than 20 minutes of life, but it pulled me back to center, away from the future-gazing, away from the grief-feeling. I still feel off today, and that’s alright, but for a few minutes yesterday, I got to do something I love doing, simply for the effort of trying it. I got to meet other women trying it too, and have a coffee date to pick one's brain on the whole “Bay Area Theater Biz.”

It’s strange to get back to this again, this thing that I just want to do because it’s fun and not because my life or income or goals depend on it. It’s strange to just have the fun thing simply because it’s fun. There’s no stepping stone here, no ladder, no life plan founded on it. It’s an extraneous, avocational, extra-curricular dalliance, and isn’t that so needed right now?

I told you I’ve been thinking about getting back into band-ing again, playing bass again. Simply for the same reason. I forgot what it’s like to have fun. To do the things I find fun.

In this time that I’ve been “figuring out” my life and my strategies and my goals, it’s been satisfying and reinforcing and relieving, but it hasn’t been fun. In fact, it’s been hella lonely in some ways I don’t get.

All work and no play, and all that.

But, without really intending to, every single day this past week, I spent time with women friends, mostly long-established, report-having friends. It, too, reinforced something – that combination of history and laughter and understanding and ease. It, too, brought me back to a sense of myself, a little lost in the myopia of “life planning.”

I saw a friend’s post this morning that read, “There’s got to be more to life than this.”

I replied aloud, “There is.”

Progress is Boring.

(in an effort to release perfectionism, I’m going to admit this blog kinda bored me, but I’m putting it up anyway. achievement unlocked!)

I’ve heard there’s a difference between planning and projecting.

Do the first to create peace; do the second and create angst.

As with most of my plans lately -- job stuff, the Boston trip, even the acting (I’ll be auditioning again on Saturday) -- it’s been a lot easier, though not easy, to take the action and let the results be what they may.

What I’ve gotten to see out of this way of being around the trip and the acting is that indeed, the action was worth it, regardless the results. In fact, that the results are still positive: I get to feel the joy of trying, and the smile associated with remembering. I get to feel proud for showing up, and a sense of peace around having not “gotten my way” or gotten in my way – unlike the outcome of projecting.

It’s nice to be able to recognize that the effort was worth the effort. It could be easy to dismiss, and say, That wasn’t worth my time since I didn’t get what I want – but, we know, I did. I got to spend time with someone I enjoy; I got to experience auditioning (and even acting). I got to see who and how I am in relationship, in perseverance, in something new – and I like who I was, and who I saw.

I’ve been hemming around signing up for my work’s retirement plan. I’ve been eligible for almost half a year, and it’s been on my list of “action items” to talk to the accountant at work, find out how much would be taken out of my paycheck to hit the minimum, which would be matched by my employer.

Some people dream of this kind of benefit… and I’ve been scared to look. What if there isn’t enough for me now? What if there won’t be enough for me later? What if it’s too late? What if …

“Clarity leads to freedom,” is a phrase I hear around now. And the truth, like my student loans, could be a lot more palatable than I imagined/feared/projected.

So, this week I did ask for those numbers. I sat, listened, saw the highlighted figures on the page, and then stuffed the paper into my purse! Carrying around this step toward clarity without actually looking is still being in vagueness.

I’m still scared. As if looking at a page will harm me!

Clarity leads to freedom. It’s better to know than not know. It’s better to try than not try. It’s better to live in reality than in fantasy, mostly because my fantasies are pretty nihilistic.

If I’ve gotten anything out of the last few months, or even year, it’s that trying can actually be fun. No matter the outcome.

I think about my band. I think about playing bass in that band. And how freaking fun that was. It was some work, and not always serene, but it was fun. It was enlivening.

And I quit.

It was time to move on, but that doesn’t discount the value and the importance of that experience in my life.

From the vague listening to the accountant, I don’t think my salary can support those retirement contributions, modest though they are. But, also, I’ve learned that my estimation of things can skew toward scarcity and fear, so I’ll be taking those numbers to friends who can help me get more perspective on them, since there may be a truth that I can’t see through that fog.

The other thing that comes up lately, is that I think I wanna band again. Active verb. To band. I want to band.

So, I'll plan, not project. 

Being There

See, there’s two things I’d forgotten in all the sturm&drang of rehearsals & work & sick & crossing bridges & lack of down time: I’m actually good at this acting thing. And I enjoy it. 

In the maelstrom of preparation, I forgot why I was doing this.

As I sat in our reserved cast seats in the front row of the audience, watching the other actors before my scene perform, I got a few minutes to gather myself, and reflect. Something the director said during the “let’s get PUMPED” speech before we got into costume helped to remind me: She said, This is for you. This isn’t for your friends, your parents, your partners: This is for you.

This is for me, I repeated to myself. I remembered that this isn’t for a resume, for a good story to tell when I’m older; this isn’t for accolades or for money. I am doing this acting thing, because I enjoy it. Because it’s FUN. Because, once I do get through rush hour traffic from Berkeley, once I do find parking in the Mission behind some dude drinking Steel Reserve and selling electronics out of his car, once I do get upstairs through the weird haunted building, I come to a black box theater.

In that theater, I’m there to have fun, to enjoy myself, and to share myself. I’m there to engage in something I thoroughly enjoy, just for the sake of it. How fucking novel.

It was and is nice to have been sought out during the wine&cheese reception after the show by a cute little gay boy and his girl friend, to have them sidle up during a conversation with a beamish grin, and tell me how great my performance was. That they got chills. To ask if I did that thing with my hands on purpose, and wow, you did? Wow. That was so great.

It’s gratifying to know that something that I actually enjoy doing is enjoyed and appreciated by others—that’s true, too. (We are only so spiritual!)

But then, isn’t that the point of theater, too—to affect another person. To affect an audience, to help them experience something? Sure, Mol, sure. Yes, you can enjoy the accolades, too. As long as they’re not what’s driving you.

In the chaos of rushing to work, to rehearsal, to home, to do it all over the next day, I began to feel weary. I began to feel like maybe I’m not cut out for this—that maybe this hustle is a younger person’s game. Maybe it’s too late for me to be high-tailing it all over creation in service of a pipe dream.

I really was beginning to wonder if I would audition again.

Part of my delay/hesitance recently, is that I knew I was in a production that was taking all my time & memorization space. Part of it is that I know I’m going out of town in April, and didn’t want to audition for anything new when I’ll be gone. (Cuz, it seems to me that working actors can’t really take vacation…)

And, part of it was/is just plain exhaustion and feeling grueled instead of fueled.

But, I am getting to see that perhaps this is just part of the process. Part of that “put in the hard work to enjoy the results” thing that I’m so loathe to do most of the time. HARD work? Meh.

But, perhaps that’s what’s required here, to get the feeling I had last night. Sure, I fucked up some lines, but people didn’t seem to notice. I still got to feel the sense of “right place.” In the chair, on the stage, in front of lights so bright you can only make out shapes in the audience; hearing the sound cues, the mounting tension of my scene, the mounting tension I bring to my scene. Getting to be there, getting to sit in that chair and show you what I’ve got – It was... well, enlivening.

There’s a phrase I’ve heard to name those times when you are so engaged that you feel out of time, out of the chaos of place, when you are so in something that “time just flies,” – it’s called being “in the flow.” When you are so engaged in what you are doing, when you are so enjoying what you are doing that you are somehow matching the heartpace of the Universe. When for moments or even hours, you just feel in it – your speed aligns with the speed of life, and you flow, you coast, you glide.

In it. To be IN IT. In life.

There was a moment, too, as I sat in the dark audience awaiting my scene that I remembered something I sometimes do: I survived cancer to be here, and I am HERE. Staking a claim. Making a name. Claiming my own.

The gratitude I felt to get to be in that PUMP YOU UP circle before the show: All chaos, time pressure, toll bridges are lost – and I’m just there. 

I Came In Here For An Argument

I’ve been recalling the above-referenced Monty Python sketch. In the first moments, a customer walks into a room and the man behind the desk there begins to berate him. The customer stops him, and exclaims, I came in here for an argument! – At which point, the man behind the desk apologizes and says, Oh, this is Abuse. Argument is down the hall. (It’s a very funny sketch, and I do it no justice here – please make liberal use of Youtube.)

I’ve been thinking about what kind of lesson I think I’ve been signed up for. What ideas I have about what I’m supposed to be learning in this life, at this time, in this moment. And how maybe the room I’ve thought I’ve walked into isn’t that room at all. That although I have some ideas and hopes/generalities about the parts of myself I’m supposed to be working on right now – the fact is, that I’m not actually the one choosing my courses.

I’ve had enough experience to learn that I have to let go of what I think this lifetime’s lessons are for other people (that they should learn self-esteem, compassion, ease, or forgiveness), and I’ve had mild success at that – understanding that what I would have this person learn this time around may not be what the Fates or Universe or Gods would have them learn. That although I very much and fully think that this person ought to learn how to be softer or to be more resolved, they’re apparently not here on my course schedule, and so I have to let go, or else be in the pain of trying to manipulate my will into theirs.

However, it hasn’t yet ever occurred to me that I need to let go of what my ideas are for my lifetime. But it is now.

Because some of these lessons I’m learning aren’t ones I would’ve consciously signed up for.

Last night, at my callback for this play, I was asked to read a scene as the mother to a teenage girl who stood on stage with me. We read the scene, and the director said it was good, but to slow it down, and really find the emotional connection in it. We ran it again, and I was pretty sure I didn’t do that.

I see this morning that I didn’t really trust that I could convey that kind of emotion, and so I barreled through it again. I didn’t trust that I could be good enough, or believable enough, or hold the emotion of love, care, and concern enough to portray it.

So the lesson becomes "trust," instead of "follow my dreams." Trusting that if I slow down, I’ll be okay. That if I allow myself to be seen (a lesson that’s been on my syllabus for a while), I’ll be okay. Trusting oneself is not an easy lesson to learn. Trusting in the safety of being oneself is not an easy lesson to learn.

There’s a phrase I’ve been mulling on this morning: There comes a point in your recovery when you stop backing away from alcohol, and you turn around and start walking toward G-d.

Whatever your thoughts are about "god," the idea, to me, is that eventually, we move beyond being motivated by fear, and must begin to be motivated by love.

The idea that I know what room I walked into, what lesson I’m supposed to learn, is a manipulation based on the fear that I can’t be myself, that I’m not okay with whatever “is.” To accept the fact that I don’t have the syllabus for my life and that the Fates will steer me toward whatever lesson they deem necessary for the goodness of all, means I have to be willing to let go of my expectations for my life and myself. For all my aspirations and intentions, in many ways.

To let go, doesn’t mean to abandon. It means to release control, or perceived control. To let go doesn’t mean to not audition, pursue, or practice what is in front of me. It doesn’t mean to reject or eject anything, in fact.

For me, this morning, “to let go” means “to allow what is.” To allow what is in me, in you, in the cards, in our hearts to BE.

I’ve never had the greatest relationship with the phrase, “Let go.” It feels like falling. But “To allow what is” feels like releasing and accepting in a warm way.

So, I will walk today into the classroom of life, and I will allow what is here to mold and shape me, and I will allow that I am cared for and need not brace for it, and I will allow that I am safe in the care of these lessons, and I will allow myself to shed one millimeter of armor between us.

I will allow the idea, just the idea!, that I am actually totally and completely held, and therefore be able to turn my attention from clenching and bracing to opening, giving, and receiving. 

Bonus quote: "G-d steers the boat; all you have to do is row."

Wow. Wowie Wow Wow

(Christopher Walken on SNL; check it out if you don’t know; too funny)

You know when they (I) say “Both/And”? That life is both this, and that. It is inimitable and gripping, and sallow and challenging? That life is “everything all at once”?

That you are both excited for your new callback and getting dressed to get a possible melanoma removed?

Yeah. Both/And.

So, that’s happening right now. In a little while.

I went to the dermatologist about a month ago to get a strange new mole checked out on my back. She told me that that one was nothing to worry about; that, in fact, it’s the kind of mole you only see on fully adult homosapiens. So, I asked, then basically, this new mole is a Rite of Passage Mole? That I’m officially an adult human, now? Wow. Weird to have your skin tell you it!

You, Molly Louise, you are now officially an adult. Instead of a parade, statue, medal, or email from the Universe, you get this nifty little mole on your back. Holler!!! Luckily, I think it’s kind of awesome and funny, and I’m really not concerned about the aesthetics of it – it’s not gross or repulsive or anything. It doesn’t have a satellite moon orbiting it or have a hair growing from it. – although the Derm said that a hair is usually a good sign that a mole is not malignant.

(It’s this an awesome blog topic!)

"BUT," she said. …

"This other one…" and took out the little 6-inch ruler she kept in her white lab coat. "Well, this other one, …"

Yeah, that one’s kind of new too, in the last year for sure, I told her.

So, today I have it taken out. Which means, they have to dig all the way through ALL of the layers of skin into the fatty flesh below, and take out, like a dowel in the earth, a cylinder of my skin. Yum.

It’s a small thing, it’ll only leave a centimeter of a scar, but for a few days, until the stitched, sewn-together skin around it heals and seals together (our bodies are amazing), no heavy lifting or working out the same way.

Meh. C’est la vie. Small price to pay for solace of mind.

Although, when I told someone when I found this out those few weeks ago, that it was a possible skin cancer thing, they said, oh, no big deal, that’s simple, they gauge it out. Done. … Well, I felt like that was a tad insensitive. I mean, this was coming from another young cancer survivor!

I’m not “worrying twice,” and it is something you just take out (I think – I don’t know – I’m not Googling anything until the doc indicates I ought to). But, it’s still a (what’s “less than worrying”) – Ah, concerning, it’s still a concerning thing. So, I’m concerned. So I get it checked out.

I think my Rite-of-Passage Mole might be on to something.

And, further in the Wow category, this acting thing. Wowie wow wow, man.

It’s so fun. Sure, I talk about the isolation it offers when you’re practicing lines alone, auditioning alone, but, the camaraderie that it leads to, is the point. The opportunity to turn the light on in an audience, to share something with someone else, is the point. And this is the path to that.

I’m stoked.

I have no clue if this is beginner’s luck, if anything more will happen, if I’ll circle around the drain of “aspiring actor” for years. But, SO WHAT.

When I think back to what it felt like on Saturday to join into the lobby of a group of folks, stand around awkwardly in a room with other aspirers, to have my name called, and to walk down the dark aisle of the near-empty theater. To stand on a real stage under real lights, state my name and my piece, and perform it. To have the director say, “Very nice. Thank you.” To then walk back up that aisle less than two minutes later, and gather my purse and walk back out into the amazing Berkeley Spring day?

Well, I’ll tell you:

Wow. 

Oh Envy, Have a cuppa tea & be off with yourself.

A coworker asked me what my plans were this weekend, and along with my regular commitments, I am also going to my friend’s poetry reading, the first meeting of a new writing group, and a shamanic journey group I attend monthly.

She said, Wow, I wish my plans included things like writing groups and journey groups.

I asked what her weekend plans were, and she said, they were having some friends over for dinner. That’s about it.

I said, Wow, I wish my plans included things like having friends over for dinner.

I live in the strange time/place between apartment- and house-dweller; between the young able-bodied, go-into-the-city-at-10:30pm-er (as I was invited to last night) and the slightly more cautious, actually-10:30-is-my-bedtimer. I live between the single person world, and the time of coupledom.

And in this place, though there is a ton to “do,” I feel a little lonely. Not for the partner, per se, but for the friendships that begin to fall away as a single person in a paired up world. Nostalgic for the times when a gathered group of women would carve pumpkins together on a Thursday night, for the time when there was occasion to take photos of a gaggle of folks, and a little longing for the camaraderie, simplicity, and elegance that “having some friends over for dinner” could offer.

I know life has different phases, and the majority of the things I’m doing right now (though they are communal, simply aren’t friend-inclusive) are in support of a grander plan and dream: acting classes, auditioning, rehearsals, practicing my lines and reading scripts. I know that this is an exciting part of my path, and, believe me, I am *stoked* to get to do these things, but I also recognize that a shift is occurring. I am on the blank page after one chapter has ended, and before the other has begun.

My friends will be at the writing group, the poetry reading, and the shamanic journey group. These are people who I can have hours’ long conversations with, and last week, did have coffee with one of them, but, I don’t know – there’s a zest of communal living that I haven’t replaced from the days of late-night group dancing and diner-ing.

Perhaps all things in order and in time, but I’m just noticing. I notice that I’d like to be someone who goes to dinner at friends’ houses. Maybe I just want to be able to invite people over to dinner, like I had been able to in my 1-bedroom in the city, but not in my studio in Oakland. I know that’s a part of it too. 

It’s interesting, isn’t it, that the grass is always greener?

I have plenty of people I consider friends—I’d just like to see them more often. And apparently, in groups. (I also recognize that I don’t want to be your token single friend in that group to whom you say things like, "Have you tried internet dating?" For more on this, see this article my friend sent me!)

That said, there’s a viewing party for ONCE upon a time I’m attending in a few Sundays at a friend’s; there’s a birthday party at my friend’s house in Discovery Bay next month that will bring out some of my most cherished friends and their families;

and, anyway, this navel-gazing blog is boring me. ;)

I have some people to go see, followed by shopping for a jewel-toned top for Monday’s new headshots, and a facial to help those photos come out awesome. Then line-learning, vegetable roasting, and poetry attending. My life is certainly full—now if it could also be a little more stocked with you.

Get Real.

Blogger lets you see what posts are being read, how many times, and where in the world the reader is (HELLO! Those of you in Poland, Germany & Israel...whoever you are!). This morning, I saw that someone had read “Pulling a Carmen,” my first blog-a-day in November of 2011. I haven’t stuck with it daily, but fairly enough.

Amazingly, a) it’s the same things I talk about now (wanting to act and perform; letting myself be in a relationship; owning my dreams), but b) it also shows me where things have changed: I have been a bass player in a band – I certainly wasn’t in Winter of 2011 when I wrote that; I wasn’t until Spring of 2013.

In that blog, I write that my relationship with others is reflected in my relationship with myself: how am I not committed to myself and my goals? And here I am present-day, whittling down my goals to only theater, finally. 

This week, I wrote the lead singer in the band I play bass in that I can’t be in the band anymore. It’s sad, but I know it’s ultimately for the best. It’s a pruning game—like a bonsai. Or fichus. (cuz who doesn’t love the word fichus). And I think it will ultimately help me in my attempts to focus on and even achieve anything at theater.

I write about all the same things that I write about now, but I do think I’m at a different place with them. I mean, I guess I write about the same things all the time: relationships, healing, self-care, self-derision, past experience, authenticity, perseverance.

Perseverance. I’ve written a bunch about that before, but without one goal to head toward, the whole thing becomes dispersed, scattered, and ineffectual.

Yesterday, I put down a deposit for real headshots.

The friends I’ve had who’ve helped me out over the years produced incredible photos, artistic, fun, and fun to shoot—but they’re not “acting headshots.” And there just is an industry standard. I’ve been trying to get the name of someone from an actor friend of mine, but her voicemails are all garbled, and somehow it hasn’t been working.

Enter Yelp. Yesterday after some searching and clicking and emailing, I sent half of the $350 fee to this woman in Berkeley.

Later that day, I got emails back from my other inquiries, friends, who would be willing to do a much reduced rate, or photos in exchange for babysitting.

I cursed myself (mildly) for being so impetuous and imprudent, for not being patient and thereby “wasting” money.

And then, I looked at these friends’ websites, and I said, ya know, it’s worth it.

As Maybelline says, I’m worth it. (or is it clarol?)

Because, after hm, 3 years of headshots that I felt either okay, or less than okay about (fine photos though they were), I've been being prudent and cutting corners and trying alternatives--It’s time to put my money where my mouth is. And I mouth about being an actress.

Does this mean I’m suddenly an actress? No. Does it mean that I’m taking myself seriously enough to invest in myself? Yes. Does it mean that I can focus more on what I’m showing the auditors rather than what I’ve handed them, or emailed them? YES.

Because it IS my calling card, my first impression. And if I want to be a professional, I get professional help. If I want this to be real, then I get real.

I could look at that first blog and laugh/lament that I’m talking and writing and working on the same damned things 3 years later. And a little bit, I do. But I also recognize that big things have shifted since then, too. I’m glad to have this kind of record to mark my progress. Even when progress looks circuitous and labyrinthine.

The last line in that first blog is that maybe there’s a tall attractive employed funny Jewboy who is looking for a “writer/singer/actress…bass player.” At the time I wrote that, "bass player" was only a vague hope and notion, a funny, last second, "doorknob comment" throw-away, because you shouldn't really know that it's important to me. Today, I get to own that mantle. I am a bass player. I play bass, I’ve been in a band. And I am now hoping to own the mantle of actress.

If you glue it, they will come. 

State of the Union

Yesterday, I sat with a group of folks, and admitted that continuing to participate in activities that I’m not 100% invested in (or even 85%) is dishonest. That I was not being honest with my intentions or priorities—and was thereby wasting time. (You finite commodity, you.)

There was a meditation/writing portion of this meeting, and so I wrote a series of questions for myself:

• How is being dishonest with others serving me?
• How is prioritizing others’ needs serving me?
• How is NOT prioritizing my own needs serving me?
• What need am I fulfilling by not prioritizing and owning my needs?
• How is dismissing my desires serving me?
• How is devaluing myself serving me?

 Heavy, huh?

But, for me, that’s what pushing important things off to “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” is. It’s devaluing myself, what I have deemed important to myself.

Because I’ve been hemming and hawing a little on letting those folks know that I can’t come out and play anymore. Even though I am clear that my priorities and intentions have shifted.

So… Yesterday, I committed to those folks that I would make two phone calls. One was to the 25 y.o.

He asked, adorably, if he were in trouble, when I said I wanted to chat when he wasn’t in a café. I said no, but that it was sort of a “State of the Union” conversation, so to give me a call back.

He did. And we did.

I’d been feeling throughout this week that this couple-dom wasn’t on course for relationship-land. It’s a pretty appropriate assessment after a half-dozen dates. We’ve kept it PG-13, so there isn’t any animal-brain “must keep orgasm giver” going on.

But, I have simply felt like I’ve crystallized that I don’t want to date this person long-term. It’s just a feeling, not a fear, not a defense mechanism. Just a fact.

The big however is, I don’t want to stop seeing him. And thus, my hesitation.

I really enjoy spending time with this person, getting to know him, getting to know myself in relation to him. And I thoroughly enjoy our frisky make-out sessions.

So, that’s what I told him. Pretty much all of the above. I don’t see this heading toward relationship track, but I enjoy spending time with him, and I enjoy making out with him.

That the outcomes I saw were we transition to friends, or do that and try to keep with the sexy-time, or do neither. So, he asked me, then, what I wanted? If I knew what I wanted? And I said, no. I didn’t know, but perhaps in talking it out, and hearing his thoughts, we might find some solution.

He admitted and agreed that he was “along for the ride,” but not in a place to invest in a relationship. So that pretty much leaves us two options: continue seeing one another with the frequency we have been, or stop seeing one another.

I replied, honestly, that the idea of seeing him less was unappealing to me.

(And I have to admit here, that part of my hesitation in letting go of this couple-dom is that this person is the first I’ve met who is really in the theater world, has insights, and knowledge, and can point me toward plays and monologues and acting worksheets and websites—which he has—and if I let this go, I won’t have that access anymore.

And that, my dear friends, is scarcity mind. That this is the first person with those bodies of knowledge does not mean that he’s the last person, and to continue a relationship based on a selfish need and fear of loss is the definition of crappy. Doomed. Dishonest.)

So, at the end of this conversation, we agreed to continue to see one another on the semi-regular, as we have been, and that if the ambiguity “gets to” either of us, we can talk about that then.

I did say that I am a person who is wanting a relationship, and that he deserves someone who thinks he’s the sunandmoonandstars, but, for right now, no one is blowing down our doors, so… here we are.

I don’t think it’s “settling for less.” I think it’s being perfectly honest with my desires, honest with my intentions, and my continued task is to show up in the single world and be available.

That might mean a week more of the hot make-out sessions, it might mean a month. I don’t know. It is ambiguous. And we know how I LOVE that. But, I am not willing to let go of this connection yet, because of what it does for me on multiple levels, nor am I willing to let go of my intention to have a true partnership with another human being.

In the meantime, I have that list of questions to answer for and about myself, and some theater websites to explore.

...And all the men and women merely players

Audition Over. I feel exhausted. I am hoping that some day soon, I can stop reporting my exhaustion to you, because I won’t be.

However, if I get into this play, which I realize is an SF State Production, I think, then there are rehearsals there every evening and weekend for 4 weeks. But, cart, horse, one bite at a time. (And, although that sounds exhausting, I know it’s part of “building a resume” and a body of work; so, worth it.) I won’t talk too much about this play, until I know I’ve gotten into it. To paraphrase my new go-to book, It’s Just a F***ing Audition. So, now, I go back onto Theater Bay Area website, follow-up on another message board the 25 y.o. told me about, and get another audition lined up. And another monologue into my brain.

You know, this memorizing thing is work. It’s amazing to be able to keep so much information in our heads. I remember words from plays I did years ago, when I click into that gear.

And that’s the other thing I realized as I walked out of the audition last night into the Sunset streets: I’ve done this before. I know how to do this, if still gelding-like. But this isn’t as foreign to me as I like to let my brain tell me it is. I've stood in small rooms in front of strangers and performed words to them before. I've conversed awkwardly with auditors, having rehearsed so many lines for them, I forget how to just have a normal conversation. I've filled out audition sheets, and printed headshots, and doctored a resume. I've stood in hallways waiting my turn before. 

I left last night – just as I'd left the CCSF audition last month – thrilled that I showed up. THAT’S the result that is most important to me. I was just so glad that I let myself try. And I did “not bad,” in my own estimation, which is like high, throwing-flowers-at-myself praise in my own scale. “Not bad.” Ha. In fact, really, I think I did well. They’re students, it seems, the auditors, and they gave some feedback that skewed positively.

I remember when my friend Melissa came to see me in The Vagina Monologues at Mills about 2 or 3 years ago, now. She said afterward, and her sister is a director, so she’s seen her share of plays and players—she said, I feel like I’ve finally seen you do what you were born to do.

It was the best compliment I’ve ever received. Because I knew she wasn’t a bullshitter, and because it resonated with me. And because it made my insides do a happy dance. Like, SEE, MOLL! We told you you could do this!!

On Tuesday night, the 25 y.o. came over to help me practice my monologue. He’s a director and an artistic director, so he’s seen his share of actors. So, very nervously, I did my piece for him. And I begged him afterward to be honest with me: if I was wasting my time, and someone just really needed to be honest with me, tell me to move on to something else. I don't want to be like that person on the American Idol audition tapes who no one ever told was horrible because they didn't want to hurt their feelings, and so now all of America laughs at their idiocy. 

He told me, no, he wouldn’t say that at all. But, he also told me that, like the bell-curve, I fall somewhere in the middle of the curve, “if a little to the right of center,” he said.

I could be crushed by that. I could say, well, forget it, if I’m not excellent, f*ck it. But, HELLO, even though I’ve done this somewhat, I’m a TOTAL NEWBIE. And if as an untrained, total newbie, I’m average, then that’s AWESOME!

I mean, come on, man.

My bass teacher said the same thing to me when I was working with him. That noting my incredible lack of training and beginner status, I was much farther along than he’d seen.

I’m good at picking things up. And I haven’t ever put concerted effort behind this acting vision before. So… seems to me… leads me to believe… it follows that… logic says…

I better keep doing it. Because I’ll only get better.

*INSERT CHEESY THIS-IS-AWESOME GRIN*

P.S. The 25 y.o. also told me there’s plenty of work in this town for a start-of-career non-equity actor. And I told him, Tell your friends – I’m happy to be in their crappy plays. ;)

Sword of Awareness.

Yesterday morning, I was on the phone with a mentor of mine, talking about how busy I am, and how bone-weary I am as a result. Sure, busy with good things. That’s what I tell people at the “How was your weekend?” congenial Monday-morning chat. "It was busy, but busy with good things." So that, of course, makes it okay.

My mentor asked me why I thought I was so busy – and I know, and have known, the answer: TIME.

Damacles’ sword. The tale of the king(?) who had a sword suspended over his throne, he sat and ruled from under the constant threat of annihilation, never knowing if it ever would indeed fall.

How do you live from that place? Certainly, we all are living under that sword. Some of us are more aware of it than others.

Sometimes I hear people talk about things they’ll do when they’re old, or older. Things like travel, or tell their grandkids, or when they retire. All of these future plans, all under an assumption of life. All under a naïve assumption that life will be there when they get there.

Ignorance sure is bliss. Because when I listen to them say this, my heart steels and in my head I say, “Maybe.” By which I know I mean, loathe though I am to admit it to you, “Maybe, or you could be dead.”

So, TIME. I am so very busy, because I don’t believe there is enough time for me to be The Great And Powerful Molly that I want to be. This wasn’t a cancer-causation. I felt this way long before cancer, that I have missed the bus on things, or that I just know there are so many things I want to do, I lament how to do them all – while I’m alive.

Cancer just rubbed rock salt into the wound. Brought my attention to a pin-prick of the value of life. And cancer has made me a little sour on others' assumptions that it will be there.

Hence, my goal to prioritize. What is important now? What can’t wait? What feeds me the most, brings me the most joy, is a 5 on a joy-scale of 1 - 5?

That’s what my friends and I spoke about yesterday morning, after I got off the phone with my mentor. As I’d said, I wanted to get help with how to prioritize the bevy of interests I have. And, we did. We talked about a lot. I cried a little. I got to see how fear, rather than joy, is motivating many of my projects.

And they told me it was okay. I'm allowed to feel frightened and desperate if that's what I'm feeling. I'm allowed to feel sorrow over the uncertainty of it all. I'm allowed to feel a sour-green envy of those not aware of the sword, and I'm allowed to feel self-righteous over them, too. But, I'm allowed to not feel this way also.

They charged me with the task of focusing on one interest, if only for one week. We created a “time plan,” sort of like the kind of money spending plan I have each month. It’s a goal, it’s an allotment of values. Everything is a choice, even paying rent. If I’m willing to accept the consequences of not paying rent, sure I could not pay it. But I’m not!

Performance, acting, right now, came up as a higher priority than anything I’m currently involved in. Though painting was the only thing that earned a 5 (though, I imagine, mostly because I’m not engaged in it at all right now).

This value judgment will have consequences. It means the reduction and phasing out of other things I’m involved in. AND, it’s only a guide, this new time plan. That’s the important thing for me to remember. It can change. And if I have more time for rest and centering, there may be more ease to do other things.

When we plugged in “Acting Activities” (e.g. researching roles, practicing monologues, etc.) as the only creative activity this week, I could feel my hackles rise: “But what about painting??” My two friends encouraged me to just try this, just for one week, just to see how it feels.

If my goal is to “Focus, Prioritize, and Follow-through,” this is their suggestion. It’s just a trial. How does it feel to commit to one thing fully --- oh my G-D – COMMIT?????

Oh Lord, grant me strength to focus… to (gulp) commit. (shiver)

Because though the sword be there for all of us, for me, I have learned that racing to it all is wasting my time. I’m not getting better at any of my interests, because I’m not spending …committed… time on them.

It is an imperative in my life to use my time efficiently. And this is an avenue I’ve never tried before. 

Results: TBD.