The Life of an Asparagus

There is a story I've heard about bamboo once, and about asparagus once, and because they were intended as metaphors, I’ve never bothered to look up their validity, as that wasn’t the point. It goes something like this:

Asparagus (and bamboo) germinate under the soil for years, months. For quite some time, on the surface of the earth, it looks as if nothing at all is happening. The land looks quiet, unproductive, fallow. Then, as if by miracle, overnight, the asparagus sprouts up through the ground all at once in a burst of growth and joy. (“joy” added by literary license) ;)

The metaphor’s intended lesson is that, sometimes, when it looks on the surface that nothing at all is happening, when you begin to lament that nothing is growing, will grow, that the land itself is bunk, suddenly, sometimes overnight, suddenly there is the evidence of new life. The point is that “nothing” has not been happening; there have been great somethings happening, we just haven’t been able to see them in the way we’ve been looking. But in fact, a great amount of life, growth, germination, determination, and nature have been happening all along.

This story occurred to me this morning, having come home from my annual New Year’s women’s meditation/spirituality retreat yesterday.

What I felt is that this is going to be the year perhaps right before the sudden overnight growth, or the year I begin to see progress. In all likelihood, it’s not going to look like “by the end of this year, my name will be in a playbill,” but it will look like something. The beginnings.

Forgive me if this sounds vague or oblique, but it’s sort of hard to concretize what’s beginning to feel like satisfaction. The last several years, according to the above metaphor, have been a lot of laying of groundwork. There’s been a lot that has been happening under the surface. And sure, it’s looked like a ton of busy-ness above ground – moving, jobs, school, relationships – but, in reality, there hasn’t been as much movement or change above ground as you might think. (Being busy and changing are two different things, I realize.) A lot of it has been happening internally, subtly, and slowly.

I’m also just coming back from this intense, sort of un-summarizable weekend, so honestly, I’m still getting my head around what new knowledge, support, direction, I’ve gotten. And, truly, I imagine that a lot of what’s happened this weekend will take months to settle. And that’s cool. And that’s what I like about them.

The retreats become this sort of psychic wisk, stirring up all kinds of stuff, and it takes some time for the pieces to settle enough to examine and integrate them.

What I can say for semi-certain is that I am feeling more confident than ever about who and where I am and am going in my life. I had a sort of montage-y thing happen in one of my meditations where I was fast-forwarded through all the work I’d done since I’d sat in that very circle of redwoods around that very fire 4 years ago. It’s a lot. I’ve done a lot of work. I’ve excavated a lot, I’ve healed a lot, I’ve been presented with some of the most frightening aspects of my past and my fears and my blocks. And I was brought up present to what I have to do next.

It’s not surprising, and in fact, I've been preparing to head here, but it was like pieces falling into place. In order to move forward, in order to begin doing the work I want to do, this is what needs to happen next. It's a very "If X, Then Y" scenario. I must address a very particular series of old and rather severe wounds in order to really come out from the side-lines of my own life -- I have to address this long avoided and discounted pain. In order to “own voice,” have voice, allow my voice to be heard, via song, performance, presence, I have to unblock this constriction. A constriction which is and has been very clear on saying, demanding, and indicating that I “shut the fuck up.”

Brightly, what was also indicated to me, and what I felt/feel very strongly, is that I have allies. That I have the community to draw from which I will need to get into, through, and out of this painful mutedness. And, too, that any teacher or mentor I don’t yet have will become available as I need it – and as I ask for and accept help. That’s been a theme for me lately – about not being as isolated and fiercely independent as I’ve been. That I don’t have to do this alone. I’ve begun walking into part of that process, and it’s a lifetime thing.

So, asparagus. This will be a year of rubbing my hands over the soil, brushing some of it back, and revealing the incredible tip of the asparagus bounty that is about to happen.

I am grateful for the women who have helped me to come to this place - and I'll be reaching out to you for your wisdom, experience, and support as I move forward from here (if I don't, text me) ;)

Spirit Animals & Oil Paint

So, this may be a mini-blog, as I’ve got to run to get ready for the annual new year's retreat I’m going to today through tomorrow up in the Napa Hills. I’m excited. I never know what will come of these, but there’s always something.

I was reminded yesterday of accepting things as they are, not as I want them to be. And of the phrase, We ask G-d for what we want, he gives us what we need, and in the end, it’s what we wanted anyway.

I got a text from the Catholic saying he was bummed; and I admit that I am too. But I let it lie, because there’s nothing really else to say. It’s a decision I’ve finally made, and maybe it’ll change, but for now, this is an option I’ve never let myself explore, and if that’s not being open to change, I don’t know what is.

Another thing on my mind have been creeping thoughts of “not good enough” as I begin to prepare for my singing and acting auditions next weekend and the following. But, luckily, I heard myself telling my friend yesterday that, to quote Julia Cameron’s Artist’s Way, we’re in charge of the quantity, G-d’s in charge of the quality.

That, and maybe I really do need lessons of some sort. Maybe I don’t have to do it on my own. And maybe, as this is the consistent nudge I’ve been getting toward performance, maybe a miracle of funds to afford said lessons will “appear” or make themselves available, or maybe my ideas of my priorities will change and the money is actually already there.

I have, however, been thinking “car.” One of next week’s auditions is for the live modeling guild. It’s reputable and on the up and up, and you need reliable motorized transportation in order to be a member. So, that, and the desperate desire for the freedom my own car would provide… I get my student loan money soon, and will be filing my taxes early online as usual, and although I didn’t work as much as I’d anticipated this week due to being sick, I will have some money from this temp gig to throw in as well, with my January costs all still being covered from the work I was able to do in December.

I think part of my self-doubt around performance too is that I have been sick and sort of isolated this week, which contributes to too much time in my brain – and feeling lethargic is not a good motivator. But, I’m on the mend – this retreat will help recenter me, I hope, as will getting back to work, and getting back to school … which begins the week after next.

You know what I’m taking? Painting. Advanced Oil Painting to be exact. What else? My thesis credit, and that’s f’ing it ;) I’m so excited to get back into the painting studio. I’ve tried to use my kitchen as a studio, and even have a small easel that I got off craigslist, but it’s not the same. The light, the space, the feeling of being in an artistic venue. I’m so excited :)

I will also be taking the other half-credit of my Community Teaching Project class, which will be the execution and implementation of the Spirituality & Creativity workshop I created. And to be honest, going to these retreats & workshops with this woman over the last 4 years has absolutely influenced the way I see my workshop, and I model a good deal after what she and Julia Cameron have to offer. I have some great teachers.

Maybe I’ll let myself have some teachers in performance too. I ran into a friend at the modeling gig I did about a month ago. He was one of the musicians in the band I sang with about 4 years ago – it was one song, to be performed in the one performance of one local community play, but I rehearsed with the band, I practiced my song, and what did my friend have to say to me last month? That when I finally let myself really let go, I was great. And, I believe him. It’s letting myself get there that’s the frightening part.

To shedding that which no longer serves us, See you on Monday! xo,m. 

Saturn Returns.

Every twenty-eight years, the planet Saturn returns in its orbit around the sun to place it had been when we were born. Every 28 to approximately 30 years, there is a window of time which some people call “Saturn Returns.” According to some, this period of time is ripe with change and opportunity. Usually there are major life changes in this period, either positive or negative, and according to legend, the lessons that we do not learn during this first period of Saturn Returns around our 30^th birthday, we have the opportunity to learn again as we approach 60; and if we’re lucky enough to be healthy for it, again around our mid to late 80s.

In what is proving to be one of the most uncomfortable changes I’m making in this, my period of Saturn Returns, I cancelled my date with the Catholic for tonight, and am finally, after many f’ing years of debate, accepting that a Jewish partner is not only important to me, but necessary.

What makes this choice hard? Or this admittance? Well, it feels like I’m closing a very large shiny door behind which are many large shiny non-Jews. I also have debated whether this is “self-will,” me attempting to shoe-horn myself into a belief that isn’t true or fair, one that says I’ll only date Jews. How closed off is that?

But, the truth, the very hard truth of it is, that it’s the only thing for me to do. I have been down the relationship path with men who are not Jewish (in fact, no serious relationship I’ve ever had has been with someone Jewish). What inevitably happens is that I spend a very large amount of time while in the relationship debating whether it is a “deal-breaker,” until my brain feels like an out of shape yoga participant. Achy, cranky, tired.

Ironically enough, on my date with this Catholic gentleman on Monday, we’d been talking briefly about tattoos, and I said how I’d been delaying my next one, as it’d be a large commitment. That I carry a quote from a Starbucks coffee cup in my wallet which says something like, To commit to something, in work, or in play, is to remove our brain as a barrier to our life.

To commit to this decision, to set down this whirling dervish of questioning … could be a relief. I have never dated women – do I lament that I’ve “cut off” an entire portion of the population? No. I’ve finally come to admit that dating someone taller than me is actually really important to me. And that’s felt like a sacrifice too. But, it’s funny, I’ve been noticing a lot more cute tall men over the last two months...

Because what it all comes down to isn’t about religion or self-will, it’s about abundance. Can I actually let myself believe that if I really do, in my heart of hearts, want to spend a romantic life with someone Jewish, can I believe that there is a tall, attractive, employed, happy, funny, Jewish man out there? Seems like a tall order! (uh, no pun intended.) But, is it? I mean, when I think about the kinds of miracles that I’ve witnessed in my life and in the lives of others, am I still willing to debate the power of what’s possible in this world? When I look at the majority of the community I know as people who have been pulled back from the gates of insanity and death to become working members of society with entirely incredible things to contribute – am I still unwilling to allow myself to believe?

The painful answer is no. I am not unwilling anymore. I have been beaten into a state of reasonableness, I have suffered under the pain of my manic debating society, and I have resigned from that committee. I am willing to commit to the belief that my needs are important. Haven’t I been saying that here for a while? Haven’t I run into places in my professional life where I’ve agreed to things I don’t want, only to have to back out? Haven’t I made a conscious and kind-to-myself decision to not do that anymore?

Isn’t this the same thing? Isn’t this the same cosmic lesson? To listen to myself. To allow my needs to be heard. To be responsible to myself with care, not dismissal. Yes. It is.

And so, here I sit, willing to allow the same consideration to my romantic life that I am newly showing myself in the areas of my professional and creative life, to allow that faith, that sense of fun, and play, and direction, and the firm belief that wherever these bits in the cement are coming from, I can trust that I am being led to a life worth living.

It feels so uncomfortable. Which sort of points out to me that it’s the “right” thing. I’ve resigned before to the "easy" route of accepting whatever’s in front of me, only to end up in pain. This is making a resolute decision to groove a new path. 

A good girl friend reminded me yesterday that crazy things happen when people are supposed to be together, so if this particular gentleman or another non-Jew is actually supposed to be it, he will be. “If it’s meant to be, you can’t fuck it up; if it’s not meant to be, you can’t fix it.”

But ultimately, she also said that she sees this decision as me letting go of the rock in the middle of the river, and allowing myself to float. 

So, here’s to learning the lessons this orbit around. Bring on the miracles.

Jew

For me, living without a connection to Judaism in my life is like living without sunshine. You get really used to it, and begin to forget what it was like to have the sun on your face; you forget how your internal organs relax when you bathe in it; and simply get used to walking with a degree of closure in your heart and body.

I am not a religious Jew. Never was; my family never was. But, I went to Hebrew school and Sunday school growing up, while my school pals were going to CCD (Catholic something something – which we also referred to as Central City Dump). I had my Bat Mizvah, and learned by rote the things I was supposed to learn to get up in front of people and ascend into “adulthood.” But those aren’t the sunshine inducing aspects for me.

When I stand in a sanctuary with other Jews, and we begin to sing, I am transcended.

There is an ancient movement in my body and heart which begins to stir, and is moved to tears on occasion of its loveliness and fullness. My first “spiritual experience,” I remember quite clearly. I attended a Jewish sleep-away camp in the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania for a few intermittent years in my youth, and this happened when I was either 11 or 14. Every Friday night, the entire camp would dress in white and walk up to The Chapel on the Hill. This was an open, outdoor arrangement of lots of benches facing outward over the soccer fields and dodgeball pits, out toward the very treed landscape. The chapel itself is sort of an AT-AT looking structure (yes, that’s a star wars reference), so you could see through it, and from above, it’s actually shaped like a Star of David, I once heard.

I was sitting on one of these benches, looking out over the landscape as the sun was setting, beginning Shabbat (the day of rest) and I was watching the trees. Forgive me if I’ve told you this story or used these words, but it’s the best I can do. The movement of the leaves, the undulation of the trees – I had a moment when I felt like there was more order to the shining glints and waves than there was chaos. But too that there was just enough chaos to make it live. Too ordered to be chaos, too chaotic to be strict – this was my first known experience that there must be something out there greater than myself – a G-d, an order, a “reason,” a constant.

For me, being Jewish has (perhaps ironically considering world history) helped to save my life. I’ve written here before and said before that for me, Judaism was a thread throughout my life, it was just always there. Something to touch base to, to hold on to, to get in touch with when everything else seems or feels unknown. When I was in high school, I was not the most popular or friend-having girl – shy, awkward, like many, I began making friends through the Jewish community outside of high school, and began to really form my personality, without the constraints or assumptions of people in school who had known me for years as shy & awkward. I began to be funny, more outgoing, social. In a lot of ways, I credit making those friendships, having met these other kids through a weekly Jewish high school program, for helping me to survive those terribly isolating years.

When I was living in South Korea, somehow I got hooked up with another Jew through friends who told me about a Passover seder that was happening on the American Army base, and I attended the seder there, with the booklet we read from in Hebrew, English, and Korean – it was very weird, but also, very very home.

When I arrived in San Francisco, through a series of coincidences, I found myself a good friend of an Orthodox Jewish rabbi and his family, who invited me to Shabbat lunches in their home, holiday services, and generally took me under their Jewish wing. Although their religious adherences are far more “observant” than I want to be, I love them, and they love me.

And finally, let’s not forget typing “Jewish San Francisco” into google when I was desperate for a job, and ended up working for a Jewish Educational non-profit recently. And last year, as I moved to Oakland, and wanted to keep my toe “in the Jewish waters”, I began to teach 5^th&6^th grade at a congregational school in Berkeley on Saturday mornings.

But, mostly, what reminds me of the unique strength of my connection to this history, community, path, and identity, is when I went with my friend Barb recently to a “young adult service” at a contemporary Reform synagogue in SF. As I was raised with my high school Jewish community with song leaders, and clapping, and laughing, and foot stomping, and singing in rounds, and levity, this is what was reminded in me at that service. There were guitars, and perhaps a tambourine - Jews love their acoustic guitars! And then, there were voices.

A congregant gave a little speech during the service, and he basically told my story. About how he is connected to this community through song – how he’d forgotten his voice, and remembers it here. And he cried a little with gratitude, and we all felt it. And my friend Barb and I commented afterward that there’s a spiritual community she and I have in common outside of Judaism, but then, there, here, we get to connect to, perhaps not something “else”, but something more, much much more. Deeper, as if through our outside community, we get to experience a spirituality that is skin deep, but through this Jewish connection, we get it in our bones. In the roots of our family trees. In the dirt of earth 6000 years old.

And as we sang that day a few months ago, I remembered the sunlight of Judaism. Of Jewish community. It’s not the laws, the rules, the Bible (which I have issues with, but it doesn’t really matter) --it’s that swept-away feeling. It’s the feeling of certainty and faith I had when looking out over the Pocono sunset.

Why mention this all? Firstly, because it’s good for me to remember that in some ways, I’ve been living without sun lately. And secondly, because it comes up always when I begin to date someone new – the first question out of two of my good girlfriend’s mouths when I said I was meeting someone new was “Is he Jewish?”. And he’s not. And like I said recently on here, I don’t yet know if it’s a dealbreaker. I never have. I know that it’s important to me. I know that if I have children, I want them to be raised in a similar way that I was, with the all knowledge that my experience may not be theirs, but I want them to know what bubbe’s matzoball soup tastes like.

Does it matter? Does it matter if your partner is the same religion as you? Does it matter that some of the strongest and most powerful experiences of my life occurred and continue to occur in a Jewish setting? Well, yes, that does matter, but it matters to me. Does it need to matter to the other person? Such is the conundrum of modern life. And not so modern. Questions of intermarriage are on the books, the old books, for millennia. But, I do want to be able to exchange bubbe’s matzoball soup-type memories. I want the shared history. I want the shared experience.

I discount it again and again. And ultimately am not ready to give up questioning it yet. Letting the guys I date not be Jewish (My dad’s family isn’t, and I love getting “both”).

So, for now, the answer is, I don’t know. The answer is also to re-engage myself in the community that I miss. And I’m going on a 2^nd date on Friday night, with a Catholic. 

Restraint of Thumb and Send

So, it’s official. I am still sick and am going to pick up an Rx from Kaiser shortly. I called out of work, which felt so lame considering I’d just had a week off, but my brain also feels as though it’s been gelled into a jell-O mold. Perhaps bunt cake shaped, next to candied lemon slices. Hence the delay of this morning’s blog.

The first time I got sick in sobriety, I was very confused. I suppose that having a near-chronic strep throat from smoking til I couldn’t swallow anymore made something as mild as a cold very unique and novel. Also, I think that when your blood is half alcohol, it fends off most infections.

I’d woken up that time a little off, not really feeling much gumption, and decided to go shopping. I bought a large cup of coffee and wandered the stacks of shoes in DSW shoe store for about an hour, and left with a purchase in hand and an empty coffee cup…and yet I didn’t feel any better. I was very confused. Shouldn’t this have worked? Coffee and shopping? They make everything better, right? They always cured the melancholia I assumed I was having. But, nope. Still felt off. What could be wrong?

I swear, I really didn’t get it. Finally, I realized as if inventing the light-bulb, OH! I must be sick! It was a moment of brilliance. Luckily, I have gotten to know myself and my body better since then, and am willing to take care of myself in ways that don’t involve retail therapy – which, FYI, doesn’t cure a sinus infection.

As to the title of this blog. With my brain in the wonky suspended state it’s currently in, well, it’s had a lot of time to latch upon obsessing about the guy I went out with on Monday, and pro-ing and con-ing and measuring the distance between here and where he lives. My brain likes to satellite around it, like your tongue going to a sore spot in your mouth, drawn there unintentionally.

So, if there’s “Restraint of Tongue and Pen,” I heard once that in these modern marvel text-addicted days, there’s also “Restrain of Thumb and Send.” I have composed lots of them already in my busy, befogged brain. But haven’t yet sent any. I sort of feel like it’s the same advice as, Don’t make any phone calls or major decisions after 10pm. So, don’t contact a dude when your eyeballs feel like there’s marching band drum practice behind them.

But. I might. ;)

What else is on my mind is the women’s retreat I’m going to this weekend, which I’ve gone on for the last 4 years or more, and I’m glad I’m taking care of this cold&sinus thing before then, as it’s also really hard to meditate with said marching band practice. I began reading Shakespeare’s Henry V last night, as I got a confirmation email for my audition slot in two weeks(!!), and that’s one of the plays the company is doing this year. From the introduction in my book to that play, however, the consensus was it’s not the best play, but I’ve never read it, and perhaps a commentary on an inflated political figure is a good parallel for our times.

Lastly, on my mind is fluidity. I met with a girlfriend on Monday for coffee, and she’s an expressive arts therapist. She asked me what was up with me lately, and I was again reiterating my non-desire to be a teacher when school is done. That there’s a sense in me lately that I don’t want to be tied to a geographical region. There’s some kind of impending knowledge that I want more fluidity than that, than being tied to a region, besides my other non-desires to teach at the moment.

So, my friend asked if she could do a little “work” with me then. Sure, why not. She asked me to close my eyes and imagine that fluidity, which I’d also called joy, and to create and act a movement to it. So, I closed my eyes, and I wiggled and waved my arms and body, gently and arms open. We both laughed, and then she asked me then to think about teaching, and to create a movement to that. My arms immediately contracted in, and sort of harrumphed in a Rodin’s “Thinker” pose, continuing to sigh and constrict in this closed pose.

It was very telling. She said there was more we could do with it, but I had to leave for said date. This wasn’t “new” knowledge, but it was certainly another underlining of the knowledge I have, and a kinesthetic expression of where I want to go. Follow the joy. Follow the fun. Follow the fluidity.

What that means in practical terms, I don’t yet have any idea. But to commit to a teaching job at this juncture, to actively pursue one, would be equivalent to dipping my soul in cement, and I want to be much lighter than that. And, I believe I’m worth more consideration than that.

Bless It or Block It

How many things can one person wholly commit to?

I went on a first date yesterday via a set-up. It was really fun. We got along great, and had a nice time. And so, now all the ‘What-if’s pop into my brain. Or, the questions, doubts. He’s not Jewish. Is that a Deal-breaker – I’ve never yet decided. He lives an hour&a half away. I don’t have a car – I’ve done that “medium-distance” relationship before. It looks like - or it did look like - attempting to shove all the things you would be able to do throughout a week into the weekend. Get all the fun and funny and adventure and rest and sexy time all in the 48 or so hours you have together. It was a lot of pressure to only be "happy", and sort of exhausting. Plus, at the time, I also had a car.

But, mostly what’s been on my mind since yesterday (besides the obvious knowledge that I actually don’t have to do anything right now, as I haven’t been asked out for a 2^nd date yet, so … slow the crazy train). … But, How many things can one person … or how many fledgling things can one person commit to?

By this, I am considering my new-found and very fledgling commitment to myself and my dreams. It’s ironic(?) that after going through the book Calling in The One, which helped to push me into the direction of performance, stage, music, following my dreams basically, that now, here I am faced with a potential opportunity for romance, and I’m hesitant. Is there enough of me to go around?

The next few weekends look like this: women’s new year’s retreat in Napa, audition, audition, audition. Yes. Three auditions in the two weekends following the retreat. And then there’s the rehearsal that will begin for The Vagina Monologues, which I’m in at school at the end of February.

So, … hence, “bless it or block it.” Were this gentleman Jewish, living in SF or Oakland, were I a private transportation owning female, would I, do I want a relationship right now? After doing all that “work” to make myself available for a relationship, have I simply cleared the space for a relationship with myself? Which, don’t get me wrong, is incredible. I’m entirely thrilled and proud of myself for heading, however haltingly, in the direction of something which incites joy in me just thinking about it. But, is there enough left over? Do I want there to be?

These are the questions that arise after one date! But, it’s not him, or the date – it’s me – what am I available for? Beginning to take the most delightful and frightening and nail biting steps in the direction of my heart’s desires for myself is a lot of work. It is a commitment. And when I began CITO, actually when I read the preview pages on Amazon before purchasing this dubiously titled book, I knew as soon as I read “If we’re finding an absence of a supportive, nurturing, committed relationship in our lives, we have to ask ourselves where are we not these things to ourselves?”, I knew then immediately where I wasn’t committed to myself, in this area of my “silly” nudges, dreams, aspirations, desires.

So, now here I am. Becoming more fully committed to myself and watching this tree bear the fruit. The fruit is joy, not the job, the part, the gig, it’s the joy of watching myself head there. It’s entirely new and rad and incredible to begin to remove the roadblocks I’ve arbitrarily placed in my own path. (I can’t be on stage because I’m too tall; I can’t play open mics because I can’t play guitar well enough.)

I’m willing to remain open at this moment to whatever happens next. Maybe we’ll be friends. Maybe he won’t even contact me again. Maybe he’ll ask me out and I’ll say yes. But, none of that is happening at this very moment. What is happening now is that I need to get ready for work at my SF temp gig, and I have some lovely Little Star Pizza leftover to take for lunch.

That, and it’s time to print some more headshots. ;)

Once More, With Feeling*

The sun is officially moving in a higher arc around the building which shadows it, making for more hours of sunlit sofa warming and fewer minutes of chilly “come out come out wherever you are.”

I actually hurt my back crawling into bed yesterday –er, this morning. it’s true. something went crunch. or perhaps crack. i think it was the final sprint in high heels up the bernal heights’ hill a few minutes before midnight. the *clink clonk* one hears as a woman approaches in heels is also the sound of her spinal vertebrae collapsing ;P

That said, it was a pretty wonderful evening. friends, laughter, small talk, awkwardness, zipcar, east bay, sf, fireworks, dancing, redbull, hilarious mystery science theater 3000 fireworks commentary, old friends, new friends, a candle-lit lantern floating generously up the hill with new year’s wishes alight upon it.

I do look forward to getting back to putting this blog up earlier in the morning. It’s been delayed this week because of sickness … and today because of new years’ revelry recuperation.

Those of you who click here through my facebook may already have seen, but I had an early morning dream last night/this morning, which, though odd, I also count as a portend of things to come. Well, some things.

I dreamt that actor paul giamatti with laryngitis offered me to play a gig on Thursday, January 17^th at the Loriah Room on Geary and/or Market and 8^th. We can pull some of this apart on a number of counts: a) I watched a dvd with Paul Giamatti in it on Friday; b) my school friend’s girlfriend’s name is Mariah; c) i’ve been contemplating “gigs” lately.

To address b, Mariah’s name is likely on my mind because I’m going on a date tomorrow. My friend’s girlfriend (Mariah)’s college friend’s husband’s best friend… asked me out. Yes, we call that degrees of separation for sure. Basically, it’s two couples in between the two of us. Apparently, he came up to visit over Thanksgiving, and my school friend thought we might be good together, so I told her sure, give him my info. Last week, he emailed me, and we’re meeting up for coffee and possibly lunch tomorrow. So, yes, her name has been on my mind in reference to this set-up. And yes, I’m excited, and no I also have no clue what this guy looks like either! Lol.

Unlike the disastrous blind date of a month or two ago, however, this one comes with good references! ;) So, we’ll see. Coffee, not china patterns. And I enjoy the practice.

As to “c”, I was taking a class last year in which for the end of the year project, we each had the opportunity to do a little “open mic” action if we wanted. Some spoke poetry, or read from their personal manifestos. I sang.

I sang with accompaniment from a classmate, Ivan, who I found out that day is a really wonderful guitarist. I was going to play the chords myself as I sang, but I’m not that great a guitarist, and asked him if he’d play. He picked up the tabs right then, and within a half hour, we were ready to go “on stage.” It was in the Dean of Student’s house on campus, and there were about 50 or so people in attendance, mostly school mates, people’s families. And I sang. He played. We ruled. :P

Well, maybe we didn’t *rule* but actually, we were pretty good. And Ivan has been popping up in my mindbrain over the last week or so as someone to contact to maybe begin doing little open mics with around town.

See, I’ve had this belief that I can’t really do music because I can’t play any instruments well. I can sort of plunk out some very basic guitar chords, and I often do, alone in my apartment. I can also plunk out some semi-nonsense on my bass guitar, which I sometimes do, alone in my apartment. And, finally, I can sort of plunk out some chords on a piano, which I sometimes do alone in my apartment on a USB plug-in keyboard, on any piano I may pass in my travels, or alone at the piano in the chapel at school. There's a sign on that piano which says for any music student looking to practice, go to the Music Department; for anyone looking for spiritual enrichment and outlet, play on, sister. I’ve been known to sit there for several half hours on end to unload whatever is happening in my brain. And, sometimes then, I sing too. 

Piano was always my brother’s forte. He was the musician, I was perhaps the singer, perhaps the silent writer. He’s actually quite good, self-taught, and I admire his skill. He’s been playing our grandfather’s piano ever since it came to our house when my brother was 8 and I was 11. The most I’d tend to play then was one or the other part of Heart & Soul. And he and I still play it for old time’s sake. But, sitting alone in the circular stone chapel at school, I find the songs that want to be played. And I am moved, relieved, happy.

Alone in my car, when I had one, I’d invent all kinds of songs and lyrics. Which would flit out of my head as soon as my seatbelt unfastened. The thing for me about music, about singing, and apparently about piano, is that I get to find out what mood I’m in. That may sound strange, but it sort of puts me in touch with a non-verbal mood ring or divining rod. The tone will be major or minor; slow and dirge-like; upbeat and syncopated. How am I feeling today? I’ll open my throat and find out. I’ll place my fingertips against the cool ivory and show you.

So, here we are, back to performance. As, if you may have gathered, all of the above dabblings into music happen alone. This morning, then, after my very unusual dream, I was nudged again. And I emailed Ivan to ask if he’d be interested in collaborating on some very low-key, no pressure, key word fun openmics. This way, I don’t have to be Jimi Hendrix to get out there. I don’t have to be Van Halen, or Slash, or Stevie Ray Vaughn. I can be Molly, tentative soul and creative, with a voice and a melody that will tell me where I want to be led. 

*shout out to KatieB with reference to the Buffy The Vampire Slayer's musical episode. if you haven't seen it, it's worth it. ;)