My hair is not styled for you...and neither is the rest of me.

Yesterday, a recording surfaced containing a certain presidential candidate sharing words that are inappropriate, accosting, and perpetuate appropriating violence toward women.  I thought about how destructive this kind of language is, how another presidential candidate is being blamed for infidelities her partner committed, and how this is still a normalized perspective for many people in this country...that somehow the female perspective is undervalued.  That somehow women are to blame for the being raped by men who claim, "they shouldn't have drank so much".  That if our men stray, we haven't done our duty as their partners. That disgusting speech from a major potential political leader can be swept under the rug as 'locker room talk' instead of classifying it for what it is - language that encourages misogynistic rape culture. Well please let me be clear.  My hair is not styled for you...and neither is the rest of me.

I recently cut my hair back to a short style and changed my blonde 'do' for a brunette. I like being a blonde. I also like being a brunette. And I did it for me, not you. It turns out, my partner prefers me as a blonde, but loves me anyway as a brunette...which is good, because my hair is not styled for him, it is styled for me.  

I was walking from the subway to my apartment today and a neighbor, with whom I have an endearing grandpa/grand-daughter relationship, stopped me with his voice from across the block, 

"I don't like your hair.  You need to color it back blonde".

"Oh really, and why is that?" I replied.

"It's not sexy! You need to look sexy for me. Your blonde hair is sexy."

"Oh, ok" was my response. "Well I like it".

As I climbed the four flights of stairs up to my front door, I became increasingly more frustrated that I had been spoken to the way I was, and that I didn't have the consciousness at the moment to respond with more strength than, "Well I like it".  The fact is, I do like my hair, and I have every right to wear it the way that makes me happy.  Because I don't need permission to walk down the street looking a certain way. My job and joy in life is not to make sure I'm sexy for my neighbor or anyone else who may catch my eye as I go about my day.  

My gentlemen friends, women are not on this planet to serve you. Women are not meant to only cook your meals, clean your drawers, and provide sexual relief whenever you want it. We are not required to bow to your advances whether interested or repulsed.  Whether you are rich and famous or broke and struggling.  We are not simply for your pleasure. The level of disrespect displayed by a potential leader of this country for the past year...and let's be honest, much of his professional life...is not just demeaning and disgusting, it's dangerous. We can do better than this as a society.  We have to do better.

My friends, please love your women, respect them, appreciate them when they look great, and appreciate them when they look tired. Be of support. Lift us up. We will retaliate. But let me be very clear: 

My hair is not styled for you...and neither is the rest of me.  Do better.  

My First New Yorker Birthday

My First New Yorker Birthday  

Today is my birthday.  Well, my New York City birthday at least.  I came here a year ago with a graduate degree in hand, 4 bags, a solo show, and a couple thousand dollars to set up shop.  In theory, I knew this was going to be a tough year, but I was so excited for the new life I was going to establish in a new city.  In actuality, my estimates were pretty accurate but a little shy. This year was exciting in many ways…and the ‘tough’ days I envisioned, well those days often felt more like a beating.  So, today on my New Yorker First birthday – the view from where I stand.    

1. Housing.  Having a home that I felt safe in, comfortable in, and enjoy is probably THE most important thing I figured out in this city.  It also cost every dime of my savings to simply secure my apartment – where the rent is quite literally, three times my Midwest family’s monthly mortgage. However, in a city where I am almost never alone, having a quiet place to go home to at the end of the night, (minus the thumping neighborhood music on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights and the smoke detector that chirps in the hallway) there’s no other place I would rather be. 



2. Neighbors. My neighborhood is also awesome.  I don’t speak the same language as most of my neighbors and I’m definitely the only Scandinavian in my building, but the young kids on the second floor who tell me about school; George who is basically the grandfather of the building who greets me every day with “Hello my Love!” and asks where my bodyguard is, aka Jamil; and the mutual waves that happen from the guys at my favorite taco joint, wine store and the barber shop as I walk to and from the subway – is amazing.  I’ve never experienced neighbors or a neighborhood community in this way.  I’m still a bit of an outsider – although I’m working on my Spanish, and I get catcalled here and there in my yoga pants, but getting to know people in my community is pretty powerful and important.
 

3. Priorities.  I moved here with the intent of continuing a life as a performer.  I have an equity card and a handful of connections that would help start that career here.  What I wasn’t expecting is that about 6 months after I arrived, I found myself in a panic because the transient lifestyle of a performer is no longer what I wanted.  After moving almost 30 times in 15 years, I didn’t want to move anymore.  I didn’t want to leave my apartment in the hands of a sub leaser when it took every resource I had in the first place to secure it.   I wanted a home base that actually felt like a home.  I also wanted to be able to enjoy the grand city in which I was living.  I acquired work within a month of moving here, but 4 different jobs made it hard to enjoy much time off.  This past year, I felt like I was just staying afloat. Just making enough money to pay the bills but such a sporadic schedule left me feeling dizzy and disoriented and pretty unmotivated. I also did a lot of soul searching about what function I still want to have in the arts if I no longer wished to be a full time performer. I no longer want to be a full time performer…a life I’ve committed to for the past 15 years.  It’s taken me some time to be ok with that statement.  Some days I still feel quite emotional about it.  However, my decision boils down to the fact that right now: a home, some money, and a quality of life that includes days off and the ability to be present in my loved one’s lives is more of a substantial award than walking into a theatre every day.  Right now, I’m not working in the theatre at all.  I’m exploring administrative and teaching options within the theatre realm, but haven’t found the right one for me yet.  I’m going to keep working at finding the right fit.  In the meantime, I’m grateful I have a relatively secure temp position at a financial institution and that I report to one job every week.  Surprisingly, working in this new land has sparked creative juices in my imagination that I feel have been quite dormant for the last year…so who knows what I will create next? 

4. Tears and Anger.  I’ve heard people say that this city makes people hard.  What I will contribute is that NYC has the ability to make people hard, and there is a literal choice I have to make from moment to moment about how I chose to deal with emotion.  I’ve never been someone who quickly loses my temper but things that could trigger it if I let them: 
A. People who walk slowly up subway stairs because they are reading something on their phone.  
B. Tourists in Times Square who stop at any and every moment in the middle of a sidewalk and don’t comprehend that some people actually work in the city and are trying to be on time.  
C. Trains that are not on time.  
D. Crowded trains at all hours of the day. 
E. How much more groceries and laundry cost to do here.  
F. Trying to coordinate schedules with friends where week after week, you still can’t find a common time.  
G. The smell of trash. 
H. Trash everywhere.

New York is such a pressure cooker that the small things start to add up.  I’ve seen people literally lose their minds in anger on subway trains that stop in the middle of tunnels.  I have also absolutely ugly-cried, on multiple occasions, in the middle of a crowded train, because the stress of the day felt like too much to handle.  The first time I tried to hide it. The next, and the next, I threw on sunglasses and let the tears roll.  In a city with few private places – emotions are more readily displayed on my sleeve.   



5. Love.  I moved to New York at the beginning of a new relationship that had been very long distance in the early months.  I was worried about the equation of getting to know a new city while also getting to know a new beau who had lived here his whole life.  What I know is that I’m grateful he was here, even when he was away on contract.  As a pretty independent lady for the majority of my life, it has been eye opening, wonderful, awful, humbling, scary, happy, angry, unknown, and exciting to make a commitment to another human and have them a part of my daily considerations.  In the same way that New York has taught me a ton about myself, the mirror that is held closer to my heart does the same thing.  Relationships of any sort are challenging, and not because of what you do to and for others, but because of the way they make you examine yourself.   6. Family.  When I got to NYC, my best friends were waiting here with their arms wide open.  They even had a new tiny person waiting for me, which was quite generous of them. The days I spent as Noah’s nanny are 3 months I will cherish for the rest of my life.  I have become quite convinced that all parents should have a third tag-team parent.  As much I was caring for Noah, Jen and Ryan were also caring for me.  They are my family in the city, and many of the scary first days and weeks in the city were met with comfort, love, and listening ears.  Find your people.  Even if it’s just one or two, find your people and hold them tight. 

7. Accountability. I believe in treating people with respect and kindness.  I also believe that people’s time is worth something…usually money….especially if you’re employed by them. In a city where everyone is hustling with all their might, it has been important for me to remember that I am worth kindness, respect, and money.  Standing up for myself is often easier said than done for me, but I’ve gotten better at it…That NYC hardness I was talking about.  

8. Magical places in the city.  Central park truly is a magical place.  There is so much to explore, and the perfect 10k loop around the park makes for a challenging and entertaining run.  Attending theatre of any kind truly is a sacred space.  What I love most is that it’s not a group activity.  It can be, but it really is a solo event.  

9. Home.  I have missed my Minnesota home a lot since moving away to grad school and then here to New York.  I miss my friends.  I miss my family.  Although it has been tempting to retreat back to my Midwest roots, right now, I’m going to stick it out and continue to embrace NYC. Transitioning from undergrad to adult life in the Twin Cities wasn’t easy.  There were a lot of bumps in the road before I felt like I had a community there and a job I loved.  I suspect this journey from graduate school to New York is going to be very similar.  I will find a community and a job I love, it just may take a little more persistence and patience. And hopefully a little wiser this time around.  Restarting is never easy. 

 

10. Walking.  Like a new baby, my first year in NYC started with a lot of crying, some drooling, and taking in everything around me.  Then I fought to crawl and climb.  Still more tears, and some yelling.  I consider this one year landmark the beginning of finding my actual feet.  I will walk this next year, and soon run.  I will continue to do my best to enjoy the days as they come while setting goals that give me points to strive for.  New York, you’re a tough cookie.  But today I celebrate that you still have more appeal to me than not.  Let’s give it another year.  

 

 

0 to 300 miles

In the fall of 2011, I found myself at the heaviest weight of my life.  I wasn't proud of this fact, but I also felt too busy and confused to figure out how to really amend the issue.  I sought out a weight control program and within 4 months had dropped my weight back to a more 'ideal' place thanks to weight control bars and one 'real' meal a day for weeks on end.  The fact is that I felt good.  I looked good.  I spent a lot of money to get to this place.  I said no to tons of 'bad' foods for months.  I had earned it.   By June of 2012, I had gained a little back, but heck, what's a couple pounds?

In the fall of 2012 I moved across the country and started grad school.  It was the hardest transition of my life.  I went from being an independent adult with control over all my life decisions to what felt like a kindergartener trapped in a 27 year old body.  Away from my family, away from my friends, I quickly felt very out of control.  To get through school week by week, food was a reward.  Drinks were a reward.  Neither of which seemed very excessive, but were present nonetheless.  I had somehow earned them.

By fall of 2013, I was aware that my 'ideal' physique had seemed to wain a bit, but thanks to the daily mandatory uniform of yoga pants and t-shirts, it was easy to ignore this fact...until I realized, on a night out, that none of my jeans actually fit anymore.  How could this have happened?  I had worked so hard two years ago to get rid of the weight! (clarification: I had spent a lot of money and not really done much work at all.)  These pants used to be loose!  I attempted to adjust food throughout the winter trying food with no meat.  Food with all meat.  Food with hardly any food.  I took off a few pounds, but something wasn't working, and making food such an enemy was irritating.

Summer of 2014 rolled around and I felt gross. I also found myself super broke - thanks grad school - and on house arrest for the majority of May until I had paying gigs again starting in June.  I should have been working on my thesis, but instead I sat.  I sat and sat and sat.  I got up a couple times a week to go hang clothes at the retail job, but other than that I was chilling.  After two years of grad school, I had earned my sit time.  And then June came...

I looked in the mirror and realized I wasn't all that I could be.  My roommate was gone for the summer and I needed something to do that didn't concern a lot of money.  And then I decided to run.  Both of my sisters had been bugging me to run half marathons with them for years.  I always had an excuse.  "I don't want to."  "I can't, I have knee issues." "I'm a dancer, I don't need to run."  "Running isn't for everyone."  "I don't like it."  "no."  But I bought a pair of shoes, and I went for a run.  The first run was under a mile.  I couldn't remember the last time I had tried to run, and it was hard.  I decided I needed a plan.

I put the nike running app on my phone and chose the easiest 5k program it had, which alternated long days and short days and walking and running.  It seemed possible.  And slowly, it was possible.  In the month of June, I ran/walked 13.1 miles.  Little did I know that 7 months later, I would complete that exact same distance in a single morning.  I remember the day I ran my first 5k on June 28.  I had never run a 5k.  Ever.  It was scary.  It was hard.  It also felt awesome to call my sisters later and tell them both that I had done it.  I had earned those miles. 

July was a good month.  I was out nearly every day on either a walk or a run, with a couple days of rest per week as well.  I logged 74 miles that month.  I started to call myself a runner.  The first day I attempted 5 miles was terrifying.  I didn't run the whole thing.  I walked probably a mile and a half out of the full distance, but I completed the miles.  My sister Mayme reminded me that getting to and conquering the new mileage IS the training part...where you push farther than you think you can...because you're stronger than you think you are.

August came and I started my residency at Orlando Shakespeare Theater.  Part of my work there also includes setting personal goals for myself I wished to accomplish.  Goal one: finish my thesis and grad school.  Goal two: complete a half marathon that winter.  I remember the worry in my dear boss' face when I told her running a Half was one of my goals.  She asked if I was sure, knowing the schedule I had in store better than I, but I said yes, I was.  I wanted to prove to myself that I could.  I wanted a goal that didn't have to do with weight.  I wanted it to deal with health, and a discipline to train, and putting brain space towards something other than my actor life all the time.  I was going to run a half marathon.

All that said, the new schedule was hard.  I battled colds and tech weeks and silly schedule changes that made getting the run in all the time kind of tough.  49 miles in August.  17 miles in September.  21 miles in October and 18 miles in November.  I was also cross training at this point, so it's not that I wasn't exercising often, but it was sometimes tough to see how much work I had done in July versus what I was accomplishing in more recent months.  Not to mention, my roommate started running and quickly out-paced me.  He's a machine.

Then, a silly thing happened that was a real encouragement.  My body started to change shape.  Not drastically.  Not all at once, but I saw my body take a shape that I hadn't seen in 2 years.  I hadn't changed my eating all that much, and really for the first time, I didn't feel so 'bad' for eating something sweet or a night of pizza - because I knew I was moving my body.  I was aware of food, but I wasn't overly regulating it.  I didn't feel like I needed to diet.  I also didn't feel like I needed the reward.  Every mile was a victory that I earned and learned to celebrate.

December and January came and official half marathon training was in full force.  I was running 3 times a week and cross training twice a week at the gym.  Friends at the theatre were also working out and running.  My race pal Elizabeth ran at 5am - which was not my perfect time of day, but we would check in with each other.  We shared the injuries and doubts as well as the success and victory of a long run.  At one point, I thought I would have to quit due to alignment issues and body pain.  I felt like my body had betrayed me after months of working.  I wanted to RUN my race...not walk it, but after some soul searching, I concluded that running a mile was the same as walking a mile.  The mileage was the same - the time was different - so celebrate the mileage and slow down.  I could still earn it.  

And then it was the month of the race.  The long runs got longer and more terrifying.  6 miles.  7 miles.  8 miles.  10 miles.  I didn't like the 10 miler.  It was hard...and I definitely couldn't run the whole thing, but hey, I had earned the miles.  The weekend of race, I had shows...a few of them.  I performed a show Saturday night, when home to sleep for 3.5 hours and got up to head to Disney at 2:30am.

In full Tinkerbell green including tutu, I ran my first half marathon with my pal Elizabeth by my side the whole way.   My mantra:  "I'm stronger than I think I am" accompanied with Elizabeth's: "Keep moving forward" got us through.  We high-fived every mile.  We kept running when lots of people stopped.  We walked at mile eight when my ankle really started to suffer, ate a goo pack, bio-freezed at 8.7 mile and then started the run again at mile 9.  We ran the rest of the way: up the on-ramp, past the walkers, around the Epcot ball and through the finish line with a last bursting sprint.  Time: 2 hours, 58 minutes, 26 seconds.  Just a minute and a half short of the 3 hour mark I really wanted to beat.  Running 12 out of the 13.1 miles...I had done it.  I had accomplished my goal.

I am so grateful for everyone that's been on this journey with me: those who ran beside me, who inspired me, who answered the phone on hard days, who liked (or perhaps tolerated) my running Facebook posts, for the text messages, phone calls, net posts on race day.  I am thankful for all of you.  Thank you for running with me.

As I crossed the finish line of my first half marathon, I hit mile 300 on my running journey.  A huge milestone for me, and you know...I earned every single mile.  I kept moving forward.  I am stronger than I think I am.

Help Me Help Your Student.

Dear Parents,

I have been an arts educator for over ten years.  I have taught literally thousands of students, from kindergarten to professionals, to become better actors, singers, and dancers.  I have also taught students how to respect others, how to have confidence in themselves, how to take chances, and how to try something that scares them.  I take pride in seeing their improvements and achievements  over days and weeks that no outsider is ever aware of when viewing the finished product.   I love my students.  I care about your kids.  I want them to succeed. Your kids are special and special to me.

Now lets talk about you:

If your student comes to camp with a broken arm, are you going to let me know?  I venture to say, yes, you will.  When telling me that your child has a broken arm, am I going to tell you to leave because they won't be able to do all the choreography?  No, I will not...because I'm creative, I can adapt, and I believe every kid should have an opportunity to participate the best that they can if they are willing to try.

If your student has a peanut allergy and comes to camp where we take a snack break or have communal lunch, are you going to let me know or are you going to let your kid have an allergic reaction, much to my surprise?  Oh, that's right...you're going to tell me.  You're also probably going to let me know that they have an EPI pen and when it would be necessary to use it.  Am I going to kick your kid out of class?  Absolutely not.  I simply know that I have to be extra vigilant about students not sharing food on breaks and to make sure that any prop food is approved by you before we put it in a show.

These two examples are a simple illustration of how parents communicate with teachers to help their student be safe and successful...so why is it that you don't ALWAYS disclose other information about your student that makes them special?

About eight years ago, I was working on a children's production and had a student who seemed aloof, disruptive to others, off task, and adamantly resistant to my direction.  I pulled this student aside after another taxing rehearsal and proceeded to have a conversation with them about their disrespect in the room and how that kind of behavior was not acceptable and stood in the way of the whole company's success.  The student looked like they were about to cry and all of a sudden I had a parent step in.  A really lovely parent.  Who really loved their child.  Who put them in this program because they wanted to share with them a new experience that might build their student up.  This parent THEN shared with me that their child had a learning challenge and couldn't read up to the grade level yet that they were in, but that they as a family were working on it.  The parent also shared that this student had ADHD and some social anxiety, so working in an environment like this might have some challenges.  But they also shared how much their student was enjoying their time in this production and how much they raved about coming back to rehearsal when they went home at night.

Now, I ask you...imagine the look on my face.  Imagine the relief I felt that this student wasn't simply being belligerent, but instead that they were shy and nervous and needed a little extra guidance.  That it's not that they couldn't stay on task when we were learning music or text, but that they simply couldn't process the information as quickly as the other students...so it appeared that they were off task on purpose.  Imagine how I felt.  Imagine my relief knowing that I now knew how to help this child.  That I simply needed to make sure they had a buddy when learning new text.  That I knew not to give them the most complicated part of a dance move, but instead create another group of dancers that could move at the same level.  That I needed to adjust what this student was doing and give them what they could handle to be most successful instead of taking their poor behavior as a disciplinary issue and remove them from a portion of the show entirely.

Now imagine how frustrated I was with this parent.  Imagine how betrayed I felt as the teacher that the parent wasn't forthright with this information from the beginning.  Imagine how mad I was that I had gone home the previous few nights frustrated and upset that I couldn't get through this student's poor behavior.  That I had contacted my boss and explained I wasn't sure what else to do, but remove the student from the room.

And now imagine how close this student was to missing an opportunity to succeed.  That because their behavior was interpreted as a respect and disciplinary issue versus a learning/social challenge, they weren't being given all the tools they needed to be successful.  This kid almost missed out on a great experience...which really did turn out to be a great one by the way.  They were awesome when the show opened, and I cast them again the following summer.

I ask you, dear parents, help me help your student!

I would love to say this was an isolated incident, but it isn't.  I have had two similar occurrences, JUST TODAY, on my 8th week of teaching this summer.  A situation like this has happened every week for me this summer, and every year before that.  I am also certain that I am not the only teacher who deals with this on a daily/monthly/yearly basis.

PLEASE, disclose information to me up front about the fact that your student has recently had a change in medication that helps with focus and control.  Let me know that your student has Aspergers  Syndrome or falls on the Autism Spectrum.  Let me know if they struggle with anxiety or can't read as well as they'd like.

None of these things will change how I feel about your child.  None of these things will cause me to 'baby' your child or leave them out.  None of these things will alter my expectation for your student's success.  None of these things will change my goal of making sure that every one of my students is in a safe, welcoming environment where every student has a right to participate in the arts. What it does change is my tolerance of behavior.  It does change how I may make a plan with a student so they hit their cue on time.  It may change how we decide not to pick up a prop until is just time so they don't feel obligated to play with the noise it makes.  It does change the pace at which I may teach certain material.

'Special' is such a loaded term in our society.  It carries a lot of positive and negative connotation.  And your child IS special and unique and an individual.  I fear that you are trying to protect your child from getting 'special' attention when you don't disclose how they are special.  I get that you want them to be treated like everyone else... but the fact is that every human on the planet communicates a little differently.  I haven't met anyone who communicates exactly like I do.  I am, however, sensitive to the fact that people do receive information differently.  That some angles work better than others.  That's what makes me a good teacher...who can work with all kinds of students. When you let me know how your child communicates, I know how better to communicate with them.

Help me help your student.  Don't leave your teacher in the dark.

Sincerely,
Anna

Showmance

When I was working at the high school, inevitably, students who I had harmlessly paired as dance partners would be a couple by the end of the run.  I always joked that I didn't mind being a matchmaker as long as I didn't end up responsible for a baby.  Showmance had a way of sneaking in.

Showmance: "When actors engage in a romance for the run of a show. Once the run is over so is the romance. The term originated in the theater and moved to movies and scripted television and then reality television often occurring first between performers working opposite of each other in a love scene." - urban dictionary

I will fully admit that I have engaged in the world of the showmance throughout my career. I've had short relationships, I've had long relationships. I've fallen in love with men and women, both straight and gay...and what I've come to realize is that I can't help but have a showmance. 

Showmance has a tendency to carry quite a negative connotation, but I couldn't disagree more.  One of the things I love most about my job(s) is that I get to walk in, grab a cup of coffee and hug the next person who walks in behind me.  When it's time to work, we work, and when it's time to rest, there's almost always a built in family to decompress with.  Some days, sitting at the dressing table means laughs and giggles and notes left on your mirror.  Some days it means having a good cry and a little yoga, or a quick back rub and a moment of wisdom from those who sit beside you.  

Matt and Anna 2013

Working in the theatre means forming bold relationships very quickly.  Part of the craft is having access to your heart and a willingness to let it open for others to see.  I've been working on a teacher certification in the Michael Chekhov Acting Technique, and last summer at the end of my first intensive, my friend Matt and I were sharing a tearful goodbye and he said to me, "it doesn't take very long to fall in love with someone does it?" I could do nothing but agree.  Matt and I are not in love with each other in a romantic way, but I have great love for him.  Arriving at our second year of certification last week, I literally crawled through his car window to hug him as he rolled up to unpack.  This was moments after I had tackled my best friend Jen to the ground and stood up covered in grass stains.  Even after a year apart, my love was bold, strong, and wonderful for both of these Wonders.  It was if no time had passed at all.  I spent the whole week with people who had entered my heart last summer and some new friends to invite in.  I was talking to a new friend on Tuesday and had commented that I felt like we had been friends for years, when it had only been 1.5 days.  That's the crazy magical world that I live in.  

With this instant connection and enjoyment of close relationships, there is also the fact that contracts end in my life quite frequently.  It is a treat to have a contract that lasts longer that 6 weeks!  So with constant change of projects, there is a constant change of people and often a mourning period for those whom I've just left.  This is never easy.  I'm a crier.  Usually I cry.  But I've gotten better at saying, "See you later" rather than "goodbye" because it is astounding how often and quickly paths recross.  

Matt and Anna 2014

As I was flying home from Ohio yesterday, I received an email from my boss at a theatre I'm teaching at this summer, saying that my co-teacher for the week has passed away the night before.  A young guy.  A crazy physical ailment that took him away.  I had just worked with him the week prior, and now he's gone.  

I feel so fortunate to be able to meet so many incredible people in my life and on such a regular basis.  It takes courage to reach out and greet someone new, and it is a risk to share your heart in an authentic way, but I will never not love a showmance.  I will never not crave the depth of relationship that can be created in moments.  I will never apologize for loving someone who should be loved.  I don't have time in my life to run away from relationships based on the fear of getting hurt.  I love loving.  

Sending Love and Joy to all my loves that I have encountered through the years.  Until our paths cross again, know I carry you in my heart.  

Generosity for the Fiercely Independent

There was a time when I was a very stable adult.  I had a full time job and was freelancing an absurd amount in the theatre world.  Living relatively well for a single gal working in the arts. I had a super cute 400sqft apartment in Loring Park.  My car was paid off.  I didn't have credit card debt.  I was able to travel multiple times a year and be present for events with friends and family.  I was able to buy birthday and Christmas presents.  I could pay for someone's dinner or drinks here and there.  I made a couple substantial donations to scholarship funds to support young artists.  I was able to give, and relatively freely.  I felt a major sense of pride in the fact that I was supporting my life and able to be generous to others within my means - all while being a working artist.

This sounds really terrific, but it didn't happen until I was 26 years old... and only really lasted for about 12 months.

My early twenties were a tough road - as they should be - as I was trying to figure out how to be a working actor/educator.  I had tons of support.  I have moved almost 25 times since I was 18 which meant lots of short pit stops with friends and family between leases and tours.  I've grocery shopped out of people's refrigerators.  I've taken home leftovers from work pot lucks because co-workers knew my grocery budget was slim.  I carpooled to jobs and shows to be economical about gas.  A couple doctors would see me for free when I got sick, and almost 85% of my knee surgery was paid for thanks to a generous medical clinic.  I could go on and on.  I have been a recipient of amazing generosity in my life.  When I finally hit a point where I was 'stable' it felt so wonderful to be able to give back.  To be generous to others in ways that I wasn't able to earlier in my career.

And then I went to graduate school.

The transition back to being a student was a hard one - which is actually quite an understatement.  After being able to sustain my life with 'fierce independence' as my dad calls it, to all of a sudden being unemployed, across the country from everyone I love, and having to do everything others told me to do whether I wanted to or not, was super disheartening.  After all the work I had put in to build my life, all of a sudden it was gone.  I was starting over...and somehow unexpectedly.

And yet, I was still the recipient of generosity.  My program was paid for thanks to being granted a teaching assistantship:  I taught undergraduate courses in exchange for tuition payment and a small stipend while working on my own courses.  That said, it still takes money to live... as it turns out.  :)

So again, I am the recipient of generosity.  Friends and family have flown me across the country for holidays and vacations.  Mom and Dad have made sure that I've been able to make ends meet on lean months after unexpected issues.  My family has been able to come see me in the last year versus me having to go home when I didn't have time.  They have filled my fridge and my gas tank when they've left.  Orlando Shakespeare Theatre has provided meals and events for me and other grads at no cost to us.  Visiting artists have shared their knowledge and experience to help further propel my career.  I have friends, near and far, who generously listen when I've had a bad day or a silly joke.

And today, I have a little brother, (by 'little' I mean he's 24, married, a computer programming designer, and 5'' taller than me) who sent me a gift to start my 'Disney Annual Pass Fund'. We were talking last week about how I couldn't really travel for the next year, which I was bummed about,  and that it would be fun to at least have something fun and silly to be able to run off to on a day off.  All of a sudden, the little brother looking out for the big sister...  In a way that he absolutely doesn't have to, but did because he wanted to and because he can.

I sit in tears and in awe of how generous people are and how blessed and full my life is because of them.  I also reflect on the idea that I may not be able to be financially generous to people right now, but that doesn't mean I can't be generous in time, in listening, in words of encouragement, and in joy.  My life wouldn't work the way it does without others...as I suppose a lot of people encounter.  I know that I'm a hard worker and that I am prideful about being able to take care of myself, but today I am reminded of the generosity of others, and that I truly wouldn't be able to have the life I do without them.

So here's to being intentional about being generous.  That generosity doesn't necessarily mean financial, but that it means sharing with another.  I send you joy today.  I'm grateful and thankful for you.

"Get it, you deserve it."

Ok, a couple roundabout thoughts leading to one....bear with me.  (Also, did you know that's how to spell bear - as in 'to carry with'?  Spelling blows my mind sometimes.

Part 1: I've been teaching youth theatre/dance classes for about 10 years now.  I always joke that I don't teach anyone under the age of 10 because I don't understand how to communicate with them.  That I don't understand why I have to give you a sticker just because you stood where I told you to.  That's not earning anything.  That's called following direction.

Part 2:  I knew I would have a few months of unemployment at the end of the school year before I would jump into 7 weeks of teaching.  Apparently graduate students get out of school 2 months before public k-12's do....and I can't teach without students....so SURVIVAL JOB it is.  I decided to venture into the world of retail as there was a store within 10 minutes of my house and I didn't want to deal with an unpredictable server schedule.  In any case, I was working check-out at 'the store' and there was a college student buying a very expensive, fancy pants, purse.  It's not a brand I think is super attractive, but alas, it seemed very important to her to have this bag.  As she sat in debate about buying this bag, her friend chimed in with, "Get it.  You deserve it."  (Sidenote: said friend had a coordinating, very expensive, fancy pants purse.)  "Get it.  You deserve it."  The customer in conflict quickly agreed and swiped what appeared to be a parental credit card and started devising a plan with how to explain the purchase.

There was something about this transaction that made me think... Did she earn this bag? Had she done something of worth in some way?  Or was this like a kindergarten dance class where she got a sticker for standing still?

Then I thought...did I have this same conversation with myself last week?  Duh, Duh, Duuuunnnnn...

Part 3: I have had my eye on a particular bag (not nearly as fancy pants as the purchase tonight, but still fancy enough for the budget I'm on) for about a month, as I cleaned and organized around it at the store.  I knew there was an extra incentive coming up for 20% off purchases for employees and I made the deal with myself that if I hit the fitness goal that I had been working towards for the last few months by 5/30, that I could purchase the bag since I had the saved cash to do so.  Well, it so happened that I hit my goal (YAY)  and was excited about the reward of my new bag.  "I had earned it."  But thinking back on it after tonight's conversation with these two young ladies...Did I really earn it?  Or had I talked my way into it?  I still feel like I did accomplish a goal which tells me that I did work for it more than simply being alive, but I'm so stumped by the way, as consumers, that we can talk ourselves into a purchase. Why is it that we can't simply admit, "I WANT this and I'm going to make this purchase?"  I wanted the bag.  The customer wanted the bag.  But did we really DESERVE it or are we adults who still need a sticker every once in a while?

I'm wondering if anyone else has an answer to my quandary.  Let me know.

Also, I still really like my bag.  :)