Honestly

The audience sits in the little theatre watching and as the performer on-stage works really hard -- too hard to play the character. I exit the theatre exhausted. It was supposed to be a relaxing night out. Why am I so exhausted? Sometimes I feel this way when I go to stand-up shows too. I used to do bubble shows for birthdays and feel the same way afterwards.


My sister is getting married and she's pulling quotes from Anne Morrow Lindbergh.  I've collected her books since high school and recently came across a quote that made a light bulb go off in my head:

Whether we're trying to be supportive audience members for horrible performances & shows, or trying too hard ourselves -- in conversation, in presentation, on-stage, or in life -- the energy it takes to do that drains us.  We walk away from great films and shows and conversations with people fed and full of energy.  We're being authentic. We truly liked the performances, or the story or the people and the conversation.

"You heading to Llandudno?" asks the older man sitting on the only bench at this stop. I'm traveling alone throughout Europe and today I'm in Wales.  The signs do not make any sense to me.  They must be in Welsh and it's obvious I'm out of my element.  He's a retired engineer and he's from London but he's headed to the same hostel as I am.  A total stranger -- but we're both authentically ourselves and the conversation flows until we get to the hostel. We're energized as we talk about life, countries, travel, cultures, politics, people and end up having a pint at a nearby pub before saying good night.

These authentic connections are what I most love about travel. It doesn't even have to be someone I know. They're honest. They're simple. They don't take effort and afterwards it feels like I've eaten a whole dinner. I'm not hungry.

It's junior high and I'm on-stage pretending to be a cop.  Working really hard at it. If I'd only known then that the harder I worked at it the harder it would be for anyone who was watching to enjoy. It's the secret to acting that's not a secret. The thing all acting instructors tell you to do -- be.  To be truly and authentically sincere and honest as you play.

Anne Morrow Lindberg's quote clarifies these moments in my life and reminds me that life is too short to spend in insincerity.

The Prairie Dog Life

The tunnel continues for miles linking buildings to other buildings.  People are walking through in a mixture of winter coats and boots and pajamas and shorts and normal casual business wear.

It's negative Celsius outside in Minnesota and my friend and I have a game that we play. A nightly walk from campus to campus through and around the hospital and back again.  It takes a little more than an hour.  How much time can we spend in the tunnels and avoid the bitter cold outside? Each time we try a different route to see if we can add more time indoors whether it's taking the elevator to a different floor or trying a different branch of the building.

In the Midwest I loved the sun.  I loved being outside whenever I could if the sun were out. The tunnels and skyways were built to protect from the bitter cold and you'd find them in downtown Minneapolis and St. Paul and throughout the U of MN campuses.

Now, in Southern California, I find myself thinking that the time in Minnesota made its mark. I have become a gopher or a prairie dog --  hopping between the downtown buildings and tunnels that link parking structures. The opposite of Minnesota, I find myself shying away from the sun. I'll walk indoors even if it's 25 more feet difference.

The sun is so intense I can barely keep my eyes open. I can feel it burning through my skin as I walk across the street. Looking around for an escape there is an escalator into an underground parking lot.  Starbucks in hand and heaving a sigh of relief, I head down an into the cool, dim lot and then through the tunnels into another lot. It's pleasant down here.  I prefer it down here.  My brain runs through all the sci-fi doomsday scenarios as I note this is a great hiding and escape place if so and so or such and such were to happen and I shelve it in the back corner of my brain.

Climbing the stairs to the exit leading to the sidewalk I open the door.  Heads turn, people look, and I look startled. It's as if I'm mimic-ing the prairie dogs peeping their heads out of the ground during the last visit to Devil's Tower in South Dakota.  Squinting into the light, I look back, scurry across the street, and retreat into the next building's nearest door while the dynamic world outside honks, whirrs, and moves and is then silenced as the heavy door clicks shut.