Old School

The plane is old school with a phone and no chargers. What to do? Read a book and sleep. Yes, I brought a paperback. 😊

The others around me are a little upset though.  You'd think we never lived without smart phones!

A delay delays the day

The plane, the plane, where is the plane? My plane is delayed one and half hours. Rumors of an Air Traffic Controller strike in Italy abound. No one is saying anything. I just hope we can land safely.

For now, I'll enjoy the view...

The Perks of Aiming Low

"You know what else they need to invent?"my friend Jenn asked, "a place for you to put your purse in the car!  I put my purse on the seat next to me but when other people are in the car with me there's no place to put your purse!"

Flashback to all the times I put my bag between me and the door and squish it so I can make room for my friends and the handles won't allow me to hang it over the headrest.

This conversation came after a discussion of my need for someone to invent a tote that has a zip on purse on the outside of it so you can attach it and detach it and it doesn't take up room on the inside of the work tote that is stuffed silly as it is.

So many times we hear ideas.  "What we need is..." But what pushes someone over the edge to actually take action on their idea?  I think skill level and energy have a lot to do with it. ...and trauma...

Flashback to my class at JoAnn Fabrics where we got held up at gunpoint at the beginning of the last sewing class so I never really learned how to finish things like hems and waists etc.  I never went back.

If I knew how to sew, I think it would be a lot easier to create what I wanted. If I had the energy.  If I had the money.  If, if, if.  Or, it may just be knowing that you'll have to deal with failure.  One after the other of mock ups, and test totes, and trying to do new things that don't work before you figure out what does.

Sometimes fear of dealing with the possibility of failure causes us to not even try.  To be paralyzed as our conscious mind runs kicking and screaming to the bed to hide under the covers yelling, "I don't wanna!"

A friend of mine has been on a roll lately and she talked to a group of us about reading this article on 100 rejections.  It has changed her attitude and the way she approaches things.  The basic idea being, throughout the year to make a goal of collecting 100 rejections.

What does this do?  Well, for those jobs that you'd be applying for where you'd go, "I'd like this job but I'm not qualified so I'm not going to try," you'd instead go, "Okay, applying so I can make my goal of 100 rejections."  In trying for so many things that she'd normally not even go for, she ends up getting some of the things and so, to us, it seems like she's on a roll and successful.

In aiming to fail, to be rejected, she ends up winning and succeeding some of the time.  More than she would have if she hadn't tried in the first place.  And instead of moping and being sad about it whenever she gets a rejection, she dusts off her hands and does a mini-celebration chalking it up to another rejection toward making her goal.

It reminds me of The Kaizen Way.  Taking small steps to keep yourself from self-sabotage into paralyzation.  It's one of the perks of aiming low.  You get more done.

Now you'll have to excuse me.  I'm going to start with my small step of doing a search of free sewing lessons on YouTube.

Small Things

The bear box swings open as my little niece's high pitched voice says, "Who knew you could have so much fun without technology!" I laugh, pausing for a moment as the cooking stove and pots and pans are pulled out of the box, and respond, "Yes, who knew!"

It's moments like these in the wilderness that are why I choose to bring my Silicon Valley raised niece and nephew camping.  Right now, it's car camping, but when they're a little older, I hope to take them back country.

Some of the first phrases from my nephew's mouth included, "Youuuu Tube" and "ahhh phone." These are children who have grown up in technology: iPads, gaming systems, and digital conveniences galore.   And although these conveniences are great, there is nothing like interacting with the Earth to help you understand the world and why it's worth protecting.

Some people go the farming route.  I thought I'd introduce them via camping -- since I grew up running through the woods and going camping with my family -- it is my comfort zone.

The smell of pine and earth relaxes me.  Once, when microwaving some corn on the cob, a woman who grew up in the city complained that the break room smelled like chemicals.  "Chemicals?" I asked.  "That's not chemicals, that's earth.  It smells like soil and corn."  I pulled out the corn on the cob and showed her.  She sniffed the husk and she pointed and said, "THAT smells like chemicals."

Shaking my head, I let her know it was organic corn.  No chemicals.  I grew up in Wisconsin surrounded by corn fields.  Corn husk and soil are common scents.  So is pesticide. I know the difference.  She wouldn't believe me.

So, how does a community entice members to respect and protect the world they live on when they're now distanced from it?  When they don't realize the cause and effect of their actions comes back to them because they can't see it right away?

I don't know.

But I believe small things make a difference.  And right now, a small, squeaky voiced little girl is realizing she can have a lot of fun in the woods, unplugged, sleeping on the ground. I'm good with that.

A Different Pair of Eyes

mentor -- men·tor \ˈmen-ˌtȯr, -tər\ - someone who teaches or gives help and advice to a less experienced and often younger person as defined by  Merriam-Webster's dictionary. Dictionary.com's version of  mentor  [men-tawr, -ter] is defined as a wise and trusted counselor or teacher.

"So what is it that you want?" my mentor asks.
"To be a working actor who can live off of acting work along," I replied.
"Let me ask you another question.  What if you were working and making a living off of one-liners. Off of co-star roles alone.  Would that be enough? Would you be happy?" he asks.

I pause. I know the answer to that but didn't I just say I'd wanted to be a working actor? And in his scenario I'd be a working actor...

Months earlier when the email came through from East West Players A.C.T.S. organization letting members know that applications were being taken for those who were looking for mentors I paused.  Having lived and worked in Los Angeles "in The Industry" for years I've been lucky enough to be a mentor to many newbie actors myself. But what about those of us who aren't new and had a good bit of experience?

Now, I'm so glad I just bit the bullet. The benefit of having someone more experienced that you is that sometimes they are asking the "right" questions.  You think you are -- but then you get stuck and their years of experience beyond your own help give you new eyes.  I wanted to move into the next level of credits, guest stars, from my plethora of co-star credits and I felt stuck.  This mentorship has provided a chance to move through this feeling.

My time with my EWP ACTS mentor gave me a new attitude towards a lot of different things. My personal passion (writing and directing) projects, my acting, the business of acting (which is totally different from the craft of acting), and the balance they take in my life.

Even though our official mentoring time is over.  My mentor and I are still friends. We check-in with each other now and again.  Great things are happening for him and he's so grounded and generous I know it couldn't happen to a better person. And when I feel like I'm not moving forward or I don't know how to approach a problem this mentorship has taught me to remember that sometimes a shift in attitude can make a HUGE difference.  Sometimes, all you need to do is take a look with a different pair of eyes.

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.