Tag: living (Page 13 of 13)

being a woman raised in the south (it may be true for other regions, but i’ve only lived in the south so i don’t know), i’ve been on stage all my life: doing things to find myself pleasing to others and saying only nice, safe things that others would not find offensive or threatening. even now i still have a tendency to drop into my sweetest little non-threatening-me-jane-you-obviously-tarzan southern drawl – heavily peppered with self-deprecating humor, of course – when talking to men in positions of authority because i learned long, long ago that it’s the quickest way to get them to do what i know is the right and necessary thing to do.

well, anyway

somewhere along the way, i picked up on the notion that good girls focus only on the positive, turning a blind eye, deaf ear, and closed mouth towards anything that could possibly be construed as negative. it’s a notion that’s deeply embedded . . . which is why i’ve often apologized when talking about all the things that go wrong in a theatrical production.

but just last week, an amazing epiphany came to visit: just because i tell and retell the mishaps and bobbles that are a part of any theatrical production does not mean i’m focusing on the dreaded-and-always-to-be-avoided negative, and it does not mean i’m a despicable person. no, no, no.

how silly that seems now.

stories of what “went wrong” enjoy a tenured and prominent place in literature: the s/hero leaves home, goes out into the world, encounters giants and dragons and all sorts of bad and evil challenges, then – and this is the best part – s/he doesn’t just meet those challenges but overcomes the obstacles in the proverbial road, learning something invaluable and potentially life-changing at every turn.

that’s what we do in theatre with every single show. props can’t be found. entrances are late. cues are missed. lines are forgotten. zippers break. wigs fall off. divas reign (or try to) (onstage and off). and i tell, tell, and retell those stories not because i’m a horrid ole’ wolf but because they are stories of survival and triumph.

here i have been feeling quite guilty for focusing on the negative, frequently apologizing or at the very least balancing the story with something positive. i know that artists often turn boo-boos into part of the creation – i embrace the notion of wabi-sabi – i just never applied that to me. but now, finally, i realize that the negative is positive. these things that go awry, these trips, stumbles, and sometimes flat-out falls aren’t negative, they’re the most redeeming kind of positive because despite any hurdle, obstacle, dragon, vampire, giant, or diva divine, the show does go on.

i feel so much better now – a bit embarrassed that it took me so long to come to such a seemingly simple and obvious mindset – but oh so relieved.

now

did i tell you about the night when . . .

i flounder. am in search of something, though i can’t articulate it enough to recognize it. maybe words aren’t the answer. i try to identify what interests me . . .

i grab books and look there. i go on walks with eyes open (and usually find the most interesting things when i’ve gone off and left my camera).

a very good friend, somebody i have never met but know at that deep, satisfying level of connection (thanks, acey) reminded me this morning that when we don’t listen to ourselves, that wise voice dries up. is mine drying up? is it giving me one last beckon?

i long to jump into something. need to settle down. want instant gratification. crave something that develops and unfolds over time.

i think i don’t move enough. don’t eat well. (soda crackers with mayonnaise washed down with swigs of diet coke – is that okay?) it’s too hot to walk. i can’t drag myself to the cool, air-conditioned fitness room complete with elliptical trainer and cable television.

can’t (read: don’t) stitch often enough to maintain a blog, so what do i do? i launch a new blog and within 2 weeks, i’m back to stitch and tell.

i am a mess. this is beyond being a complex human being – that’s endearing, this is embarrassing.

okay, enough. i’m going to watch more reruns of law and order. there’s something about solving a life-and-death case in slightly less than 40 minutes (allowing for commercials) that is quite satisfying.

and enviable.

who am i kidding? declaring independence day from what? i have a fabulous life, but i have put everybody (read: family) on notice that i’m slowing down and sloughing off. i say i’m taking control of my life . . . but jeez – taking control of WHAT???? i just want to live the day noticing things, not running ragged and falling in bed at night wondering where did the time go and what time i have to get up the next day to get it all done. i’m tired of the checklist life. want to be able to say to hell with productivity. i mean, really: productivity for who? i want to sit and read without feeling guilty. i want to write my little stories without feeling the need to justify and explain and sell them for them to be worthwhile. i want to do yoga and go to walk without worrying about all the things i need to be doing instead of lolly-gagging around.

all this nagging and fussing comes from me and me alone – let me be real clear about that. but where on earth did i learn such a language? why, i think i need to march myself right in there and wash my mouth out with soap. where did i pick up and embrace the notion that one must be productive to be worthwhile? (don’t even waste your time suggesting that productive is different to everybody – i’ve tried that with my self and my self just isn’t buying it.)

we’re in n.c. right now where the rhododendrons are in various stages of bloom. and at the same time i’m completely mesmerized with the soft pink rhodo blooms, i’m struck silly by a colorful leaf floating down off the tree.

an orangeish/yellowish leaf.

in early july.

i’ve long noticed that women i know and love are like fall leaves: when their chlorophyll stops production is when they turn colorful and let go of the tree.

now i’m playing with thoughts of how maaaaaybe that’s only a part of it. maaaaaaaybe the women i know and love are green leaves, blooming rhododendrons, and colorful leaves all at once. maybe there’s something lingering, something bursting, something in full bloom, something waning, and something turned colorful in all of us. all at once. all in one single life. maybe even in a single calendar-blind day.