Blast from the past...

Interesting that I was thinking this FIVE YEARS AGO. Talk about ignoring gut feelings....

Healing Paralysis

A letter I wrote to a casting agent, for a show dealing with inspiring people to change...I think I sent it too late for the cut, but it was a great exercise for me anyway.

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I am 27 years old, and I have ignored myself for nearly half of my life. I have made life choices solely based on what I thought other people needed or wanted me to do. I have turned my back on pathways and opportunities because the little voices in my head--you know the ones: the naysayers, the judgers, the I-told-you-so-ers--made me think I wasn't good enough or the choice wasn't right. For as long as I can remember, I cared more about what other people were thinking about me than what I thought, what I KNEW about myself all along. THAT voice, the REAL voice, was stifled by the others, silenced by the doubt and insecurity running my life.

I've been paralyzed by fear of failure and loneliness. And I'm sick of it. I am finally ready to make some choices, some hard changes, to open up the pathways to possibility in my life.

I have been doing the "right" thing for a while now--I was an A student, I went to college and double-majored (still finishing in four years), I went to Graduate school, I immediately got a good job working as a teacher in a high-powered high school in CT. I dove right into the job, immediately getting involved in the extra-curricular activities. I should have known from the start that I was still looking for something else, something that was really going to satisfy, to challenge me--something other than what I found within the confines of the classroom and traditional public school teaching.

My dad told me I was set for life. Some of the teachers I worked with told me I was going to be a Lifer. And each time I heard things like this, I cringed. I looked around and a room full of teachers, people I absolutely love, and saw many who got stuck, who wanted something more or different but needed the stability. The need for the structure and the health care and the regular check seemed to be the reason many of them didn't try for some other career or life path. Was this really what my life was going to be? The more I saw, the more I felt limited and boxed in. I knew had to get out.

I HAVE to get out.

I have to find a way to meld together the loves of my life. I have to find a way to the dreamland I see for myself.

This is what I know: I care about wellness in the body, mind, and creative spirit. I care about finding the healthiest, most inspired space within myself and helping others find it within themselves. I want to meld together my interests in dance, theater, writing, wellness, youth mentorship, community building, and education. I want to continue to stretch and grow in what I know—intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I want to support this spirit of growth and play in others, as well.

SPECIFICALLY (and long-term) MY DREAM IS......

Creating a space—a physical place, but also a creative space within everyone who walks through the door—where multiple genres of art and creation and healing can occur. This space will allow for a community of artists and lovers of art. The genres will include music (with performance and recording opportunities), poetry, writing, multi-genre performance art, dance, yoga, theater, therapy (play therapy, dance/theater therapy, perhaps massage), etc. There will be classes, workshops, events continuously filling the space with life, excitement, and change.

The space will be an ever-changing vessel for what the community that fills it needs at any given time. A concrete container for the ineffable energy pulsing and generating from the people and the moments within.

These are big ideas, big dreams. And sometimes I just don't know what to do with them. Until this year, I just ignored them--put them on the back burner, blamed the world for being so unreasonable and unfair--and went back to my safe little teaching job.

But this year, something has begun to change. I've started to listen to the authentic voice inside, and sometimes it's quite difficult. Sometimes it is drowned out by the worldly din outside. Sometimes the questions and the doubts and the worries of the people I love find their way in. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a crazy person, if somehow I've been embodied by some extraterrestrial hell-bent on making my life a whirlwind of the unknown. But mostly, I know and trust that I'm doing the right thing, even if I don't have a clear idea of what that is yet.

On Friday, I wrote my letter of resignation. It's as real as ever. I am moving to NH where I can actually breathe. Somehow, I just know the place is right. It makes me feel alive, personally and creatively. But the thing is, I'm not entirely sure what will open up for me.

I am absolutely thrilled...and scared to death.

I am writing to you--a bit later than I intended, with my fingers crossed that it's not too late--in hopes that I can find some support. Maybe by reaching out, I'll find that there are options out there, that this leap of faith is not career suicide, that following my heart will not lead me to failure. I've taken some first steps, which I hope will lead me to the right next steps, but sometimes I doubt and I question myself and this "trusting the universe" new age-y stuff.

I guess I'm writing to you for help and for assurance. I'm writing to you, hoping that it will help me find that next right step on this crazy journey of my life.
--
~*~Tina~*~

We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. ~Japanese Proverb

I am on the cusp of major change, of new beginnings...

There is much to say.

But I'm not sure how to say it yet.

Diving into life...

A letter posted on my GHS facebook account, to my students of all types...

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To my cherubs new and old, to my drama clubbers, to my ballroom dancers, to my English students, to my ABC boys, to all of you,

I thought it about time that I send out a message into the electronic ethos, in case any of you were looking for something to read (to avoid your summer reading, of course :). I also am thinking that this facebook account is going to disappear at some point this summer, so I wanted to bid it (and you all) farewell. But more than either of those reasons, I wanted to thank each and every one of you for the part you've played in this stage of my life.

Without you all, I would not have had the courage to listen to my heart and depart on an adventure to find the life that honors its song. Translation--it is because of my time at GHS and the people I met there that I am trusting and believing in myself.

I am inspired, daily, by teenagers and young adults. You are not what the majority of adults think you are. You are positive, creative, energetic, aware. Many of the words I've read and listened to, from the mouths of young people, have made me stop in my tracks and rethink what I thought I knew. I have learned that working with this age group is something that I will build my career around. But I have also learned that my career will look quite different than the traditional public school setting.

Time will tell how it will all come together in the end. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy every step of the journey. And this is what I hope for all of you, as well. Enjoy each day, each moment, as it comes, trusting that it will all end the way it's supposed to. This is much harder than it seems, but it's so important.

There is so much I could say, but let me just finish with a few thank you's: Thanks for the side splitting laughter, the Saturday rehearsals, the dance competitions, the philosophical discussions, the "is it morning?'s," the raucous ABC dinners, the smiles in the hallways. Thank you for your insights, your questions, your challenges, your suggestions. Thank you for your intelligence, your talent, your passion, and your trust. Thanks for two fabulous musicals. Thanks for beginning the first ballroom dance club at GHS. Thanks for traveling to Ireland with me four years ago. Thanks for thinking, talking, and listening. Thanks for the energy boosts and the positivity when I needed them most. Thanks for all of this and so much more.

I said it before and I'll say it again--if it weren't for this stage in my life, I wouldn't be prepared for the next. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

I wish you all the best. I wish you love, happiness, and success (however you define that). I wish you the support and the courage to find what it is you LOVE to do, and then to pursue it wholeheartedly.

Peace, love, and laughter,

Ms. G/Mama G

For Yoga Beginners: Operation Lotus | Crazy Sexy Life

"Yet small seeds do not doubt whether they will become trees. They trust the natural process of evolution and growth that takes them from seeds to sprouting seedlings to flowering, fruitful trees. With proper nutrients, care and love the flower of your inner lotus is sure to grow to maturity in the fertile soil of your own consciousness."

This inspires me to believe in the process, the journey, the in-the-middle-of-things madness. Trust. Faith. Belief.

Easier said than done, but I plan on showing up everyday and trying to let the seed grow as it is meant to. Naturally. Beautifully. Without fail.




For Yoga Beginners: Operation Lotus | Crazy Sexy Life

The Empty Stage

I was asked to speak at our National Honors Society induction this evening:
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Good evening and welcome—to all of you—to all of the family, friends, and faculty who are here supporting and celebrating the induction of approximately 180 exceptional human beings into the National Honors Society.

I have spent a lot of time on this stage and others. I’ve performed, I’ve directed, and I’ve received honors like this one. All of that is wonderful, but I have to tell you: Every time I step foot onto an empty stage, I get chills. I walk across the floor, my footsteps echoing as I move into the space, visualizing the past, present, and future. I close my eyes and see singers, actors, dancers, and musicians. I see stage hands and techies. I see show stoppers. I see music and drama reverberating to the back of the theater. I see the shifting faces of audiences applauding through the years. I see it all. I stand at center stage, lights asleep, the sound of a generator humming gently, and I know that there is so much more to come. I breathe in possibility here, on an empty stage.

Today, I am deeply honored to be sharing this stage with such beautiful people. I mean that. And I’m not talking, the stylin’ new haircut you got this weekend, or that bright summer dress you’re wearing tonight, or the hot new kicks you’re rockin’. No. I’m talking about something else entirely, something far more important. When I look out at all of your smiling faces—go on, smile! There it is—you glow. Don’t they? You are glowing with everything you are, everything that brought you here to this moment, but more importantly, you are glowing with a beautiful spirit that is far wiser and far stronger than your young life might indicate to any of us.

When I look out at all of you, I can actually see the spirit of spring. And more than anyone else, we New Englanders appreciate the springtime. Spring is a season of new beginnings, growth, and waking up. It is a time when we stretch-out stiff muscles, open our doors, and burst out into blooming gardens, remembering and rejoicing all that is good and hopeful in the world. Spring is the light at the end of the tunnel, the time we all wait for when the dark, freezing-cold winters seem endless and unbearable. Spring is a time for awards and graduations, for ceremonies and celebrations, for recognizing accomplishments.

And here we are, on this stage, full of smiling faces now, recognizing you for being the whole package. Today, we celebrate your strong character, your leadership, your scholarship, and your willingness to serve. This is more than just making the honor roll on your report card. Today, you are making the honor roll for being a good person.

While we’re here in the springtime, in this moment of happiness, on this full and glowing stage, I would like to offer a challenge. I challenge each and every one of you to honor the empty stage, to honor and recognize endless possibilities. I challenge you also to honor the process—the beginnings, the middles, the endings and then the resulting new beginnings that follow. I challenge you to embrace the middle of the winter when everything is encrusted with dirty snow and it seems like the blue skies will never come back. I challenge you to honor all of the seasons, all steps in a process, no matter how difficult. I challenge you to do all of this and STILL be the beautiful, glowing, giving person sitting here today.

The true test is to embody all elements of your being when an award or recognition is not in sight. The true test will be if you can maintain the essence of the NHS throughout your life, long after you’ve forgotten what the four pillars actually stand for.

Congratulations! It’s on you now. It is your responsibility to share yourself and your beautiful spirit with the rest of the world. And I, for one, am so excited to see all the good you will do.

Aumatma on Karma Clinic and generosity.mov

Kris Carr Media Reel

Crazy Sexy Cancer Documentary Trailer

From Eve Ensler's "I Am An Emotional Creature"

GIRL FACT: Your left lung is smaller than your right lung to make room for your heart.


Author’s Note: These monologues are not interviews. Each monologue is a literary text inspired by traveling the world, by witnessing events, by listening to real and imagined conversations. On occasion a monologue was inspired by an article, an experience, a memory, a dream, a wish, an image, or a moment of grief of rage.

Introduction:

Dear Emotional Creature,

You know who you are. I wrote this book because I believe in you. I believe in your authenticity, your uniqueness, your intensity, your wildness. I love the way you dye your hair purple, or hike up your short skirt, or blare your music while you lip-sync every single memorized lyric. I love your restlessness and your hunger. You are one of our greatest natural resources. You possess a necessary agency and energy that if unleashed could transform, inspire, and heal the world.

I know we make you feel stupid, as if being a teenager meant you were temporarily deranged. We have become accustomed to muting you, judging you, discounting you, asking you—sometimes even forcing you—to betray what you see and know and feel.

You scare us. You remind us of what we have been forced to shut down or abandon in ourselves in order to fit in. You ask us by your being to question, to wake up, to reperceive. Sometimes I think we tell you we are protecting you when really we are protecting ourselves from our own feelings of self-betrayal and loss.

Everyone seems to have a certain way they want you to be—your mother, father, teachers, religious leaders, politicians, boyfriends, fashion gurus, celebrities, girlfriends. In researching this book I came upon a very disturbing statistic: 74 percent of you say you are under pressure to please everyone.

I have done a lot of thinking about what it means to please. To please, to embody the wish or will of somebody other than yourself. To please the fashion setters, we starve ourselves. To please boys, we push ourselves when we aren’t ready. To please the popular girls, we end up acting mean to our best friends. To please our parents, we become insane overachievers. If you are trying to please, how do you take responsibility for your own needs? How do you even know what your own needs are? What do you have to cut off in yourself in order to please others? I think the act of pleasing makes everything murky. We lose track of ourselves. We stop uttering declaratory sentences. We stop directing our lives. We wait to be rescued. We forget what we know. We make everything okay rather than real.

I have had the good fortune to travel around the world. Everywhere I meet teenage girls, circles of girls, packs of girls walking the country roads home from school, hanging out on city street corners, arm in arm, laughing, giggling, screaming. Electric girls. I see how your lives get hijacked, how your opinions and desires get denied and undone. I see too how this later comes to determine so much of our lives as adults. So many of the women I have met through The Vagina Monologues and The Good Body and V-Day are still trying to overcome what was muted or undone in them when they were young. They are struggling late into their lives to know their desires, to find their power and their way.

This book is a call to question rather than to please. To provoke, to challenge, to dare, to satisfy your own imagination and appetite. To know yourself truly. To take responsibility for who you are, to engage. This book is a call to listen to the voice inside you that might want something different, that hears, that knows, the way only you can hear and know. It’s a call to your original girl self, to your emotional creature self, to move at your speed, to walk with your step, to wear your color. It is an invitation to heed your instinct to resist war, or draw snakes, or to speak to the starts.

I hope you will see this book as something living, that you will use it to help you to identify and overcome the obstacles or pressures that prevent you from being an emotional creature. Maybe after you read these stories and monologues you will be inspired to write and share your own, or paint your bedroom wall or fight for polar bears or speak up in class or learn about sexuality or demand your rights.

When I was your age, I didn’t know how to live as an emotional creature. I felt like an alien. I still do a lot of the time. I don’t think it has much to do with the country I grew up in or the language I speak. In this book you will meet girls from everywhere. Some live in remote villages, others in huge cities or posh suburbs. Some worrying about whether they will be able to afford the latest purple UGGs, some worrying if they’ll ever get home after two years of being held as a sex slave. Some deciding whether they are able to kill a supposed enemy, some on the brink of killing themselves, some desperate for the next meal, some unable to stop starving themselves. Girls from Cairo, Kwai Yong, Sofia, Ramallah, Bukavu, Narok, Westchester, Jerusalem, Manhattan, Paris. All of them, all of you, live on the planet right now. I think whatever country or town or village you physically live in, you inhabit a similar emotional landscape. You all come from girl land. There you get born with this awakeness, this open-hearted have to eat it, taste it, know it, defy it. Then the “grown-ups” come with their rules, their directions. They teach you how to make yourselves less so everyone feels more comfortable. They teach you not to stand out. They get you to behave.

I am older now. I finally know the difference between pleasing and loving, obeying and respecting. It has taken me so many years to be okay with being different, with being this alive, this intense. I just don’t want you to have to wait that long.

Love,
Eve

What Should We Teach?

I am becoming obsessed with all that is Eve Ensler. Working with and through her words, in The Vagina Monologues, was a powerful and opening experience. She slams readers and audiences with a dose of reality, one that we so often overlook or forget: the reality of women. I love her bravery and brazenness. I love her humor and her humanity. I love that she continues to create works and do work that defies ignorance or apathy.

This is the kind of plugged-in I want to be.

I've begun introducing my drama class to her newest work, I Am An Emotional Creature, which brings to life the wide variety but also the unity present in girls' experiences across the globe. I started with confidence, but now it is beginning to waver. Can I really work with girls in a public high school on a piece that talks openly about sex, about abuse, about teen pregnancy, about sex slavery, about about about??? Can I get away with this? Will a parent complain? Will I make one of the girls uncomfortable? Wouldn't it be easier to use material that doesn't hit this close to home? Shouldn't I stop now, before it's too late?

But how could I stop? Now that I've heard one girl call the work "empowering." An another girl came in yesterday saying, "Ms. G! I saw a boy crying today and thought of this class. We are emotional creatures, and you don't normally see that!" Others have openly said that some of the words and ideas are "awkward" and "surprising," but they also say that it's "deep" and "they will really remember these lessons and experiences."

I've been as clear about my position as possible: I want to open a discussion about real and current issues affecting girls all over the world; I want to do this so that each of us can become more in-tune with our selves, our bodies, our decisions; I want to give them the opportunity, in a safe space, to define and strengthen who they are, something that has taken me a long time to do. I want to give them fair warning, a heads-up--you will have some difficult decisions and experiences ahead of you, but you are beautiful and unique and it is you, ONLY YOU, who can do what is right for your self.

I want them to know that if they are uncomfortable in any way, they can come talk to me. If we, as a group, decide there are some pieces we do not want to address, that is OKAY. I'm trying to give everyone the option of participating as much or as little as they need, so they can receive as much or as little of this message as they need or can handle at this time.

Is this wrong? Should we avoid sensitive material because it is too difficult, because it is too scary? And if so, what good are we doing?

Who are we?

Behind closed doors, deals are made. Bargains are struck. Hearts are broken.

Behind closed doors, we protect ourselves from the public eye, the humiliation and exposure therein.

Behind closed doors, we can take the easy way out.

But we can also take a stand for what's right. We can dig our heels in, set our jaw, take a deep breath, and get ready to fight the good fight--the fight for justice, for fairness, for respect; the fight for the good parts of history to inform the future.

Behind closed doors, a person's true quality is forged.

We Must

I am reveling in stories. They are surrounding me, pulsing through me, reminding me that I am not alone. They connect me to the source-spirit, the great mother, the merciful father. They bring me closer to truth.

Two weeks ago, I looked around a circle of high schoolers, preparing for our closing night of Fiddler on the Roof. Not knowing what else I could share with them, I asked for their stories, their positive remembrances from our time together. I watched and listened as these young people told the story of their fun, their challenge, and their growth. I shared a story about loss and love.

We stood there, holding hands, looking at each other through bleary eyes, connected to and supported by our common experience. We create theater, we dive into other peoples' stories, we use others' stories to understand our own. We do this because we must.

Last week, I met with four other writers--a novelist, a columnist in various print and online publications, the curriculum coordinator for my district (my boss), and a colleague I admire for her experience, intelligence, and talent. Just being in the room with them is intimidating.

I brought some of my writing, my stories, crumpled into a folded square and crammed into my purse. I was shaking when I started to read: how could my words possibly keep up with these accomplished writers? Who am I to think I can write anything of significance?

But as my words escaped my lips, I felt the energy bouncing around the circle, simmering there in the center of the group. When I finished, I let out a deep breath and so did everyone else. I looked around the circle, intensely connected to and supported by these people. And when they shared their stories, I realized something: they are just as insecure sharing their words, but despite that fear, all of us tell our stories. We do it because we must.

This weekend, I performed for the first time in a long time. I was one voice in a chorus of voices sharing the stories of womanhood. Through The Vagina Monologues, the exploration of the words and the process itself, I found a community of women inherently connected to and supported by our female experience.

Despite the difference in age, background, scars, we are all one. We will not be marginalized or pushed to the side. We will not be made to feel insignificant. We will not stand for rape, sex slavery, female genital mutilation. We will not experience these things, hear of these things and remain silent. We break the silence because we must.

I am reveling in stories--the ones that are joyful, painful, and necessary. I find myself hearing them, telling them, living them. I do this because I must.

The stink of storage...

Not too long ago, I opened the torn-up duffle bag for the first time in ages.

I carefully pulled out old tights, ripped and frayed, unwrapped my last pair of point shoes, with a brown blood spot permanently stained into the pink satin. I unfolded leotards and leg warmers and sweaters. I leafed through an old book of notes, choreography, dance steps.

It all smelled musty, the years of stagnancy in my parents' basement emanating from every fiber. It all reeked of stillness, neglect.

I pulled that bag out of storage, not too long ago, and it's not going back. I might add a few new items to the mix, a few new skills, definitely a slew of new tricks.

I am stretching out stiff muscles. I am getting my blood flowing again, for real, for the first time in far too long. And even though my body might take a little while to rejuvenate, to become what it was and more, right now, my spirit-body is twirling and leaping for joy.

Fiddler on the Roof--Director's Note

I first experienced Fiddler on the Roof when I was in 8th grade, a few short years after moving to a new town. I was cast as a villager, with seemingly little to do other than sing songs, dance steps, and imagine times and places I never knew. That didn’t matter to me, though—I began to breathe-in each moment, as if I’d held my breath for years. I remember watching my peers playing the lead roles, in awe of their confidence and talent. I remember seeing how close they were, how beautifully they sang, and how effortlessly they joked and performed drama together. But mostly, I remember feeling like an outsider looking in.

In high school, I became more and more involved in theater. Those people I once watched from afar became my people. We rehearsed together. We laughed, cried, sweat, and bled together. We challenged and fought with each other. We connected with each other in ways not possible anywhere else. And while I couldn’t place it yet, there was something happening each time we sang those songs, danced those steps, and imagined ourselves into other worlds. Some ineffable thing was bouncing among and within us.

Now, many years later, as I immerse myself in Fiddler with a new and wonderful group of people, I find myself reawakening to lessons I began learning long ago—lessons that have lain dormant for some time. This show explores family, friendship, and faith with such candor and beauty it transcends barriers. Fiddler challenges the idea that we must do what we’ve always done and follow rules before following our heart; so often we find ourselves standing at the cross-roads between what is right, according to tradition, and what is right for us. Through Tevye’s struggles, we learn to be true to ourselves, to place the important of happiness before riches, and to allow for change and advancement while always remembering our roots.

This story also shows us that reality and uncontrollable forces often complicate our lives and cause us to reconsider everything we thought we knew. Throughout the play, we see prejudice, narrow-mindedness, and fear. We see oppression and violence. We see people struggling to consider each other equal, even though they’ve lived as neighbors for years. But in spite of all this and perhaps most importantly, love and hope remain. In the darkest times, these characters hold strong—using the faith they have in themselves, their loved ones, and their God to carry them through, to truly live.

Somehow, the first time I experienced this show, I was not consciously aware of these lessons—just as I was unable to name that ineffable thing joining us together. Maybe my friends and I were too young or too preoccupied to see it, but we were steadily developing into the adults we would someday become. We were learning who we were and how to live our lives.

Now I see it, ever so clearly, in the magnificent cast and crew surrounding me. When we are faced with challenges, whether with each other or in the complexities of producing a show, we always find a way to maintain hope. Each time we struggle, if we come back to the heart of why we are here—our love for theater and this group of people—we always get through the hard times. Every time we rehearse a song or a step, explore a scene, imagine it alive; every time we let go of our judgments and insecurities; every time we allow ourselves to be present and attune to magic moments—every time, we grow a little bit closer to ourselves and the people around us.

To my “drama weenies”—take the time to breathe. Allow yourselves the chance to appreciate the moments you’re in. Don’t let so much time pass before you realize how magical this was and how important these lessons are.

Here’s to a great show! Here’s to great people! But most importantly, here’s TO LIFE!

I don't understand what happened.

When I was a little girl, you told me fairy stories and helped me see little magical creatures living under the mossy ground in the woods.

You told me Santa Claus was real, and took me on (like you do your father in a political debate...) when I tried to argue that truth. When I was a teenager, you even gave me a book to read, debunking the myth of St. Nick's untruth.

We had a purple dragon for a pet--and you helped me ignore her pipe-cleaner body to imagine her alive. Her companion was a garden gnome who lived below her among your house plants. You taught me not to insult him by calling him fake.

You did everything you could to create magic in our home and in our lives. You did everything you could to make me a believer.

But now, 20-some years later, when all I need is for you to believe in me, all you can do is tell me that believing is foolish.

One of my students put it brilliantly: "It's not about what you look at; it's about what you see."

This is what I think: the dreamers spouting cliches and once upon a times are right. All of us have our somewhere over the rainbow. All of us have the ability to do wonderous things. All of us can be a part of a magic show or a fairy tale.

All. of. us.

We just need to open our minds to the possibility that we can be special. We are special.

We need to look around and accept the amazing things happening to us all the time. We need to open our eyes and see little fairies landing on our noses by way of snowflakes falling. We need to hear the songs of the spheres rustling through the leaves. We need to take in a deep breath, allowing tinker bell's fairy dust to coat every inch of our insides.

She's crazy, you might think. She's living in a dream world, you might say.

Yes. And yes. I have been crazy all my life. And I'd be even more crazy if I didn't ALLOW myself to live in my dream world, because it is mine--every terrible and beautiful inch. This dream is mine, and I can't wait to see the rest of it unfold before my eyes.

I feel like an infant carefully but curiously separating my eyelids, finally opening them to see.

How Can I Talk To You?

I don't know how to talk to you. I don't think I ever knew.

We can rhapsodize about music and art and pedagogy. We can enter into intellectual, philosphical debates about everything under the sun. We can challenge, question, and agree or disagree about all of it. We feed from this discourse, our blood and our thoughts and our passions pump through us, invigorating and sustaining us. We are alive, and we are together.

But when it comes to me, the way I live my life, the choices and the paths I take, we look at eachother like strangers. We speak different languages. Our biorhythms clash. Our faces and feelings become alien. Judgement and fear and regret pound our beings so hard, we can barely find our footing. We lose the ground. We lose eachother.

And we don't know what to do. We don't have a clue.

I came to you with news--great news, I thought. News that excited me and represented change, hope for a future more in-line with who I am and who I want to be. I came to you, eager to share and rejoice in the possibility of the unknown. I came to you, for the first time, as an equal, as the friendly confidant and companion I've always hoped we could become. But you tore me down.

The voice I heard was full of worry and condescention. The words and the questions were not of support, not one of them, but of criticism and fear of failure. Your viewpoint was so far away from mine, so unwilling to meet me where I needed you.

I immediately jumped the fence, becoming defensive and emotional. I became the angry teenager, stomping down the hallway and slamming the door twice just to be sure you heard it.

I hung up the phone disillusioned, disappointed, hurt. You hung up the phone in tears. I called to create a connection, a bond I've rarely felt with you, and I hung up farther down that hallway than ever.

I want--I need--you to see me as a capable adult. I need you to let me make my own mistakes, regardless of what you've learned or experienced in your life. I need you to believe that I will be okay and I will make a life worth living. I need you to care about me, but not doubt me. I need you to realize that you might not have all the answers, you might not know everything about what is right for me. I need you to let me go.

I thought you said I could do anything I wanted, be anything I wanted. I thought you said I was special.

Then why, the first time I've EVER stepped out of my comfort zone--both in my life and in my communications with you--did you stomp all over my dreams? Why couldn't you, for once, tell me that the universe would support me and allow for magic to arrive, finally, after long last? Why couldn't you be a cheerleader for my happiness and fulfillment, not the dollar amount on a paycheck? Why?

Maybe you never actually said that I could do anything, be anything. Maybe it was a figment of my imagination. Or maybe you said it, but never really believed it.

And that lack of faith, that skepticism, is something I do not and will not accept. It is something I do not, will not understand.

This is why I don't know how to talk to you. This is why I choose not to.

From "Heal Your Body" by L.L. Hay

Deep at the center of my being there is an infinite well of love. I now allow this love to flow to the surface. It fills my heart, my body, my mind, my consciousness, my very being and radiates out from me in all directions and returns to me multiplied. The more love I use and give, the more I have to give. The supple is endless. The use of love makes me feel good, it is an expression of my inner joy.

I love myself therefore, I take loving care of my body. I lovingly feed it nourishing foods and beverages. I lovingly groom it and dress it, and my body lovingly responds to me with vibrant health and energy.

I love myself therefore, I work at a job that I truly enjoy doing, one that uses my creative talents and abilities, working with and for people that I love and that love me, and earning a good income.

I love myself therefore, I behave and think in a loving way to all people for I know that that which I give out returns to me multiplied. I only attract loving people in my world for they are a mirror of what I am. I love experiences and I am free.

I love myself therefore, I love totally in the now, experiencing each moment as good and knowing that my future is bright, and joyous, and secure for I am a beloved child of the universe and the universe lovingly takes care of my now and forever more. And so it is.

When am I most in touch with a sense of inner connection, guiding strength, calming love, reassurance or ease?

When I’m writing, free writing, letting my thoughts flow without editing. When I have the time and space and willingness to listen to my inner voice. She always knows what to do. It is when I ignore her that I get myself into trouble.

How can I build a structure for this inner connection into my life? (group or class? A friend? A place in nature? Etc.)

Morning pages. Morning yoga. Aryuveda massage after shower. Walk dog. Go to the river. Take moments to breathe. To unwind at the end of the day. Keep dancing. Keep going to yoga. Keep in contact with Ian and Liz. Keep in contact with Sawrah and Marie.

How do I find my inner voice of wisdom?

By listening. And then trusting.

When have I heard my wisdom in the past?

When I consciously called upon it, listened, recorded it, and then thought about how the wisdom applies to and affects my life at that particular moment. When I was ready to listen. When I was ready for clarity. When I asked for help and guidance.

What power do I believe in and how can I strengthen my relationship with this power?

I believe in the connective power in and among all human beings and nature and the universe. Though we have a perceived separation and beginning and ending to things, I believe it is all unending and loving and inclusive. I can strengthen my relationship with it by daily reminding myself of this and clarifying my role as one piece of the grand whole. I can become closer to and more aware of myself, and through that strengthened self-awareness I will be closer to the connective power.

What kind of divine being did you grow up with? Is that definition still helpful to you or do you need to let that definition go so that you can have a new experience in your life?

I grew up on the Science of Spirituality, which sells itself as a hippie-type practice but has somehow defined it self in my consciousness as something that expects a perfection I can’t achieve. I am resentful when I am pulled into it time and time again, but I still haven’t outright said no. I think it is because that is outright saying no to the path my parents took, and I still have this sick idea that I have to impress them, that I have to do what they expect of me. But really, I think I need to let that go—let go of their expectations and let go of their spiritual practice. I need to explore my yoga, my ideas, my writing, my passions. I need to follow my path. Not “the” path as they call “their” path. I need to forgive myself for that and embrace the idea that I need something different and that’s OKAY.

What if I gave myself two years to explore my interests or to try a particular path?

· I will get questions and worries and tears and lectures from everyone who thinks what I’m doing is dangerous.

· My mother will shed tears and lose sleep.

· My father will wish I was putting more money away towards retirement.

· My doubt voice will wonder if I can hack it, if this following your bliss shit is actually legit.

· But what if I love it?

· What if I love the unpredictability and the apparent instability?

· What if I thrive from the challenge and push towards a more fulfilling, and thus more truly stable, existence?

· What if believing I can actually turns into I CAN and I DID?

· What if the two years becomes the jumping off point for this life of artistic exploration I’ve so been longing for and whining and pining for ever since I walked away from my initial desire…?

· I believe giving myself this two year exploration will be the beginning of the life I will love.

· I believe it will show me I can do what invigorates me AND feel stable.

· I believe I will learn to love myself through the experience.

What would my life look like then?

· I would be living close to the shore, with a fellow dance teacher and my dog. I would have my mornings to work a shift, do some yoga, and exercise with my dog, write/read/create, or just walk along the beach.

· Then, I would go to the studio where I would help with everything from administrative work to class preparation work. I would be learning to teach ballroom dance, while honing my own skills and developing my confidence, trusting that I do have the ability to dance beautifully and expressively.

· I do have the ability to inspire others, to capture their attentions and imaginations for a few moments while I glide with a partner or by myself across the dance floor. I have the ability to choreograph my future. I have the ability to be happier and more invigorated by my life and my job.

· And, as a result, the steps and the years to follow will continue to be fruitful and inspiring. For the rest of my days.

1. I give myself permission to believe in myself, to believe that the unconventional and unexpected can be achieved.

2. I give myself permission to not do exactly what my parents would expect of me or choose for me.

3. I give myself permission to not make the for-ever career choices, but rather the for-now choices.

4. I give myself permission to trust that that is okay.

5. I give myself permission to dance, and to believe that I have talent.

6. I give myself permission to believe, to see what others believe and see about me.

7. I give myself permission to breathe. To listen. To move. To be. In body, mind, and spirit.

8. I give myself permission to walk away, towards a new beginning.

9. I give myself permission to do something for me, with only me in mind.

10. I give myself permission to live the life I dreamed for myself long ago, when I had the gall to believe it could happen—I give myself permission to follow my heart towards a dance, artistic, socially and actively aware life.

11. I give myself permission to prove the haters wrong.

12. I give myself to be the adult I know I am, while still feeding the child-spirit within.

13. I give myself permission to be strong—mentally, physically, spiritually.

14. I give myself permission to find my own spiritual path. My own life’s path. My own path. A path. Not THE path.

15. I give myself permission to fall in love with A right, not THE right, partner.

16. I give myself permission to not have my whole future planned, to just be in the here and now.

17. I give myself permission to wag my tail, to enjoy life by myself and with others—just like my dog. I also give myself permission to enjoy and bond with my dog.

18. I give myself permission to be perfectly imperfect.

19. I give myself permission to love and explore the many different things that fascinate and invigorate me.

20. I give myself permission to be truly me.

my tangible spirit...

..might soar through the sky, with its proverbial head in the clouds. It might zip through a crowded city street--or a wide open road. More likely, it will trip and scrape its knee on the dirty gravel while others just fly on by. But this spirit is mine, and I am taking my time. Scabby knees and all, I am enjoying the ride.

The Vagina Monologues

I am Assistant Directing, Stage Managing, and performing in The Vagina Monologues--February 12th and 13th, in Hartford. More to come, but--for now--here is some background information about the V-Day movement:

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V-Day is a global movement to stop violence against women and girls. V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money, and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls, including rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation (FGM) and sexual slavery.

Through V-Day campaigns, local volunteers and college students produce annual benefit performances of The Vagina Monologues, A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant and A Prayer, and screenings of V-Day's documentary Until The Violence Stops, to raise awareness and funds for anti-violence groups within their own communities. 2009 V-Day events had the option to introduce a new V-Day theatrical event, Any One Of Us: Words From Prison, which reveals the connection between women in prison and the violence that often brings them there. This new event brings forth raw voices of fierceness and honesty written by women from prisons across the nation and performed by local women. In 2009, over 4200 V-Day benefit events took place produced by volunteer activists in the U.S. and around the world, educating millions of people about the reality of violence against women and girls.

Performance is just the beginning. V-Day stages large-scale benefits and produces innovative gatherings, films and campaigns to educate and change social attitudes towards violence against women including the documentary Until The Violence Stops; community briefings on the missing and murdered women of Juarez, Mexico; the December 2003 V-Day delegation trip to Israel, Palestine, Egypt and Jordan; the Afghan Women's Summit; the March 2004 delegation to India; the Stop Rape Contest; the Indian Country Project; Love Your Tree; the June 2006 two-week festival of theater, spoken word, performance and community events called UNTIL THE VIOLENCE STOPS: NYC which welcomed 2,000 runners in Prospect Park running to demand an end to violence, witnessed 50 actresses and over 100 writers contributing their genius, time and talent to sold out events, and reached millions through media and a citywide subway and bus campaign. In 2008, V-Day celebrated its 10-year anniversary at V TO THE TENTH at the New Orleans Arena and Louisiana Superdome. V TO THE TENTH featured two days of speakers, art, performance for all and makeovers, massage, medical testing and healing circles, and yoga for the women of the Gulf South Region. The event was attended by over 30,000 women and men and reached millions of people all over the world, raising over $700,000 for local efforts in New Orleans to end violence against women and girls.

In Africa, the Middle East, and Asia, V-Day commits ongoing support to build movements and anti-violence networks. Working with local organizations, V-Day provided hard-won funding that helped open the first shelters for women in Egypt and Iraq, sponsored annual workshops and three national campaigns in Afghanistan, convened the "Confronting Violence" conference of South Asian women leaders, and donated satellite-phones to Afghan women to keep lines of communication open and action plans moving forward. Through the Karama program based out of Cairo, V-Day works in-depth to build networks ending violence against women and girls in Egypt, Suday, Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria, Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon.

The V-Day movement is growing at a rapid pace throughout the world, in 130 countries from Europe to Asia, Africa and the Caribbean, and all of North America. V-Day, a non-profit corporation, distributes funds to grassroots, national and international organizations and programs that work to stop violence against women and girls. In 2001, V-Day was named one of Worth Magazine's "100 Best Charities" and in 2006 one of Marie Claire Magazine's Top Ten Charities. In ten years, the V-Day movement has raised over $70 million.

The 'V' in V-Day stands for Victory, Valentine, and Vagina.