Dive Further Into the Muck

I was fortunate to get the opportunity to write some thoughts about diversity and inclusion in theatre for the Theatre Communications Group Diversity Blog.  Check them out HERE!

Peyton, PSH, and Playing

When I think about my last couple of blog posts, the terms ignustically cathartbunkling come to mind.  I don't believe these Regan-created terms actually mean anything, but their combination of sounds gets at the psychosocialemotional state I've experienced during the last several months.  Bleccchh.

I'm in the City of Angels now; but sometimes it feels like the Angels fled long ago to a far-off exotic (or maybe seasonally diverse) destination and never came back.  It's big.  And crowded.  And easy to get lost.  And that can be hard, incredibly frightening, and can smother you.

But I'm emerging from the fear.

This doesn't mean that my current endeavors have gotten any "easier," or that I've had any major breakthroughs.  No, I haven't gotten my Law and Order SVU co-star.  Spike Jonze has not called to put me in his next movie.  And I'm not heading to Broadway as Martha in Virginia Woolf.  Yet.

What HAS been reignited is my internal perspective machine.

As I was watching my beloved Denver Broncos yesterday, floundering against the HGH-pumped Seahawks (don't argue...it's true), I initially felt bad for Peyton Manning.  "Ugh, how frustrating," I thought, "to battle so hard and then get to this point and still not make it happen, even with all the promise."  Then, adding "wanker!" to a sprain, the news about Philip Seymour Hoffman's death jarred me.  Then, a friend totaled his car in an auto accident.

Okay, mind you, this trio of events is paltry in relation to the loss, hurt, and devastation that occurs in the world every day.  But still, it felt like a strangely uncomfortable sequence of events that spurred a number of less-than-optimistic conclusions: for Peyton, that you can be the best, and battle and battle, and still get rattled.  For PSH, that you can constantly share your heart and artistry and reach a place of great "success," but that the climb to greatness is sometimes partnered with stress and philosophical realizations about the world that, while feeding your profundity, throw a few bones to the demons gnawing at you inside.  And my friend: well, unfortunate shit just happens.  It all left my intrinsic hope a bit dank.

Then, today, I had one of the experiences I consider to be the saving grace and best asset of Los Angeles (and perhaps of existence): a random encounter with a unique stranger that has the capacity to be life-altering. 

I was leaving the YMCA (where my lovely trainer and I regularly attempt to awaken less-than-responsive muscles and also burn off a few previously consumed Fat Tires) when an older gentleman offered to hold the door for me.  This led to a short conversation where I explained my simple physics approach to paraplegic door-opening, and he divulged that he has been battling a progressive cancer condition.  G, I'll call him, is a musician who transitioned into psychology years ago because he was disturbed by the levels of addiction among his artist friends.  Now he's the worse for wear.  With his condition, his lung capacity is significantly diminished, making singing difficult.  And, just as he gets comfortable with the new normal of his body, it changes on him, and his condition worsens.

So there we were: a spinal-cord-injured gal using a wheelchair for the rest of her days, and an old man counting his own.  As we talked, I was reminded of how challenging it is to acknowledge one's utter lack of control over life's circumstances, but how freeing it is to do so.  And, that we're all counting our days...some just have the confirmed prophesy that there could be fewer to live.

I told him about Linklater voice training that helped me to rebuild breathing capacity after I was paralyzed.  He took the recommendation graciously, and also offered that he's simply working on discovering what he can do with what he still has...in the same way that I try to graciously take people's comments about research that could reverse my paralysis, even though I'll probably be paralyzed for the rest of my life.  Which doesn't stop me from discovering new ways to propel myself forward on wheels.

When we parted, I found myself observing a flock of birds in formation as I listened to another young brilliant lost-too-soon artist, Kurt Cobain, crooning "All Apologies" on the radio.  And singing along.

All in all is all we are

All in all is all we are

I can't walk, but I can still sing.  

G is transitioning out of a fully operational body, but he's still swimming at the Y, still soldiering.

Peyton may not have won the game, but he DID make it happen: he got to play in the Super Bowl.  And he's still one of the best, who surmounted life-threatening injury and doubt to play again, and play masterfully.  THAT is bi-winning.

PSH may have gone down early, but he made an indelible mark on the acting world, doing what fed his soul.

My friend may not currently have a car, but he has more moments to hold his baby daughter.

As I rolled, thinking about these blessings, I actually stopped to smell a rose.  I delighted in the fact that I was giving an old saying newly-embodied life, only to find that the bush had no fragrance.  Bummer.  I rolled a bit farther, and lo and behold, another rose bush.  2nd time a charm...it was robust in fragrance.  

All this means...?  We get so caught up in the games we DON'T win, the roles we DIDN'T get the chance to play (or even audition for), the years we may NOT live, the car trips that WEREN'T completed safely.  And yet, if you're reading this, you're still alive; you have sight (or a cool text reader); you have comprehension skills.  And, the ability to refocus your perspective on THE JOY OF GETTING TO PLAY THE GAME.  On the opportunity you get to engage in a corner of life in this universe each day. 

So Los Angeles is seeming a little better, because I've remembered that I can MAKE it so by focusing on different things.  Here I'd been thinking that all of the Angels had fled this city.  Actually, they're all around me, milling through the crowds that sometimes feel overwhelming, waiting to remind me that, while I haven't booked that "big" job yet,

I've discovered surprising nuances in old monologues, and become a better actor.

I'm planning a play festival.

I've auditioned for theatres, shows, and casting directors that some actors would only dream of.

I'm traveling overseas this summer to a conference in a country I've wanted to visit since gestation.

I've met countless fascinating people with mindblowing tales.

I've coached friends with acting, and they've gotten roles.

I've build strength in my abdominal core that I didn't know still existed.

I've filled my belly with amazing food.

I've taught myself several chords on the guitar...enough to craft a song.

I've changed the course of a new play by serving as an advisor to the playwright.

I've enlightened people to the possibilities that exist when you stop assuming that people CAN'T do things.

I've counseled numerous friends through the most challenging of life moments. 

And, I've started laying down ties for the tracks that I'm gradually building in this town, and showing dubious folks that a girl with a dream - wheelchair or no - CAN do this.  It just takes time, perseverance, and a willingness to engage and risk.  And maybe a little education that humans who ambulate in wheelchairs aren't cement blocks, and can actually move (surprisingly, assumptions to the contrary are quite common).  

Mostly, I HAVE PLAYED THE GAME.  And surprise, we're only just in the first quarter.  So you'd better gear up, and play.  Today begins the new season.