Joy in Unexpected Places

I'm in night owl efficiency mode and cannot seem to power down.

This makes me simultaneously long for my college schedule and dread what it will be like to wake up tomorrow at 5:30am.

Here's hoping this catharsis crap I've been teaching my kids about helps me too. (P.S. Tim O'Brien, thanks for writing The Things They Carried. You've helped my kids remember that they actually love reading.)

This past week was ... eventful.

On Monday in Wonderland, we were informed that an impending performance evaluation had been officially rescheduled ... for this coming Thursday.

Almost immediately I felt overwhelmed by a quick flood of energy that has to be what a chicken feels like in those few, creepy moments when it runs around after it's head has been cut off.

I've actually seen what that looks like, by the way. I have legit empirical basis for such claims. (#Tanzania2012, Making Dinner, Day 3. See below)


       

I should have slept more, paced out my grad work and grading more efficiently, thought more about my long game before I decided to speak, and used fewer words when I did open my mouth. That probably would have helped me last week.

But I didn't and I couldn't and I tried too hard to get too much done, per usual. I didn't check my vernacular or my ego or my is-this-battle-worth-it meter nearly as conscientiously as I should have.

And karma subsequently bit me in the butt.

Hard.

Then it eviscerated any sense of security and confidence I had been desperately trying to nurture after a few carefully planned stratagems were successfully implemented.

I was nearly vibrating in response to unexpected and unpleasant intensity when one of my senior students came into my office and told me that she had been accepted to Columbia University's Class of 2020.

Of course I promptly squealed and we hugged and immediately started talking about awesome professors and courses she should look into.

This student's visit could not have been more perfect timing, for as my mentor reminded me, these moments are why we stay dedicated to the work.

I want to get back to the way I ordered my mind in the beginning of my seemingly interminable stay in the Palace of Doom.


I think fondly back to those early summer days, when I used to go back to Africa in my head.

It was a joy to relive each Tanzanian sunrise, to feel the weight of Herman Hesse's Siddartha in my lap again, to listen to the insects and birds stir into consciousness just as the local mosque called its faithful to morning prayers.


When arrogance and competitiveness were rearing their ugly heads again, I would revisit the moment when I first learned that the Swahili language has no possessive pronouns.

There's no need for them, because the society I saw was genuinely collective and collaborative. Despite hundreds of years of colonizing efforts and attempts to quash what makes them unique, individual tribes like the Masai continue to move through life exactly the way they want to.

Those chickens from before, incidentally, were a gift from the village leader, because he knew my friends and I wouldn't necessarily get access to a protein source otherwise.

Two years ago, I could revisit every show I'd ever performed by conjuring up the Musical Theater West, Met Opera, or Norwegian Sun stages. There was something profoundly meditative in my attempts to walk through all the blocking, dancing, lyrics, lines, and costume changes in my head, starting over anytime I detected a gap in my memory.

Every time I walked through the wings of those memories, I could feel that I had found a way to get a genuine smile on my face. It emboldened me in my battle against inevitable atrophy of the brain and made me slightly more confident that the Palace of Doom wasn't actually driving me insane.

As I sit now in the quaint little Harlem studio that I get to call mine and only mine, I'm realizing it will take a lot of work to pull back what used to be vivid details of all those powerful memories, but for my continued well-being, it's time to start.

Weekly Round Up of Lovely Things:

Yesterday, I had dinner at ABC Cocina with the gorgeous creature who does my hair when I'm back home in LA, with her long term boyfriend, and with the new little life growing inside of her. It was pretty incredible to eat delicious food and listen to two kind, creative people make plans for the child that is five or six months away from it's first moments in this world. They're going to be great parents.



A brisk walk, a glass of Rose, and thirty minutes later, I was sitting down to snacks and drinks with two dear friends. Talking to them was like an luxurious spa package of emotional support, work advice, and insightful political commentary. Mmmm.

It was a long night, though, and things did not bode well when I woke up to 36 degrees, wind chill, and a nasty hangover (damn you, bubbly!).

Still went outside, though, because I am actively trying to be more social.

After all, I had confirmed plans for coffee with an old friend in the West Village, I hate cancelling, and no amount of poor life choices, dehydration headaches, schizoid weather or free streaming of Starz' Outlander was going to change my mind.

(Sidebar: I'm so bad with directions down there. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GRID?! Why can't we just have kept the grid!??! Seriously, urban planners, the grid around Central Park is quite easy to navigate and doesn't seem that hard to sustain, but whatever.)

Anyway, coffee turned into brunch, and brunch ran long.

Recently, this friend willingly volunteered his time to answer some of my students' questions about his work by video interview. My kids were enthralled, and I was grateful, but it was a pleasure to confirm in person that his core goodness - which I first noticed when we met in 2006 (eek! We were still using AIM then!) - had escaped the doldrums of millennial life relatively unscathed.

Corny as it sounds, our conversation gave me some real hope.

I do plan to devote my life to the pursuit of excellence in my work. But I also want to pursue excellence in my relationships with friends, family, an upright piano, a significant other, a dog, and maybe even with some tiny humans of my own.

As we were wrapping up several hours of stimulating conversation, which spanned traveling experiences to flying in fighter jets to great books and documentaries, I realized that the color of the wall of Cafe Minerva was almost the exact same pistachio we had scoured several home supply stores for in the fall of 2006.

(Our universities, though wonderful incubators for the human mind and spirit, were not particularly innovative when it came to dorm room decor.)

I'm not sure why I find the memory of that memory so comforting, but after seven hours of private tutoring, lesson planning, grading, and editing class footage, I have finally yawned.

The circadians suggest it's time to get some shut eye. Tomorrow's coming soon.

So I'm a school teacher now.

Despite significant time away,  I've decided to revisit my practice of writing out into the ether. I didn't realize it had been almost three years since my last post. For years, this blog contributed to the maintenance of my sanity during the dips of the roller coaster that was the odd life choice I made to try performing professionally. I'm really hoping that returning to blogging will do the same for me now, as I have now chosen to a new Wonderland: the world of public school education. I am promptly going gray. My hair is currently a very obvious artificial red - Ms. Frizzle status here I come - so that no one except my hair dresser and me know the extent of the early damage. I'm pretty sure I won't end up looking as good as President Obama still does after eight years, so I need to get better at managing the stress that comes along with the work. One day at a time. ~ 120 kids a year. Four months left of grad school. Summer. Hawaii. The light at the end of at least one tunnel is looking real glorious and bright right about now. In honor of St. Patrick’s day, a holiday near and dear to my relatives with Irish/Catholic roots, I spent too much time this morning endeavoring to write all my responses to a grad school task in proper limerick form. Really I was just trying to give myself some happy so that I could go Super Sayan on my grad work and kids' grades, both of which are due tomorrow at 9am. I had fun writing these limericks, while sitting next to a wonderful friend in a Starbucks on the UES, and doing my best to answer the question of a portion of the task, which was, "Have any major changes occurred in your teaching context that would impact your data?" Teaching is so fraught with challenges and unanticipated obstacles beyond a teacher's control that anyone who does the work on the reg knows that the answer to that question is either essentially OMG YES LET ME COUNT THE WAYS THAT EVERYTHING IS WAY HARDER THAN IT SHOULD BE. Or nope, not lately, crossing fingers real hard. Upon counsel from my esteemed parents, I am not submitting the limericks I wrote in my actual grad school assignment. I wish I could feel confident that my grad school professor would appreciate my sense of humor - especially since I just demonstrated proficiency in advance to pass out of a module called "Joy" - but previous experience has showed me that my desired outcome will be unlikely. I'm trying to learn empirically, y'all. (Incidentally, one dimension of this Wonderland of life where I sometimes spend my evenings has been affectionally deemed the Palace of Doom by a dear colleague. Hashtag #ofdoom is the most appropriate way to denote any references to this place for the modern era. The gate keepers of said Doom seem not to be fond of my style of humor... or most attributes of my personality, for that matter. I truly am sad about this, because in retrospect, I could have definitely made different choices that would have made my time in their Palace more ... palatable. Instead I did not. Again, I am learning a lesson the hard way - by choice. No good. At some point I should really figure out if salmon have to swim upstream to spawn, if so, why they've evolved to do that, and speculate whether or not its worth it to literally die slowly in pursuit of procreation. In Alaska, they're called zombie fish. Pretty fascinating stuff.)  Sooooo now I'm in the process of trying to learn how to feel like I'm maintaining my integrity while at the same time not fighting an uphill battle if I don't have to. It has not been easy. The thing is, the story of Sisyphus is very instructive. I have read it already. I should really tattoo this image on the inside of my eyelids and see if that would help me get better at fixing problems more effectively. Maybe I should just read it again, and then read it with my kids and see what they think about it. My dad says I should either a) change the people I spend time with or b) get a dog. Option a is not feasible where work is concerned, as I am not ready to leave the amazing tiny humans of my current placement. Option b is not feasible currently because I have no yard and as a public school teacher, I lack sufficient funds to pay for a dog sitter. Blergh. This post used to contain my silly limericks, in all their ridiculous AABBA glory. I really had fun writing them. And I love that at least three of my friends thought they were funny. Those limericks used to live here, but now they are the first part of a draft of my third book. Active working title "Wonderland - Volume 3". I don't think I'm a particularly good writer, so I've never finished writing a book. I did, however, finish an unnecessarily verbose thesis on how I could prove that writing is an effective mode of catharsis for coping with trauma, so I should - you know - follow my own darn advice at least. Writing is revising. Life can (should?) also be a constant process of self-revision. Working on it. So Ima do the one thing I really need to do more often: focus on the positive. Today, I met three people who were amazing.  One of them was a former screenplay editor who moved to New York to work for a production company that folded, so he's temporarily working at Starbucks. He had the best music taste of anyone I've met since Sunshine, one of the other teachers at my school.  I promptly followed him on Spotify, gave him my number, and now I am going to try to make a new friend. Update: He texted me and now he is in my phone as Best Music Man. We're currently having a text message conversation about all his favorite books. After breaking the ice over a conversation about protecting each other's computers, a brilliant - yes, despite his humility - brilliant active listener gave me an hour of his life - for free - to help me restructure the way I think, address problems, and communicate. Some might say that sounds like it would be an annoying experience, but it is what I need so much that it was the closest thing I have experienced to a godsend in many a while - maybe ever. It is soooo helpful to be humbled by someone else's intelligence, humility, and kindness. This man gave me more in one hour than I've gotten from a teacher in a long time. If every single one of my grad school professors had their own version of skill at this guy's level, we would experience an exponential increase in engagement potential and pedagogical efficacy of the fledgling teachers out there in the work force right now. How incredible that would be. I promptly told said brilliant listener man how much money I have saved, and how I want to develop a school in the next 5-10 years, and could I please have his contact information so that I could raise enough money to pay him for his consultations in the future.  Now I have his email (and his notes) and I am going to try to make him my friend too. Last but not least, a linguistics professor visiting from Germany asked me if I knew of any nearby jazz. You should have seen the joy that washed across my face, for I love jazz. I gave her several options, directions, the most economical metrocard package to buy, and my number in case she had any other questions while she's here. Take aways from today: 1. My parents are the smartest people I know. I need to listen to them all the time, because even when I disagree with them, I am the luckiest person in the world that they care enough about me to give me valuable advice and listen to my occasional (?) rants. 2. My friends are a constant source of inspiration. I am so so blessed that I can say I have had some friends for more than a decade now, and they still put up with me and love me despite all my complicated packaging. 3. I really want to learn Chinese and Arabic and become actually fluent in Spanish before I die. 4. I need to be more humble. And even if I don't feel like it, I need to be better at appearing to be humble. This is not the same thing as compromising my 'integrity". This is being smart. This is not coming off as arrogant when I am impatient or annoyed when other adults do not seem to understand what I am trying to communicate. This is me being more kind, because not all people are as excited to talk with me as my closest friends and most (?) of my students are. And that is ok. 5. I think I am pretty solid at writing fantastically sarcastic limericks. Who knew? I should take a creative writing class so that I have something else besides work or grad school to do. 6. I have got to take better care of myself.

I wonder if people wear so much black in New York because it's easier to submit to the shadows and add texture to the background that to walk unabashedly in vibrant, cold, inescapable limelight. Myself I always feel a little more adventurous in something bright, but somehow safer swathed in the purples, blues, and blacks of early bruising.

I've been searching for inspiration from everything these days, it seems. A few weeks ago I found myself watching - but hearing more -the lovely patchwork of a brand new opera, a work in process of Two Boys for the Met opera. It's unlike anything done before, and it's composer is thirty two. At the Q and A he seemed so consumed by his creativity that every nuance of his personality and physical mannerisms bursts forth in fits and starts. There's also a very real possibility that his frenetic genius is fueled as much by drugs as by some sort of divine enthusiasm for music... It's better though if his eccentricities are just genuine testaments to the fount of novelty he has to offer.

I think about how people manage to do old things in new ways a lot. I feel like that capacity is what generates the ever shifting landscape of our time. The newest inventions generate the most excitement and clamor ... such that the past's foundations are eclipsed and embarrassed.   Then Life posits an old jazz legend - at whom I marvel for the front man career he's generated from an affinity for the standing base. His suit is older and ill fitting, but that's hardly his fault. I imagine his tall spider like frame is challenging to suitably drape. And then the way he plays his music and his eight piece, jazz band. My favorite thing is that his eyes are never open. Not even when he directs with his forceful index fingers. His ears though, I envy to imagine what his ears are hearing. From my meager experience all I know is that he and his friends have figured out the answer to some secret that melts away the stress of expectations and the decay of age. Somehow his hands are effortless, strong, and young, despite the overarching sense of fragility in his every move from the wrists up. And his all female cello chorus of four; they're old enough to be my grandmothers, but doing what they must love makes them smile so you see the giddy school girls they had to have been decades ago. You can't take their eyes of them, but still are only spectators to their bliss.

I imagine most people long for the ease of companionship and joy in one's work and colleagues that Robert Cole and his colleagues have mustered  I certainly do. In the same moment I acknowledge  the challenge of asking questions and searching for answers in performance is that while it is the sum total of hard work, it is by no means a full reflection of the obstacles that were overcome before the pinnacle could be reached.  I remind myself of that reality in my teaching, practice makes improvements but not perfection. Sometimes imperfections are in fact vastly more useful to making progress with the human condition.  I endeavor not to register so deeply that feeling of disappointment when I feel I wasn't able to get to that one child who seems to orbit outside my reach.

It's our lives as these orbiting bodies that I at times find so exhausting. There's good in it too; sometimes you bump into another one of those humanoid planets that frequent the streets and are pushed further along your own path, but then again, sometimes you're stymied and forced to a stop by forces seemingly beyond your will to bend or master. I suppose it's all in the service of progress.

Lights, Glamour, Action

In today's version of the Wonderland chronicles...

I awoke early so that I could spend some time creating a more presentable iteration of myself than usual. After all, it's not every day one gets to take one's classroom (of home schooled tweens) on location to a fashion show on Fifth Avenue.

Working for Wonderland has certainly been a testament to the value of the strength of weak ties. After pulling some strings, my charges and I got into today's demonstration of Bergdorf's new evening wear collection. I had almost forgotten how intense the women and men who work in fashion can be. They really don't smile much! Remarkably, the tiny humans seemed entirely nonplussed by their lavish surroundings (they noted the handsome, taciturn champagne + water bearer in the corner and were quite resourceful in routing out what food was available to them).

The youngest is a burgeoning little fashion designer in his own right. We started talking about the progress of the current garment he's working on (there is white leather and pink vinyl involved) and he immediately caught the attention of two fashionistas across the way, who were bursting at the seams to hear more about the youngest fashion designer they had ever met. It was a fantastic opportunity for him to practice the talking points for his line (keep in mind, he's 11), and I was impressed with his ability to carry himself in conversation with women nearly twice .... thrice?... his age.

It's not all rainbows and sparkly things with this lot; sometimes I think they're not aware that there is actually a difference between full voice and a stage whisper. At a few intervals during the show, I had to field loud (seriously, quite audible) comments that the models looked anorexic and needed cheeseburgers. One girl even pointed and remarked with disgust that a model needed a pedicure and that her toes were weirdly shaped. It would have been funny, had I not been a bit appalled by the sheer audacity (and lack of social awareness) displayed by my little flock.

Of course, we eventually settled down into a semblance of silence so that the show could begin, but the bizarre otherworldly study of human interaction provided by the environment was not lost on me. I don't envy the children their position in the heights of privilege and opportunity... for the most part they bear it well, but in the deepest recesses of their hearts and minds, I have begun to see that they are nearly paralyzed with fear that they'll let their parents down by somehow managing to NOT be extraordinary by the end of this year.

In the mean time, I'll be soldiering along, doing my best to instill values and teach lessons designed around the formulation of an open minded perspective and a strong moral compass. That's the dream!

Though my current job feels like performance of an entirely new variety, I haven't completely forsaken my love of performing in more traditional venues. Getting back into theater, tap, and voice classes in the past two weeks has felt like being alive again. I didn't realize how much I'd miss it!

More from Wonderland soon...

Down the Rabbit Hole

After disappearing for eight months at sea, I have returned, relatively unscathed. My new furniture is built, my clothes are unpacked, my land legs have returned, and all is almost right with the world once more.

Sadly, I've had to put dancing and auditioning on the back burner. I hit the ground running with a new job that began even before I finished my contract with Norwegian. There's a lot of performance involved, but I'm on a completely new type of stage...

While out at sea, a mysterious little white rabbit of a head hunter found me and offered me a job running a homeschool for a family here in New York. Supplemental tutoring is one thing I've been quite good at for many years, but designing and implementing my own curriculum? Hiring my own staff? Overseeing an educational model based in exploration to nourish a love of learning!? I was SO on board.

Yet, as often happens in life, I neglected the whole look before you leap paradigm. I've been back in the city nearly a month, and it's only today I've realized that I've been living almost primarily in an alternate universe, where mad tea parties are a real thing, except the tea is hand brewed by an 11 year old burgeoning chef, and instead of a door mouse, there's a hypoallergenic Dori dog. Instead of a rabbit hole, I've got a portal that looks remarkably like the front door of a gorgeous four story brownstone somewhere in Chelsea.

It's true, I can't go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then... but we may very well be all mad here.

Updates!!

Well, I've made it to Florida and rehearsals are in full swing!!

My new roommate (aft; a fierce singer girl) and our Aussie dance captain (fore)



My favorite post work hangout aka new age non-drug muscle relaxant



We work nine hour days (officially, which does not count the three plus hours we spend reviewing material together once we're back home and technically "off the clock"). If we're lucky, we have one day off every six days.

A typical day starts at 6am when my roommate (or rather her alarm) wakes me up to work out before our 7am call time. Then we head to the rehearsal studio, where we have a physical/dance warm up for a half an hour (including a killer abs section to Little Mix's "Stereo Soldier," with which I am absolutely obsessed). After that, we have a vocal warm up for thirty minutes with the musical director before we work from 9-12:30 to run segments of music, learn/review choreography, and get the shows on their feet. Then we get lunch, then we're back for the next four-ish hours.

Working for a cruise line has definitely necessitated some adjustment after working for the Met, which doesn't start rehearsals until at least 10am and operates under union sanctions (the most critical to my happiness is the Met's consistent breaks and the greater flexibility in schedule afforded by the occasionally - shall we say - uber involved and engaged opera diva). After spending two weeks in Florida on my feet in character heels nine hours a day without those luxuries of rest periods to which I had grown accustomed, I truly comprehend and value what a union can offer.

That said, I'm surprised and happy that I seem to be able to live up to the challenge! The first few days were pretty rough, and I can't remember the last time my entire body wasn't sore or covered in bruises, but as each day passes I get stronger, the millions of steps of choreo root more firmly in my brain, and the forty plus songs (especially my solos - eek; PLURAL) begin to register in a more supported place

(Dramatic aside: that last bit has required some effort. Doing these musicals, which are essentially nonstop simultaneous singing and dancing, is akin to what I imagine delivering the State of the Union live without moving your upper body, while your lower body is running at a 6.5 speed at a 45 degree incline on a treadmill would be like).

As Saturday comes to an end, I lament the end of an amazingly relaxing day off (I've never felt that I really deserve those days off before taking this contract, and wow do I relish them when they are here).

Next week should prove interesting. Our five-girl cast for Shout: The Mod Musical has been sans an Orange girl for the entirety of the first week we spent learning and blocking and running the whole show. Orange gets in from London late tonight, and we'll be working every day from Sunday to Sunday in order to catch her up. It's going to be a BEAST of a seven day work week, during which I will look forward to this yumminess I prepped tonight, and to Monday, March 11th, my next most glorious day of rest.



Until next time,

A Broadway Baby

Things move forward

It's official! I've accepted an offer to be a principal singer-dancer on Norwegian Cruise Lines. It should be fun. 8 months of an itinerary that spans the Caribbean, the Mediterranean, Panama, Vancouver, and Alaska.

There are some things in my life right now that aren't going exactly as I'd like... but I am appreciating the reality check amidst all my gratefulness and joy.

A good friend sent me Monty Python's "always look on the bright side of life" as the perfect reminder not to make the less awesome cards that life occasionally deals us too seriously.

In three weeks, I will be in Miami rehearsing and getting ready to head out to sea!

Woot!