So I'm going to start this off by giving you a scenario, a very real scenario that repeated itself way too often throughout my childhood, and I want to know if this ever happened to anyone else.
Imagine you're sitting in your classroom, most likely elementary school. Let's say 4th grade. Life has not yet beaten you down. You inevitably have an "-ey" added to the end of your name. You still think D.A.R.E. is cool.
Ok, maybe not the last part. but you get it.
Basically, are at your desk ready for a full day of school. Or so you think...
After a normal morning of pledging allegiance and roll call, your teacher suddenly announces it's time for the big test.
Your heart stops dead in your chest. Your blood turns to ice. You suddenly have to pee really really bad. Your mind is devoid of every rational thought save one:
"WHAT TEST?????"
If you were anything like me as a child, items like tests and homework projects were always sneaking up on you, mostly because you spent most of class daydreaming, or reading, or doing some other way more important activity. This is all understandable, comprehensible, not a bit reprehensible, all defensible, whatever.
But for some reason I always seemed to bet the only one. In the entire class, I was the ONLY one who had not studied for the test, or brought in my field trip form on the last day, or written that paper that was assigned right before the bell rang, etc.
I always thought that maybe it's because I was on a different plane than everyone else. My parents and teacher used to call it Racheland. Once I was gone, man, was I gone. It usually took someone calling not only my first name, but my first and last together a number of times before I finally acknowledged them with a groggy "huh?".
I've gone through most of my adult life thinking that somehow, everyone was paying attention when all the life lessons on how to be a functioning adult were given out, except me. Or that the life how-to memo landed on everyone's desk, but because I was on a water break, they skipped giving me one. Whatever stupid metaphor I could come up with here, the result is the same:
I feel everyone knows how life goes except me.
However, I am starting to think that maybe it's not that I didn't get the memo, it's just that I was scheduled to receive it at some other time. It's not my life that is out of whack, just my schedule.
1st case in point: during the first two weeks of school, most of my time would be spent reading all the short stories and full novels (seldom poems) in my literature textbook for that year. Yeah, I was that kid. Not because I was obsessive, but because I loved reading, and couldn't wait to see what other stories were lying in wait for me. Plus, I would have all the required reading done for basically the whole year, and due to my ridiculously good memory (it has faded somewhat since then, but apparently when I was a kid my memory scores were off the charts) I would retain it for the whole year, and never worry about reading homework.
2nd case in point: I was absolutely, I'm sure, the last girl in my grade to be kissed, to grow boobs, basically every puberty milestone you can think of. I even had braces till the week before senior prom because I had to wait until high school to lose all my baby teeth. I was 15 when I had my first kiss. Summer before sophmore year. At camp. For a Jewish girl, where else?
These are two opposing examples that prove the same thing: I was way off the schedule that dominated the norm. And that was all before college.
To speak more currently but less specifically, I feel I have gone through much more emotionally than many other members of my age bracket. I have had more life experience, and I know it shows. Most people don't think I'm 23. Unless they catch me watching a Disney movie.
I feel like I got my midlife crisis over with in my early 20s.
On the other hand, I have never done my own taxes. I didn't even know what equity really was until like, a month ago. Not the most mature thing, I know.
And one odd example always stuck in my mind. When I first got to college, I was immediately wrapped up in the throes of my first truly serious relationship. (Moment of nostalgia for first love. Ok, done.) All my friends were dying to know how it was. And I had no problem sharing, and ending each romantic epithet with "You'll find it too someday!"
Fast forward a couple of years, and I was going through my first real heartbreak, the one where you learn that if you care enough, you can actually feel your heart physically hurting. And those same friends who I had giddily shared stories with were all entering their first big relationships.
And, of course, all dying to tell me how right I was.
For some reason, ever since then, with this same group of friends, my love life schedule has always been completely opposite to theirs. When I'm breaking up, they're getting hitched. When I'm getting hitched, they're breaking up. A short while ago, I got a new boy in my life, and I recently learned 2 of those friends broke up with their significant others of more than a couple years. These events happened basically weeks away from each other.
Spooooooky.
Strange as it may seem, taking this scheduling theory seriously is actually quite comforting to me. It doesn't mean that I'm never going to learn how life works, it just means that I'm gonna do it on my own time. True, I am writing a blog at 3 in the morning the night before an early day of work, but hey, I did get boobs eventually. Who knows how I'll grow up next!
So if you share this feeling with me at all, don't despair. Although you may not be ready for the test today, you'll know the material when it really counts.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Vader Within
Dr. Jekyll, Lord Vader, and Pink Floyd. Three seemingly unrelated subjects (besides pure awesomeness and being veritable legends in their own right), and yet, all associated with one running theme: The Dark Side.
Much of Eastern culture and philosophy is based on the principle of balance between extremes. Yin and Yang. Sun and moon. Feminine and masculine.
Dark and light.
I am a big believer in balance. I know, I know, I'm an artist and artists are supposed to live life to the extreme, big emotions, constantly pushing limits, blah dee blah. Does that make an interesting life? Yes, of course. Does it make a happy life? Eh. It's tiring after a while to be constantly going from one extreme to another. Unless you're Robin Williams. And even he needed surgery eventually.
Just like everyone else, I have a dark and light side. My light side is probably the one that people know me by. I can't help it, I naturally have a pretty sunny and outgoing personality. Almost every time I've heard someone describe me, inevitably the word 'bubbly' is one of the first out of their mouths. And that's fine. There are worse things to be than happy.
But every once in a while, unexpectedly, the dark side pops out and... I have to admit that I like it.
For those of you who are scoffing, who don't believe that I have a dark and twisted side, I'll just give you these few examples:
One of my favorite hobbies is researching serial killers.
When I first saw Requiem for A Dream I made myself watch it once a month for a year.
My most recent role was a girl who fantasized about gutting her boyfriend while masturbating. (The director said she knew I was perfect for it right away)
I've always wondered how I would stand up to torture. Very specific torture.
I used to be freaked out and scared by my dark side. At first because I didn't understand it, and then because I let it get out of balance until I couldn't see anything else. I now treasure my dark side; it provides the balance I need for how I am 90% of the time.
Now, for those of you who don't know, I have a certain special boy in my life right now. He's pretty awesome, whatever, but the reason I bring him up is that he has seen part of my dark side and not only accepts it, but understands it. Like, isn't scared by it.
At least, he wasn't until a couple nights ago.
I admit, I let it go too far. When you get two actors together, and then let the fantasy world take over, it can get intense. That's as much as I'll say about what happened, but suffice to say it shook us both up.
However, I got over it a little quicker than he did.
My dark side is my friend. I understand it, and I understand how to handle it. I have learned that it is a part of me, that it is something I should embrace and not be scared of.
But that is not the case for everyone.
Some people never address their dark side. My mother is the sanest person I have ever known. I know somewhere, she must have a dark side, and I've always wondered what I would find there if I ever asked, and if she ever felt comfortable enough to tell me. But part of me suspects that she doesn't even know what her dark side entails. And I guess that must be true for many many people.
I have learned to deal with my dark side in a way that does not harm myself or others. I think it one of the more interesting things about me. The reason I'm so OK with it is that I know my dark side does not define me. It is only part of who I am as a person.
And who I am as a whole is a pretty awesome gal.
Explore your dark side. It does not define you. But it may give you insight. Just a thought.
Much of Eastern culture and philosophy is based on the principle of balance between extremes. Yin and Yang. Sun and moon. Feminine and masculine.
Dark and light.
I am a big believer in balance. I know, I know, I'm an artist and artists are supposed to live life to the extreme, big emotions, constantly pushing limits, blah dee blah. Does that make an interesting life? Yes, of course. Does it make a happy life? Eh. It's tiring after a while to be constantly going from one extreme to another. Unless you're Robin Williams. And even he needed surgery eventually.
Just like everyone else, I have a dark and light side. My light side is probably the one that people know me by. I can't help it, I naturally have a pretty sunny and outgoing personality. Almost every time I've heard someone describe me, inevitably the word 'bubbly' is one of the first out of their mouths. And that's fine. There are worse things to be than happy.
But every once in a while, unexpectedly, the dark side pops out and... I have to admit that I like it.
For those of you who are scoffing, who don't believe that I have a dark and twisted side, I'll just give you these few examples:
One of my favorite hobbies is researching serial killers.
When I first saw Requiem for A Dream I made myself watch it once a month for a year.
My most recent role was a girl who fantasized about gutting her boyfriend while masturbating. (The director said she knew I was perfect for it right away)
I've always wondered how I would stand up to torture. Very specific torture.
I used to be freaked out and scared by my dark side. At first because I didn't understand it, and then because I let it get out of balance until I couldn't see anything else. I now treasure my dark side; it provides the balance I need for how I am 90% of the time.
Now, for those of you who don't know, I have a certain special boy in my life right now. He's pretty awesome, whatever, but the reason I bring him up is that he has seen part of my dark side and not only accepts it, but understands it. Like, isn't scared by it.
At least, he wasn't until a couple nights ago.
I admit, I let it go too far. When you get two actors together, and then let the fantasy world take over, it can get intense. That's as much as I'll say about what happened, but suffice to say it shook us both up.
However, I got over it a little quicker than he did.
My dark side is my friend. I understand it, and I understand how to handle it. I have learned that it is a part of me, that it is something I should embrace and not be scared of.
But that is not the case for everyone.
Some people never address their dark side. My mother is the sanest person I have ever known. I know somewhere, she must have a dark side, and I've always wondered what I would find there if I ever asked, and if she ever felt comfortable enough to tell me. But part of me suspects that she doesn't even know what her dark side entails. And I guess that must be true for many many people.
I have learned to deal with my dark side in a way that does not harm myself or others. I think it one of the more interesting things about me. The reason I'm so OK with it is that I know my dark side does not define me. It is only part of who I am as a person.
And who I am as a whole is a pretty awesome gal.
Explore your dark side. It does not define you. But it may give you insight. Just a thought.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
10 Things I...
I know what you're thinking. At least, if you A: read the title of this blog and B: are anywhere near my age bracket I probably know what you're thinking. The answer is no, I am not writing a blog about 10 Thing I Hate About You. Nice try.
I enjoy and admire many different types of performance, but there is one in particular that I hold exceptionally close to my heart. The one that I constantly search out, not in public (at least not often enough) but in the privacy of my home, when the boy is gone and it's just me. I spend hours surfing youtube, TED, and the few private blogs I know trying to hunt down my next favorite... spoken word poem.
Also sometimes known as slam poetry, there is something I love about the combination of poetry and theatre. It somehow insinuates that the poem, like Shakespeare, is not satisfied merely being read or studied on a page. For it to be truly understood, it must be spoken, performed, given a voice to let it breath and live and be heard.
And, if I'm being truthful, for me, there is something otherworldly about it. I can never seem to write artistically, and even if I let myself try, I would never take it seriously or let anyone else see it. (Note: this blog doesn't count. This ain't art, kids.)
But, while I may not be able to understand the creation of it, if the writer has done their job, I can understand and, best of all, connect to the message.
I just watched 2 poems and a TED lecture by Sarah Kay. She started writing when she was 14 and has since created a program wherein she travels around trying to teach people how to start writing poetry. In her class, when mere mortals such as myself bring up the usual complaint of not knowing what to write about, she has them write down a list of 10 things they know to be true. To one girl named Charlotte, who continued to protest that she had nothing interesting to say, she kept giving lists until the one that produced her first poem: 10 things I SHOULD have learned by now.
I thought they were really interesting, and got me thinking. I highly doubt that this will start me on my way to spoken poetry stardom (if there is such a thing), but it's something interesting to think about, something I can learn from, and who knows? Maybe down the road it will inspire... something. And the chance for inspiration is always worth it.
So, without further ado, my 2 lists for today...
10 Things I Know to be True
1. No matter what I may or may not do, my parents will always love me.
2. If you want true love, you must be truthful (to both your loved one and yourself).
3. Changing a habit, good or bad, will always be uncomfortable.
4. For every person on earth, there is at least one book that they will enjoy reading.
5. One of the quickest pick-me-ups is to think of things you are grateful for.
6. Spring will always follow winter.
7. Humans are much too complex for anyone to ever know everything about one person.
8. You have something in common with every person you will ever meet.
9. A little makeup in the right places works wonders.
10. It never takes too much effort to be nice to strangers.
10 Things I Should Have Learned by Now
1. If something you have to do pops into your head, do it at that minute if you can.
2. Men and women communicate differently.
3. Doing nothing will never solve a problem.
4. Save money for a rainy day.
5. Just because someone was important in your past does not mean they have to be a part of your present.
6. Asking friends for help when it is truly needed is not burdening them.
7. Keeping your personal space the way you like to see it helps your frame of mind.
8. How you think you look will affect how other people see you.
9. Exercising your body will remind you of how miraculous and wonderful your body is.
10. Embrace the individual person you are. No one else can do it like you.
Sarah found in all her classes that there were 4 intersections where different lists met:
Everyone had something on their list that was almost identical to another item in the class.
Everyone had something on their list that was the exact opposite of another item in the class.
Everyone had something on their list someone else had never even heard or thought of.
Everyone had something on their list someone else had never thought of in that exact way.
Try a list yourself. See what you can learn.
Or, just do something to be inspired.
I enjoy and admire many different types of performance, but there is one in particular that I hold exceptionally close to my heart. The one that I constantly search out, not in public (at least not often enough) but in the privacy of my home, when the boy is gone and it's just me. I spend hours surfing youtube, TED, and the few private blogs I know trying to hunt down my next favorite... spoken word poem.
Also sometimes known as slam poetry, there is something I love about the combination of poetry and theatre. It somehow insinuates that the poem, like Shakespeare, is not satisfied merely being read or studied on a page. For it to be truly understood, it must be spoken, performed, given a voice to let it breath and live and be heard.
And, if I'm being truthful, for me, there is something otherworldly about it. I can never seem to write artistically, and even if I let myself try, I would never take it seriously or let anyone else see it. (Note: this blog doesn't count. This ain't art, kids.)
But, while I may not be able to understand the creation of it, if the writer has done their job, I can understand and, best of all, connect to the message.
I just watched 2 poems and a TED lecture by Sarah Kay. She started writing when she was 14 and has since created a program wherein she travels around trying to teach people how to start writing poetry. In her class, when mere mortals such as myself bring up the usual complaint of not knowing what to write about, she has them write down a list of 10 things they know to be true. To one girl named Charlotte, who continued to protest that she had nothing interesting to say, she kept giving lists until the one that produced her first poem: 10 things I SHOULD have learned by now.
I thought they were really interesting, and got me thinking. I highly doubt that this will start me on my way to spoken poetry stardom (if there is such a thing), but it's something interesting to think about, something I can learn from, and who knows? Maybe down the road it will inspire... something. And the chance for inspiration is always worth it.
So, without further ado, my 2 lists for today...
10 Things I Know to be True
1. No matter what I may or may not do, my parents will always love me.
2. If you want true love, you must be truthful (to both your loved one and yourself).
3. Changing a habit, good or bad, will always be uncomfortable.
4. For every person on earth, there is at least one book that they will enjoy reading.
5. One of the quickest pick-me-ups is to think of things you are grateful for.
6. Spring will always follow winter.
7. Humans are much too complex for anyone to ever know everything about one person.
8. You have something in common with every person you will ever meet.
9. A little makeup in the right places works wonders.
10. It never takes too much effort to be nice to strangers.
10 Things I Should Have Learned by Now
1. If something you have to do pops into your head, do it at that minute if you can.
2. Men and women communicate differently.
3. Doing nothing will never solve a problem.
4. Save money for a rainy day.
5. Just because someone was important in your past does not mean they have to be a part of your present.
6. Asking friends for help when it is truly needed is not burdening them.
7. Keeping your personal space the way you like to see it helps your frame of mind.
8. How you think you look will affect how other people see you.
9. Exercising your body will remind you of how miraculous and wonderful your body is.
10. Embrace the individual person you are. No one else can do it like you.
Sarah found in all her classes that there were 4 intersections where different lists met:
Everyone had something on their list that was almost identical to another item in the class.
Everyone had something on their list that was the exact opposite of another item in the class.
Everyone had something on their list someone else had never even heard or thought of.
Everyone had something on their list someone else had never thought of in that exact way.
Try a list yourself. See what you can learn.
Or, just do something to be inspired.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Workin Hard for ?
Hello hello! I've been gone for a while, but per Emily's request (I have a fan! Yipes!) I'm determined to blog about something....
Hm.
Well, new years was pretty recent. Shall I write yet another blog about how I'm determined to change, how to form my life into what I want it to be, how I'm just the MOST positive person ever and how I CAN do it!!!!????
Or at least something like that.
Based off the phrase "You can have anything you want, but not everything you want." I was recently asked what I would wish for in my life RIGHT NOW if I could have anything. I definitely had to think it over, or rather think carefully how to word it.
Unsurprisingly, it had nothing to do with my personal life. That usually takes care of itself sooner or later; and anyway it never happens when you're looking for it. Waste of a wish, if you ask me.
Somewhat surprisingly, it had nothing to do with my state of mind either. I know my mind has gone a bit twisty and dark in the past, but I know my patterns well enough by now to catch it before it really starts going to the bad place where dead baby jokes make me cry instead of laugh.
Probably similar to most NY women, my wish was for my professional life. It is not an unreachable goal, and it doesn't even seem to be incredibly difficult when you just say it out loud:
I wish I could earn a living, modest or not, solely off of acting.
But saying and doing, my little darlings, are two very different things.
I know every profession has some sort of ladder you must pay your dues at and claw your way to the top of. Unless you have some amazing luck or connections, (in which case go fuck yourself, you know you don't deserve it) it is expected and necessary. You put up with crap, you learn a lot, you take a step up, you put up with more but slightly different crap, you learn more, you take another step, yada yada yada. That's how it works. I know that.
But man, sometimes it seems like that first crappy step goes on for a little too long.
If I count doing commercials as a kid, I have been acting for somewhere around 15 years.
I'll repeat that. 15 years. More than half my life.
Shouldn't that be worth something?
I know, we don't act because we want to be rich. We do it because we feel a need to; because something in our soul yearns for expression and cannot achieve it any other way; because we have serious mental issues, whatever. And all of that is true.
But we shouldn't be chastised for wanting to be paid for what we've been trained to do. There are few things in this world that are more satisfying than someone thinking you're so good at what you love most in the world that they will actually PAY you to do it.
Don't get me wrong, I don't mind doing free theatre and film. I love it. I love getting to work with new scripts, to reinvent a well known character, to bring beautiful language and stories to tens and tens (not a typo) of people at a time. And I know I didn't study Shakespeare, movement, and stage combat to talk about how Vagisil makes me feel just SO comfortable.
But a few years ago, when I booked that commercial, I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so, well, validated.
I'd really really like to feel that again. Also, if my grandfather tells me he wants to see my name in lights before he dies one more time, I'm probably going to have a seizure and bite my own tongue off.
So I'm going to do what I have to. I'm not a pushy person, but I will be pushy and relentless if I have to be. I'm not a fearless person, but I will not let fear get in the way. I'm sometimes clueless, but I'll figure out a way.
Because even if my wish did somehow come true through magic... it would feel so much better if I did it myself.
Hm.
Well, new years was pretty recent. Shall I write yet another blog about how I'm determined to change, how to form my life into what I want it to be, how I'm just the MOST positive person ever and how I CAN do it!!!!????
Or at least something like that.
Based off the phrase "You can have anything you want, but not everything you want." I was recently asked what I would wish for in my life RIGHT NOW if I could have anything. I definitely had to think it over, or rather think carefully how to word it.
Unsurprisingly, it had nothing to do with my personal life. That usually takes care of itself sooner or later; and anyway it never happens when you're looking for it. Waste of a wish, if you ask me.
Somewhat surprisingly, it had nothing to do with my state of mind either. I know my mind has gone a bit twisty and dark in the past, but I know my patterns well enough by now to catch it before it really starts going to the bad place where dead baby jokes make me cry instead of laugh.
Probably similar to most NY women, my wish was for my professional life. It is not an unreachable goal, and it doesn't even seem to be incredibly difficult when you just say it out loud:
I wish I could earn a living, modest or not, solely off of acting.
But saying and doing, my little darlings, are two very different things.
I know every profession has some sort of ladder you must pay your dues at and claw your way to the top of. Unless you have some amazing luck or connections, (in which case go fuck yourself, you know you don't deserve it) it is expected and necessary. You put up with crap, you learn a lot, you take a step up, you put up with more but slightly different crap, you learn more, you take another step, yada yada yada. That's how it works. I know that.
But man, sometimes it seems like that first crappy step goes on for a little too long.
If I count doing commercials as a kid, I have been acting for somewhere around 15 years.
I'll repeat that. 15 years. More than half my life.
Shouldn't that be worth something?
I know, we don't act because we want to be rich. We do it because we feel a need to; because something in our soul yearns for expression and cannot achieve it any other way; because we have serious mental issues, whatever. And all of that is true.
But we shouldn't be chastised for wanting to be paid for what we've been trained to do. There are few things in this world that are more satisfying than someone thinking you're so good at what you love most in the world that they will actually PAY you to do it.
Don't get me wrong, I don't mind doing free theatre and film. I love it. I love getting to work with new scripts, to reinvent a well known character, to bring beautiful language and stories to tens and tens (not a typo) of people at a time. And I know I didn't study Shakespeare, movement, and stage combat to talk about how Vagisil makes me feel just SO comfortable.
But a few years ago, when I booked that commercial, I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so, well, validated.
I'd really really like to feel that again. Also, if my grandfather tells me he wants to see my name in lights before he dies one more time, I'm probably going to have a seizure and bite my own tongue off.
So I'm going to do what I have to. I'm not a pushy person, but I will be pushy and relentless if I have to be. I'm not a fearless person, but I will not let fear get in the way. I'm sometimes clueless, but I'll figure out a way.
Because even if my wish did somehow come true through magic... it would feel so much better if I did it myself.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Reality Trip
Not to sound like a jet-setter or anything, but yes, I did just get back from Hawaii and yes, I'm going to write about it. A quick overview on why I went: My dad is an Ironman triathlete. In case you've never heard of this (and trust me, I do not think any less of you if you haven't) the Ironman triathalon is the hardest tri race in the world. It is a 2.4 mile swim, 114 mile bike ride, and then, a MARATHON. You know, only 26.2 miles and miles and miles of running.
If you think you'd have to be insane to want to do this race... you would be absolutely correct. That is a minimum requirement, actually.
Now, the World Championship Ironman is in Kona, Hawaii. It is the same race, only through Hawaiian size waves, over blacktop surrounded by petrified lava, in the hot sun and fierce winds. To do this particular Ironman, you must qualify, which means you must be in the top 2 or 3 of your entire age group in another Ironman race. Kona is only for the toughest, most competitive, and craziest people who participate in this sport.
My dad is one of them. He set this goal for himself years ago and, this weekend, achieved it.
So, of course, my entire family goes to support him and (incidentally of course) get a trip to Hawaii out of the whole spectacle.
All caught up? You with me? Awesome. Moving on.
Many people say that they love NY because of how real it is. No one tries to sugarcoat anything, it's where you're forced to prove yourself in the 'real' world, and when you see a bum pooping in a box, you think life doesn't get any more real than that.
This is certainly what I thought when I first moved here 5 (holycraphaveIreallybeenhere5years) years ago, and up until recently, I kept that in my head. But through looking at myself and meeting a wonderful person on my trip, I now have a very different point of view.
In NYC, besides money, one of the top commodities a person can have is wit. Cleverness. The ability to quickly and intelligently make fun of anything, and make anyone laugh. Wit can, and totally is, used to cover insecurity, loneliness, any number of emotional ailments that NY hands out to its loyal members so abundantly, along with the flu and common cold.
Mostly everyone tries to use wit in public, and as a result, mostly everyone comes into a conversation, especially when meeting people for the first time, with a layer of skepticism and cynicism that is almost impenetrable. Constantly looking for double meanings and sarcasm, not trusting for a moment that this person is being at all genuine; because, really, who is?
Oh wait, that's right! Not everyone lives in NY! There are places outside these 5 buroughs, where people say what they mean and are allowed to be who they are without trying to be who they are in the most fashionable and ironic sense. Places like... Hawaii maybe?
My sister and I went on a spiritual (among other things) journey together in Hawaii before race day, and at the start of this journey we met two young men and they decided to come along with us. Me being the hard, toughened NYer that I am, and watching out for my little sister in addition to myself, I was instantly on my guard and my bullshit detector was cranked up to an 11 out of 10.
So when one of the young men started going on about saving butterflies and absorbing energy, and literally was stopping to smell flowers, I was certain this was a whole carefully constructed act to make the big city girl loosen up her morals and legs on her amazing Hawaii vacation to the mysterious, yoga-tastic boy with the sandy blonde wind-blown hair and deep blue-green eyes.
Hey, I never said positive energy was the only thing he had going for him.
It took a whole day for me to realize that this guy wasn't bullshitting, and after that, that he wasn't just plain crazy. He was simply saying what he thought and felt. Without giving a thought to what other people might think of it. And this attitude had a deep effect on me. I began to lose my 3rd eye. Not my true 3rd eye to wisdom and clarity, but my fake 3rd eye that is always watching everything I do from an outsiders point of view. I did things like jumping on a wall and climbing a tree, not because I thought it would look like I was a free spirit, but just because it was fun and felt good to use my muscles.
It's been a while since that happened. Longer than I'd care to admit.
I had to go all the way to Hawaii to find someone who was real; who allowed me to experience something real. And while people in NY may laugh their superior laugh, this man is braver than all of them, because he is who he is, and is not afraid to be beautiful.
It's a lesson we can all benefit from.
If you think you'd have to be insane to want to do this race... you would be absolutely correct. That is a minimum requirement, actually.
Now, the World Championship Ironman is in Kona, Hawaii. It is the same race, only through Hawaiian size waves, over blacktop surrounded by petrified lava, in the hot sun and fierce winds. To do this particular Ironman, you must qualify, which means you must be in the top 2 or 3 of your entire age group in another Ironman race. Kona is only for the toughest, most competitive, and craziest people who participate in this sport.
My dad is one of them. He set this goal for himself years ago and, this weekend, achieved it.
So, of course, my entire family goes to support him and (incidentally of course) get a trip to Hawaii out of the whole spectacle.
All caught up? You with me? Awesome. Moving on.
Many people say that they love NY because of how real it is. No one tries to sugarcoat anything, it's where you're forced to prove yourself in the 'real' world, and when you see a bum pooping in a box, you think life doesn't get any more real than that.
This is certainly what I thought when I first moved here 5 (holycraphaveIreallybeenhere5years) years ago, and up until recently, I kept that in my head. But through looking at myself and meeting a wonderful person on my trip, I now have a very different point of view.
In NYC, besides money, one of the top commodities a person can have is wit. Cleverness. The ability to quickly and intelligently make fun of anything, and make anyone laugh. Wit can, and totally is, used to cover insecurity, loneliness, any number of emotional ailments that NY hands out to its loyal members so abundantly, along with the flu and common cold.
Mostly everyone tries to use wit in public, and as a result, mostly everyone comes into a conversation, especially when meeting people for the first time, with a layer of skepticism and cynicism that is almost impenetrable. Constantly looking for double meanings and sarcasm, not trusting for a moment that this person is being at all genuine; because, really, who is?
Oh wait, that's right! Not everyone lives in NY! There are places outside these 5 buroughs, where people say what they mean and are allowed to be who they are without trying to be who they are in the most fashionable and ironic sense. Places like... Hawaii maybe?
My sister and I went on a spiritual (among other things) journey together in Hawaii before race day, and at the start of this journey we met two young men and they decided to come along with us. Me being the hard, toughened NYer that I am, and watching out for my little sister in addition to myself, I was instantly on my guard and my bullshit detector was cranked up to an 11 out of 10.
So when one of the young men started going on about saving butterflies and absorbing energy, and literally was stopping to smell flowers, I was certain this was a whole carefully constructed act to make the big city girl loosen up her morals and legs on her amazing Hawaii vacation to the mysterious, yoga-tastic boy with the sandy blonde wind-blown hair and deep blue-green eyes.
Hey, I never said positive energy was the only thing he had going for him.
It took a whole day for me to realize that this guy wasn't bullshitting, and after that, that he wasn't just plain crazy. He was simply saying what he thought and felt. Without giving a thought to what other people might think of it. And this attitude had a deep effect on me. I began to lose my 3rd eye. Not my true 3rd eye to wisdom and clarity, but my fake 3rd eye that is always watching everything I do from an outsiders point of view. I did things like jumping on a wall and climbing a tree, not because I thought it would look like I was a free spirit, but just because it was fun and felt good to use my muscles.
It's been a while since that happened. Longer than I'd care to admit.
I had to go all the way to Hawaii to find someone who was real; who allowed me to experience something real. And while people in NY may laugh their superior laugh, this man is braver than all of them, because he is who he is, and is not afraid to be beautiful.
It's a lesson we can all benefit from.
Monday, September 27, 2010
The H.A.L.T. Rule
Common sense. Oh, common sense. What has happened to you in this day and age? Do you feel forgotten, left behind, mocked even? Sometimes it seems that no one uses you any more except for adorable old couples from the South and people who drop out of law school to own and operate bakeries.
The days of "If it ain't your dog, don't walk it" and "Don't bet on a tater hill before grabblin time" seem to be faded, or maybe pushed, far into the past.
My personal favorite is the H.A.L.T. rule: Never make any decisions when you are Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired.
But even though we don't listen to our own common sense, it's still there, just waiting for us to use it when the opportunity arrives.
Case in point: Because I did not use common sense, the other night I thought I was hallucinating.
Nope. Not a joke. Fo realz.
I work as a cocktail waitress at a popular bar in downtown Manhattan, and as a result I put up with a lot of shit from ornery customers and people who like to pretend they never heard of a tip. I am usually pretty good-natured about this and over the years have learned how to handle it, but saturday..... oh saturday.
It was my Perfect Storm.
I arrived early per my bosses request because our bar was the last stop on the Greenwich Village Pub Crawl and it was going to be packed. And it was. And just as those people started to finally leave, the normal Saturday night crowd came in. And kept coming. And kept coming.
To the point where there were so many people it took me 5 minutes just to get from one side of the bar to the other.
Now, it may not seem like a hard job, but I run my ass off and try my best to sell drinks and make sure people have a good time. I know it's nothing to really be proud of, but dammit I'm a good waitress. And saturday night, even though sometimes I pictured myself graphically and mercilessly killing certain customers, I was keeping an eye on my tips and knew I was doing well.
At the bar, we keep all of our money folded together, and the computer keeps track of how many drinks we order, and then at the end of the night we give the bar the money for the drink sales and keep the rest. On a night like this, for me it should have been around $300.
Should. Have. Been.
I counted my money once.
"Must be a mistake"
I counted it twice.
"I must have put some somewhere else... wait, no I didn't"
I counted it thrice.
"WHAT THE F***"
I was left with a grand total of $11.
I know, I know, you are all thinking of a perfectly sane and easily explained reason for this, but please keep in mind that at this point it is 3:30 AM and I have been on my feet for no less than 11 hours. I start going over the night in my head, trying to see if maybe I undercharged people, if anything seemed out of order, if I dropped off some money at the bar? Not a chance.
The money, seemingly, had disappeared into thin air.
And this is the point when my brain goes haywire. I actually thought that I had hallucinated charging people the right prices and that all night my brain had been screwing with me. After 2 months away and coming back feeling like things were finally really and truly different for me, I though my brain was having a breakdown trying to drag me back down again. And so I did the sanest thing I could think of at that time.
I completely freaked out, started crying hysterically, and stormed out of the bar.
Of course, I talked to my version of personified common sense (mom) and she assured me that of course it was a pickpocket who was smart enough not to steal my entire roll of money to alert me, but only take a bunch of twenties that I would not notice for hours.
And if I had not made a decision when I was Tired, Angry, and Hungry I probably would have realized this too.
Morals of the story? More often than not, there is an explanation for anything, Don't carry so much money around at once, and of course, When in doubt, call Mom.
And before you decide, don't forget to H.A.L.T.
The days of "If it ain't your dog, don't walk it" and "Don't bet on a tater hill before grabblin time" seem to be faded, or maybe pushed, far into the past.
My personal favorite is the H.A.L.T. rule: Never make any decisions when you are Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired.
But even though we don't listen to our own common sense, it's still there, just waiting for us to use it when the opportunity arrives.
Case in point: Because I did not use common sense, the other night I thought I was hallucinating.
Nope. Not a joke. Fo realz.
I work as a cocktail waitress at a popular bar in downtown Manhattan, and as a result I put up with a lot of shit from ornery customers and people who like to pretend they never heard of a tip. I am usually pretty good-natured about this and over the years have learned how to handle it, but saturday..... oh saturday.
It was my Perfect Storm.
I arrived early per my bosses request because our bar was the last stop on the Greenwich Village Pub Crawl and it was going to be packed. And it was. And just as those people started to finally leave, the normal Saturday night crowd came in. And kept coming. And kept coming.
To the point where there were so many people it took me 5 minutes just to get from one side of the bar to the other.
Now, it may not seem like a hard job, but I run my ass off and try my best to sell drinks and make sure people have a good time. I know it's nothing to really be proud of, but dammit I'm a good waitress. And saturday night, even though sometimes I pictured myself graphically and mercilessly killing certain customers, I was keeping an eye on my tips and knew I was doing well.
At the bar, we keep all of our money folded together, and the computer keeps track of how many drinks we order, and then at the end of the night we give the bar the money for the drink sales and keep the rest. On a night like this, for me it should have been around $300.
Should. Have. Been.
I counted my money once.
"Must be a mistake"
I counted it twice.
"I must have put some somewhere else... wait, no I didn't"
I counted it thrice.
"WHAT THE F***"
I was left with a grand total of $11.
I know, I know, you are all thinking of a perfectly sane and easily explained reason for this, but please keep in mind that at this point it is 3:30 AM and I have been on my feet for no less than 11 hours. I start going over the night in my head, trying to see if maybe I undercharged people, if anything seemed out of order, if I dropped off some money at the bar? Not a chance.
The money, seemingly, had disappeared into thin air.
And this is the point when my brain goes haywire. I actually thought that I had hallucinated charging people the right prices and that all night my brain had been screwing with me. After 2 months away and coming back feeling like things were finally really and truly different for me, I though my brain was having a breakdown trying to drag me back down again. And so I did the sanest thing I could think of at that time.
I completely freaked out, started crying hysterically, and stormed out of the bar.
Of course, I talked to my version of personified common sense (mom) and she assured me that of course it was a pickpocket who was smart enough not to steal my entire roll of money to alert me, but only take a bunch of twenties that I would not notice for hours.
And if I had not made a decision when I was Tired, Angry, and Hungry I probably would have realized this too.
Morals of the story? More often than not, there is an explanation for anything, Don't carry so much money around at once, and of course, When in doubt, call Mom.
And before you decide, don't forget to H.A.L.T.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Spirit in the Wreck
I should mention 2 things before writing this blog, as a courtesy to readers:
1. I could have died today
2. This post will contain talk of the big G-O-D
In other words, if you are an athiest who takes yourself way too seriously, or you are not in the mood for 'heavy' subject matter, you probably are gonna want to move on and read the last 5 textsfromlastnight that have been added since the last time you looked at the site.
Note: this is not me judging, I do it too.
I originally did not want to blog while on my trip, but I want to get this out while it's still fresh in my head, plus I'm coming home in 3 days anyway, so same diff.
Ok, so about almost dying... sorry I ruined the punchline, but here goes.
I was traveling in a car (not in the drivers seat I would just like to point out) along one of Burkina-Faso's best maintained roads on my way to hopefully see some elephants. Now, when I say best-maintained road, I'm not lying... but here, that's not saying much. Potholes and rocks galore, and since it is rainy season, mud and puddles. The driver, there being essentially no other vehicular traffic, was going from side to side on the road to avoid said obstacles, when suddenly.... A high-speed turtle shell hit us from behind just as we slipped on a banan peel and-
Oh, wait, that's MarioKart. Sorry.
Seriously, suddenly three women came onto the side of the road we were driving along in a SUV at around 35 miles an hour. The driver swerved to avoid them, they dived out of the way, and our car went out of control, slid off of the road into a small ditch, then went AIRBORNE and flipped counter clockwise. I believe we would have turned all the way upside down if a large tree did not slam into our windshield and roof, effectively stopping the car balanced on the drivers side with the passenger window above our heads.
Kids, I can't make this shit up.
So those are the mechanics of what happened, but what struck me is so much more than that. In the maybe 1.5 seconds between the first swerve and slamming into that tree, I had the oddest emotional reaction imaginable.
I felt absolutely calm.
Now I know there are many ways to explain this. There wasn't enough time to process what was happening, my brain couldn't keep up with my eyes, I went into survival mode, whatever. And if I was emotionless I would maybe believe that.
But what I felt was this calm certainty that nothing serious would happen and that I would be ok. I mean, not just hope, but absolutely knew without a shadow of a doubt, just like I know my name is Rachel and Oscar Wilde was a homo.
My life did not flash before my eyes, because I knew I was not going to die.
I know it sounds cliche, but that accident did seem to go in slow motion. As we were heading off the road I knew we were going to crash, and as I saw the tree coming I knew the car would be damaged. But I was not at all surprised when the roof directly in front of and over my head crunched inwards, and stopped about an inch from my face.
And boys and girls, out of that horrible wreck, I emerged with not a scratch.
I don't talk about this side of me that much, but I take my Jewish spiritualism pretty seriously. I believe in God, if not the traditional image of God (please note lack of pronoun use) but my own interpretation based on Torah and personal morals and logic. I don't think you're going to hell if you don't believe in God, I'm just saying I do, and I've known that for a while.
Usually the time I talk to God most is on the subway; I'm either thanking him for making the train come right on time or cussing him out for it just pulling out as I step on the platform, late yet again.
This trip has made me feel closer to God than I have in a while. I think it's because when I'm thankful for something, I feel at peace, and I've had so much to be thankful for on this journey.
But this was the cherry on top of the African dark chocolate fudge sundae.
Call me crazy, but in those 1.5 seconds, I knew without a doubt that God was, in some small way, in the car with me and letting me know that I was going to be fine.
When I got out and saw how the car was wrapped around the tree like a stepford wife christmas present, it hit me how low the probability of me not getting hurt at all was in a crash like that. Even the driver had only a small cut on his thumb. In all honesty, we could have, and maybe even should have, been serously injured or died.
Plus, neither my iPod nor my camera were damaged. If that isn't God's hand, I don't know what is.
So call it what you want. Call it luck, call it karma, call it a guardian angel, or call it a fluke. There have been times in my life (and long-time friends have agreed with me on this) when it has seemed like I have more luck than the average person (knock on wood). But maybe, just maybe, it's not always luck.
Maybe someone is actually watching out for me on a universal level.
I couldn't be more grateful.
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