have a lovely weekend. and a tidbit of info...

so i'm doing this little play, right.

and you want to come see it, right?

so here are some preliminary dates.

more to follow.

climbing to where the sky was once sea.

i scoffed yesterday when told the hike was a mere mile and a half.

no problem, i am in fighting form.

the thing is when given only a mile and half to climb more than a thousand feet in the air, well that's tricky.

okay not so much tricky as downright hard (miserable).

and then there's this issue of fear of heights that seems to worsen with age.

but at the end of it all i got to explore a cave that outdates the dinosaurs (yes outdates the dinosaurs!).

oh, and the view was okay, too.

it might be love.

my bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep.

a person's life purpose is nothing more than to rediscover, through the detours of art or love or passionate work, those one or two images in the presence of which his heart first opened.

albert camus

image.

title of post from Romeo and Juliet

to drink or not to drink?

i didn't know before coming here that no one drinks coffee.

i do drink coffee.

yes, i am a coffee drinker.

it was nearly a year ago that i really fell in love with the stuff.

at a little cafe across from a little house in the little area of sydney known as alexandria.

mochas and lattes. froth and foam. the warm cup in a chilled hand. there was none of the american nonsense of black coffee--it just didn't exist. and each coffee shop was its own. a unique adventure unto itself. nothing streamlined.

and so it was love. and so it went. and so i-was-in-love. with the morning trek across the street and the afternoon respite--sunning in the cool winter air, coffee in one hand, a book in the other.

and then i got here.

and no one drinks coffee.

and i spent a lot of time wondering if perhaps i shouldn't drink coffee. and as all catholics do i thought on the thing waiting for an appropriate amount of guilt to arise and lead me to an answer. too much guilt? let it go. not too much? carry on. and then i realized there was no guilt to be seen or felt or had. coffee is not my vice but my choice.

and so i found a lovely little coffee shop here, finagled a bike from a friend, and each morning i wend and wind through the neighborhoods just off of center street as i slowly and surely make my way to my iced-coffee haven.

it's me and a gang of bikers (motorbikes, that is) and a gypsy of a family (i think) and a whole host of assorted characters. the funny thing is, i'm probably the one who looks out of place.

i knew coming here would be hard. it would be a challenge. but that little voice inside was so sure and so calm and so i allowed it to lead--that voice that promised oh-so-good-things.

but at this moment in time i'm wondering where the heck that voice got the nerve because i can't see those oh-so-good-things. i just see the return of ned. of old habits and older fears. the return of a bloated face and a too-tight-pair-of-jeans.

for a month now i've tried to no avail to climb from this little hole that i've dug.

but today i'm gonna get myself a coffee maker. at wal-mart. or some such. because much as i like the morning bike ride to the coffee shop and much as i'll keep doing it, i wanna wake to the smell of coffee brewing. i want a hold a warm mug. and give thanks over it. and i want that to be the very first thing i do all day. before i mount a bike. before i marvel at all the eclectic houses. before i join the misfits of utah county, i wanna break a few rules in my own little room.

because there is so much instability here. so much uncertainty. and ned really loves those things. and if all it takes is one cup of my own renegade mocha to center me a little, then i'm gonna take it. and thank God for the little lifeboat that it is.

(it should be noted that i have

the utmost respect for people

who choose not to drink

coffee for whatever reason,

religious or not.)

a reminder. for myself, if for no one else.

"Why do you think you're here, Oskar?""I'm here, Dr. Fein, because it upsets my mom that I'm having an impossible time with my life." "Should it upset her?" "Not really. Life is impossible."

extremely loud and incredibly close

just before your weekend begins in earnest...

brittan claire posted about an article she found on mighty girl. and i fell in love with brittan'sideas about it all. so i followed the link to the mighty girl website where the full article is posted. and then i fell in love with the author: maggie mason.

20 things she wished she known at 20.

the whole thing is so spectacularly perfect. the freedom of judgement she encourages, the importance of failure.

i wish i could say i'd already checked several of these things off my list--been there, done that. but alas, i have yet to learn (i mean really know in my bones) most of them.

i'm nearing the twenty-five mark. and that seems like a big something. but at the end of the day i suppose what it really means is that i still have five years to enjoy my twenties.it's not too late to be young and carefree! five years to revel in mussing things up.

so my hope is you enjoy this as much as i did...

20 Things I Wish I’d Known at 20

A couple weeks ago, in my letter to 20-year-old me, I was congratulating myself on not having been photographed topless. A few days later, I realized that wasn’t strictly true.

My roommate Jen Rector was a photographer, and she took a whole book of very reserved pinups. I’m amazed that I lived in an apartment with a photographer and a full bar and we still only managed to do 1940s-style damage.

It’s a testimony to how cautious I was, which is a shame because your early twenties is a great time to revel in stupidity. Play beer pong with bourbon. Pierce your tongue. Climb on the back of a motorcycle in Indonesia. What the hell.

When you’re young; you don’t have to make smart decisions to make sound decisions. You’re still mapping the territory, so failure is the quickest route between idiocy and enlightenment.

These are a few of the lessons I wish I’d started learning a little earlier. I haven’t mastered them yet, but now you get a head start.

1. Consider the source. If you’re worried about someone who dislikes you, first ask yourself whether they’re an asshole. If you don’t like them, and they don’t like you, that’s not a problem. That’s a mutual understanding.

2. Get off the couch. If you find yourself playing hard to get, don’t pretend to be busy. Just be busy.

3. Don’t waste your time. If you have to play hard to get, move on. You’ll know when you’ve found a healthy relationship because it won’t confuse you.

4. When in doubt, shut up. Silence is a smart negotiation tactic, the best option when you’re processing how to respond, and always more productive than lying about what you’re thinking.

5. Don’t complain. Maybe venting makes you feel better, but letting off steam can also lull you into maintaining the status quo. Unfortunately, the status quo is pissing you off, which is why you’re whining in the first place. If you’re frustrated, turn that energy toward fixing your problems, not bitching about them.

6. Don’t obsess. Worrying is complaint’s ugly cousin. Either use that energy to change your situation, or relax.

7. Find an age-appropriate style. No one wants to see a 20 year old in beige slacks and a wool blazer. Buy trendy clothes, wear the slutty dress, do something ugly with your hair. Be part of your generation, so you can laugh at the photos later.

8. Be polite. It keeps doors open, lessens the potential for misunderstandings, and increases the odds of getting invited back to the beach house.

9. But defend your boundaries. When someone isn’t taking no for an answer, clarify what you want, and then respond forcefully. Being polite to someone who isn’t hearing you is naive.

10. You look good. There’s no such thing as the hottest person in the room. Everyone is attracted to something different, so just take those odds and run with them.

11. Being nice is overrated. In fact, “nice” is the least interesting thing someone can say about you.

12. Keep it to yourself. “She seems nice” is an excellent thing to say about someone you don’t like. Particularly in the company of people you don’t know.

13. Know your audience. When you’re telling a story and someone interrupts you, let them.

14. Let your passion shape your profession. You know that thing your dad says? “If work wasn’t hard, they wouldn’t pay you to do it.” Please. There are professional rock stars, astronauts, puppy trainers, and bloggers.

15. Sex is personal. Don’t bother with one-night stands if they’re not your thing, and don’t judge people for enjoying them (or not). Waiting to sleep with someone doesn’t make you an uptight prude, and jumping into bed doesn’t make you a spontaneous adventure seeker.

16. Focus. The saying, “what you’re thinking about is what you’re becoming” isn’t just chilling, it’s a universal law. Be aware of how you’re investing your attention – including your words, and your actions.

17. Cut yourself a break. Don’t offer a running commentary on your own faults. When you do, the people around you listen. Give yourself space to change your character.

18. Don’t be intimidated. World travelers are just people who bought plane tickets. Pulitzer Prize winners are people who sit alone and write. You can break the most profound accomplishment down to a series of mundane tasks.

19. Choose good company. Ask yourself if a person makes you better or drains your life force. If the answer is B, you’re busy next time they call. And the time after that.

20. Enjoy your body. Odds are you’re more beautiful now than you will be again. Ask your roommate.

full.

it never rains here.

and i'm from texas where rain is practically a religion.

i love utah, i really do.

but what i wouldn't give for the sky to open up right now...

and to fill me.

i would like to be filled with rain.

yes, that will be my prayer for the next few days.

i won't think of how hard these last two weeks have been.

and i won't think of the uncertainty of the future.

i won't think of my mistakes and many failures.

i'll think about tiny droplets of water. millions of them. plummeting towards the earth. sinking into the ground. tiny droplets of water cleansing the landscape and encouraging growth.

yes, for these next few days i won't pray for life to get easier or for me to be better or for a sudden windfall and the promise of a trip to europe.

i will pray for rain.

yes, just a little rain.

photo via matthew hartman on flickr

dearest husband-to-be,

photo via sabino

needing all the nonsense shook out.

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and could give the Beloved His choice,
Some nights He would just drag you around the room by your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds all your erroneous notions of truth
That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep on too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us up in a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.
The Beloved sometimes wants to do us a great favor:
Hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear He is in such a "playful drunken mood"
Most everyone I know quickly packs their bags
And hightails it out of town.

Hafiz

an escape from utah. for just a moment. while i dream of the east and beaches.

i'm dreaming of a white, wood-panneled house. atop a hill--a sloping hill that abuts the atlantic.

there will be the requisite white picket fence. a white picket fence in front of our white, wood-panneled home. and there will be bikes. bikes just there--by the gate. mine will be robin's egg blue. it will have high-handlebars and a wicker basket. it will get me to the grocery store and to the library. to the small single-room movie theatre and down to the beach. on sunday mornings i will bunch up my dress and pray that the spokes don't grab hold of my hem before church. and my kennedy-of-a-husband and i will race down the hill to our favorite coffee shop. and there we will spend the lazy summer mornings wondering how it is anyone ever finishes the new york times crossword puzzle. scratch that--i will sit, watching in wonder as he not only finishes the puzzle, but does so correctly, all the while laughing lovingly at my ridiculous suggestions.

oh, today i'm dreaming of summers on the cape. and a life that's just a stone's throw away.

photo on Cape Cod, summer of 1969

via confections on flickr

sundance, waterfalls, and the tree room dream.

this saturday the gorgeous Bev showed me the part of utah i've been longing to see since the day i arrived. and suddenly i think i might never leave. everything's better up in the mountains (girl talk included. who am i kidding? especially, girl talk!). i'm thinking of taking up residence in any of the several multi-million dollar homes nestled into the foliage. in fact, if i hang around long enough, maybe robert (redford) and i might just strike up a friendship.

now i'm thinking of all the different ways to convince my father to take my mother and me to the tree room when they come to visit in just over a month.

the grocery store.

yesterday i rode my bike to the grocery store for asparagus and mascara.

two things all girls must have.

i headed to the produce and became giddy with excitement upon finding ultra-thin stalks (best for crisping in the oven).

and then worked my way over to cosmetics.

there i stood in front of the wall of wands. overwhelmed by variety i reached for the old standard: thin wand, conservative length extension.

but then something caught my eye. the new falsies mascara. you know, the mascara that promises eyelashes so big that they actually look fake. but who wants fake looking lashes, right? only loose women would want such a thing.

loose women, i say!

and yet.

maybe, just maybe i might want such a thing.

maybe, just maybe i stood in front of that wall of wands and reminded myself that this summer is an experiment. on all fronts. so why not try? why not try the one mascara that seems most inconsistent with my own loosely cobbled self-image?

and so i got it.

and the summer pedals on.

photo by maus. on flickr

tonight was the first night i looked up and saw the stars.

tonight was the first night i looked up.

because i've been feasting on quotes today...

Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.

murakami

thank you to the gorgeous reader

who sent this my way.

the bruises go away,

and so does how you hate,

and so does the feeling that

everything you receive from life

is something you have earned.

everything is illuminated

jonathan safran foer

the simple truth.

she met him on the saddest day of her life.

it was never meant to work. never meant to carry forward.

it was just that, on that day, she needed a hand to pull her from the deep.

i love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

pablo neruda

one iced latte, please.

the last time i spoke to tom i said, sometimes, i just don't want to feel so much.

and he said, congratulations, you've just defined what an eating disorder is in a nutshell--the not wanting to feel.

i've been going through this interminable, undeniable period of writer's block.

as soon as i got here: capow, it hit. and i wondered if it had something to do with energy--with the transference of energy.

because, you see, for me...writing has always been an act of energy. of feeling. of seeing feelingly. what i mean is, i don't think it through terribly well. i mean i think it through, but mostly at a level of half-awareness. on a simmer of sorts and when it begins to boil...well, then i write. it's a feeling thing. of taking what i'm feeling and putting it on the page. so that while the reader may not get what i'm saying exactly, it doesn't quite matter, because they've lived in a different place, for just a moment. felt something just a wee bit their own. or not their own. they've experienced some sort of shift. (i think. i hope).

feeling and energy.

this post alone should be case enough to send me back to a school where someone can teach me how to write correctly and articulately and well. and yet, that's not really of interest to me. i want to write in the cracks. in the fault lines. i want to walk away with dirty fingers from sorting through the glorious and renegade weeds of my own life.

and so here i am, suddenly trying to act, and i can't write. and if i can't write, well then...

i always assumed it would be possible to do both. but this acting thing and tapping into emotions disperses and displaces my energy in such a way that the water only simmers. constantly, yes. but no real bubbles. no explosions of air.

and the thing is i'm quite sure that writing saved my life. and so i can't give it up.

how did it save my life? a good and valid question. well, because, if writing is feeling, and an eating disorder is the avoidance of feeling, then writing (for me) is the enemy of ned*. writing is the sorcerer's stone. the silver bullet. the long, sought after spoonful of sugar.

funny, i always thought it would be love.

acting is a feeling thing too. i do it feelingly. and i'm quite good at it. or i was. once. and yet in some ways (and i realized this just tonight) it was only perpetuating my sickness. as actors we are desperate to feel. but we play people who feel so very much that they want all the feeling taken out of them, want to stand barren. as actors we play people who rail against--who laugh when they need to cry--who become silent when the cries of rage overpower.

i thought i stepped away from acting because i couldn't align my health with the realities of the industry. but now i realize it was more than that. it was that it wasn't healthy for me to play people who didn't want to feel. because that was the reality of my life. it was too close.

there are days when i feel the residuals of ned. and suddenly it's as though i can't breathe. i mistakingly step into a pocket of space and time that he has claimed as his own and i am swimming through air, helplessly. and yes, i smile for the camera. and yes, as i do so i feel like a fraud. a liar. and while people kindly remind me of how far i've come, it doesn't feel as though i've taken but two steps from the ground zero of my own invited destruction.

and then just as quickly i step out of that pocket. and i see the many thousands of miles i've traversed. and i see the many miles i've left to go. and it all seems possible.

i don't believe the people that say this will be something i struggle with for the rest of my life. i think they're wrong. i think they don't know. i think that's something that's been said so often and for so long that others repeat it as fact.

i think i will look back on all this in two, ten, twenty years and i will in fact be doing just that, looking back. it won't be a daily battle. and i say all this because even now there are days where i feel so completely, so gloriously, so perfectly... normal.

i started all this rambling by declaring this a period of undeniable writer's block. undeniable might be a misnomer. maybe it's not writer's block. maybe it's just that i've not taken the time to sit down and hash it all out. to force the boil. sometimes words come easily and i've been so very fortunate to experience that. often. and yet there is just as much value in the uphill trek through the muck, the searching for words when words themselves seem impossible.

because this--all of this will make me a better actor if and when i decide that that's a path i want to embark on. writing is not the enemy of acting. and acting is not the enemy of good health. and, well...there you have it.

and maybe love is the answer. love of words and theatre and afternoon bike rides. and coffee, coffee too.

you know, i sat down to write a post on the virtues of coffee and this is what i got.

go figure.

*ned is the name for my nasty little eating disorder.

to read more, go here.

i'm teaching a little acting workshop. come play...

as it turns out i'm teaching a little workshop here in provo...

an acting workshop.

on american realism. (though i have a feeling it will have quite a bit to do with status and spacial relationships).

it's only $15 and there are still a few spots left.

so if you're interested, or you know someone...

go here.

or email: UtahShakespeareinthePark@gmail.com to reserve a spot.

photo via sabino.

a thought with which to begin the week.

if you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything.

marilyn monroe

photo via pavlunka on flickr

holy cupcake!

there are days when i feel like i'm actually regressing. moving backwards. undoing any progress in an upward and positive direction for my life.

but for every ten of those days, there's one where i manage to make a batch of cupcakes for a cast picnic. i (1) finish said cupcakes a full day in advance. (2) the frosting does not get everywhere, as it has in the past. and (3) i do all of this in high altitude {which, need i remind you, i am less than unaccustomed to}.

and i think to myself, kid, you're doing just fine.

sammy's.

i told you i went to sammy's. i got the mint oreo pie shake. (yes, that means a whole slice of pie was actually blended up into it). and i'll tell you what: it may have taken the girl 15 minutes to make the darn thing, but it was worth the wait. i got to spend time with my friend aubrey who told me beautiful stories. i spent the night covered in goose pimples, and i'm pretty sure they were only partly a product of the ice cream.

nothing soothes the soul quite like saying goodbye to some dead-ends.

it has been an interesting couple of days for me here in provo. perhaps, it is the ending of the honeymoon period--the realization that this is no two week vacation, but rather a three month plopping of the soul in unchartered land.

there are things i miss about new york. like running to the corner store for the raspberries i forgot to get at the market. or evenings on the upper west side when the city finally begins to cool and the streets are empty. love never seems so possible as on a summer evening in new york.

yet even as i write this, i balk at the audacity of saying i miss new york. i mean i do, yes, but utah is so lovely. and the people are so lovely. and guys actually smile at me as i sit slurping my oreo milkshake on the sidewalk outside of sammy's and i feel...dare i say it...beautiful. so while i'm not quite sure how or when or even why my little funk began, it persisted today.

that is, until my haircut.

lisa emailed me when i posted about needing to trim my runaway mane and immediately i knew she was my gal. she's been cutting hair for five years now, working at a well-known salon in salt lake before leaving to take care of her baby boy. currently she works out of a salon in her friend's basement in sandy.

lisa was unbelievably kind and her friend's salon is amazing: dark wood floors, flattering (and very forgiving) lighting, and all the amenities of a normal salon. and here's the kicker, $25 for a haircut. yup, that's it. i just about fell off the seat when she told me that. i pay more than twice that in new york for half (not even) the experience. score-keeper, point to utah, please.

the best part is i left feeling lighter: the funk had begun to lift.

to contact lisa about haircuts and the like: lisabug_14@hotmail.com

because more often than not, i have nothing of interest to say.

i was going to come up with something clever to write in this late part of the night. early morning. whatever you choose to call it.

instead i pulled precisely one vanilla mochi (japanese ice cream) from the fridge, turned on season one of the west wing and called it a day.

the staving off of white.

maybe i have some gray hair. and maybe i've had it since the eighth grade. maybe i can't listen to nick drake without crying. and maybe there are moments that i think i'll never be pretty enough. never thin enough. maybe i'm selfish. and maybe i'm shy. maybe i'd sit on nothing but barstools for the rest of my life if given the chance. the kind with the red, plush, round top. the kind that spins. maybe the thing i'm most afraid of is not being able to write. the absence of words on a page. and maybe i'm trying. and maybe i'm failing. and maybe and maybe. and a maybe this life is nothing more than the chasing of light through the physical body.

an adventure (vacation?) for the mind.

i came to utah to work on some things. to work on myself, i suppose.

to grow in many directions all at once.

and as i attempt to figure things out, i can feel my mind rearranging itself. taking down all the old books and bowls and folded photos. restructuring. new shelves. different dimensions.

but this restructuring is somewhat... terrifying. i find myself dreaming of things i haven't dreamt of in years. half-nightmares. waking face first in a water-logged pillow struggling to catch my breath.

these dreams, these dreams i can deal with.

it's the slow, inching, creeping of my memory away from me that brings on terror. it's as though someone is covering over the green of the all england tennis club with a protective tarp. that slow and steady cover up--preventing the ping-pong collision of past and present.

and i am left waiting for the rain.

but the brain is pretty smart, no? and it knows when remodeling is in order.

so come on rain. the playing field is protected. and i'm ready for a little slip-and-slide.

a fourth of july three day holiday.

i had the loveliest weekend celebrating america's independence. here in provo it was something of a three day affair.

on saturday i headed with some friends to see the grassroots production of romeo and juliet. actors and performers and the like love to borrow and steal and pay homage to others so we went for ideas. with a cooler of bread, cheese, and grapes there was nothing like sitting on a sloping green hill, mountains all aglow in the distance, having an interactive and very fun shakespeare experience.

then on sunday night a lovely blog-reader jess kindly invited me over for sunday night dinner. we talked and laughed and i felt so included and cared for. nothing like a home cooked meal.(pictures to come).

and then this morning we woke good and early to catch the parade that heads down center street. i must say that when celebrating the fourth, nothing makes my heart go pitter-patter quite like the sight of red, white, and blue: flags. lots, and lots of flags, please. however,sitting in the sun for a few hours has taken it out of me and i am pooped, ready for a nap. (did i mention i have a farmer's tan on precisely one arm. yup, just one).

hoping your weekend was just as wonderful as mine!

he was a persian poet who lived from 1315-1390.

in searching for hafiz quotes yesterday morning, i found this one:

All these words are just a front.
What I would really like to do
is chain you to my body,
then sing for days & days & days.

during the daily phone chat with my mother i read it to her.

silence. crickets. and the like.

to which i replied, it's okay mom. i'm 24. i'm young enough to still think that sentiment is unbelievably sexy and still just a wee bit (or a lot) beyond my comprehension. but old enough to sure as hell wanna figure it out.

oh that hafiz. he gets me everytime.

ending the three day funk right here, right now.

the past three days have been hard. i'm not sure why. it just happens that way some times.

so this morning i slept in good and late, woke and feasted on some hafiz quotes and reminded myself that i'm okay. for better or worse, i am who i am. and that it's not my job to please anyone but myself.

and then i grooved to this song for the better part of the afternoon. and my chest opened up. and i felt beautiful as i haven't in quite some time.

of course.

the place where you are right now, God circled on a map for you.

hafiz