Ovation

The music announces itself with a decidedly ethnic feel.  But it’s not until the final curtain that I give a second thought to the extent the performance is steeped in the minority:  In gender, in race and in culture.  I’m absorbed in the message; the actors are quite talented.

 

Exiting, we strike up a conversation with the woman who collected our tickets at the door.  She’s taken with the story herself, and echoes our sentiments that it’s too bad more were not in the audience to experience this work.

 

He and I spend many weekends over the past year exploring tiny theaters across the city.  The venues are intimate; the sets often quite bare; the performances brave, raw and sometimes shocking. I’m a little surprised by how many of these enclaves are cloaked in ordinary storefronts, surviving on little more than the passion of artists practicing their craft.

He questions whether the sparse attendance has anything to do with the segment of the population this playwright examines in her tale. Maybe this piece of work doesn’t draw the theater-going masses?  It makes me think about measures:  Range and capacity and sheer volume. While the message of this story is universal, do too many lack the capacity to relate to the actors?   And I wonder:  In a world that measures success by sheer volume, can we hold ourselves true to authentic, soulful work when its range of appeal is limited?

Most businesses exist to grow, and the pressure to do so is enormous.  The temptation to take on every prospect falling in the path can be irresistible; whether they share our values or comprehend our message somehow seems less important.  In the quest for more, our brands are watered down, our products altered or cheapened; we become less of ourselves.

This playwright could choose to allow changes to the color of her characters’ skin or a mainstream genre of music to transition her scenes.  But her story wouldn’t be the same.  Re-told within the bounds of the patriarchy or a more homogenous culture, so much of her message, so much of her onlyness, is lost.

 

What if we, like she does, choose to focus on the work that most closely represents our values and our true selves?  It’s not going to look like anyone else’s work, that’s what makes it our best. The trail is being paved. In today’s connection economy, the diversity in our world becomes harder and harder to ignore, and with it the need to conceal our onlyness lessens.

I love that these tiny venues for creative expression exist. I imagine the thrill of a dream realized when a production hits the stage. While the rich performances delivered will be seen by fewer, I like to think more artists will feel empowered to bring their most intimate work into being because there are places where they can. How can the bar not be raised?

Derby

I never wanted to be domesticated, that much is clear to me now, but I don’t ever remember feeling trapped, just uncertain. Running free never crossed my mind as an option. Did I ever even allow myself to dream?

Maybe I was just looking for time and space?  Time to sort out, not who I wanted to be in this world, but who I thought I could be; and the space to ascertain this, free of the bridle I was sure those around me were fitting for my head. Without this insular time, I couldn’t get past debilitating limits, let alone imagine endless possibilities.  I never allowed myself to see the cheerleaders in my life as anything but soothsaying derailers.

So I did what I thought I was supposed to do, if someone else mapped out my course, even better. On the outside I looked like I was doing all the right things.  On the inside, unhappiness melded into the way of life.

I possess chameleon-like capabilities; I can blend in to any situation, quickly assessing who I need to be in every environment and adapt to my surroundings.  I can be whoever I think others need me to be. I'm not afraid to speak my mind, but if I deem the risk of standing out to be dangerous, I know how to change my colors. I wonder now if this is a good thing, because inside I’m the wild horse not to be tamed.

  

It’s not a question anymore of not knowing.  I finally secured my space and time to imagine the possibilities, and to decide not only who I can be, but who I want to be, who I am. Yet, I can still be blind to my cheerleaders.

It leaves me in a diametric quandary:  The acute fierceness of someone who knows exactly what she wants, pitted against the reticent fear going after it will disappoint me, somehow leading to rejection or failure. I’m uncomfortable bursting out of the gate, but, wow, do I want to run this race.

My 50-year old self, the creative thinker who wants nothing more than the time and space to practice her craft, the opportunity to shape outcomes and empower people along the way, understands she can’t move fast enough when it comes to leaving her own insecurities in the dust.

 

It is never about me, but it is always about me.

The thing is the fear causing us to linger at the starting gate is made up in our heads.  When we can banish it, we’re able to be clear about our intentions, our expectations, to say out loud, with abandon, without apology exactly what it is we want.  And when we express our desires, our cheerleaders not only come into focus, they shine a blinding light on the path ahead.

It’s post time.  Are you ready to run? 

Nosh

The headline reads "The one nutrient that is missing in nearly every diet." I know it’s a trite grabber, yet I’m sucked in regardless. It’s going to be something like chia seeds or edamame, I tell myself.  I can’t help it, though, curiosity is killing me. I need to know, if only for reassurance. Surely I’ve got this whatever-it-is; it’s everyone else who is missing out.

When we think about what nourishes us, the place we go immediately is food.  Our bodies run on this fuel; they don’t allow us to function without for long. Our stomachs rumble, our heads ache, and our patience plummets. This author; however, is thinking a little differently.  She challenges that self-love is the essential nutrient none of us seem able to feed ourselves. Ahh, I say to myself, of course, I completely understand how we could all be starved.

When described in these terms, “an essential nutrient”, I ‘m forced to pause.  This is a constant battle for me.  It goes way beyond looking in the mirror and thinking I need to diet or exercise more. Not a day goes by when I don’t catch myself beating myself up for thoughts, words or actions I could easily forgive in another.  We’re unbelievably hard on ourselves, and it’s hurting our health.

I think many of us don’t even realize we’re self-love deprived.  It’s become ingrained in our being, a way of life, a conversation we are so used to having with ourselves we can’t see it needs to change. So how do you know self-love is missing from your diet?

He tells me “should” is a word we need to eradicate from our vocabularies.  It’s an unsettling feeling, draining us of energy, a catalyst for ceaseless rumination  about taking action, not necessarily because we want to or even need to, but because we believe it’s expected of us. The irony is this expectation is self-created and held by no other. If you hear yourself using “should” I bet you could use a serving of self-love.

Do you ever find yourself, after an encounter with another or a presentation to a group, picking apart your part in the experience?  It’s worse than any performance review a manager could ever give.  Do you completely ignore what you did really well to allow for more energy to concentrate on what you felt could have been better?  Probably calls for a hit of self-love.

For many of us, it seems impossible to ingest the recommended daily dose of this vital nutrient.  But what I’m learning is being aware of the signs of this deficiency is half the battle.  I may never consume enough without a conscious effort, but I’m sensitive to the hunger pains, and not afraid to nibble on a little self-love.