A total solar eclipse of the heart

The solar eclipse in Montana, 2017

I do not understand how anyone is planning on doing anything between April 7th and April 9th. 

Because a total solar eclipse will be visible throughout much of the United States on April 8th, and witnessing totality is one of the most extraordinary experiences I have ever had during my one wild and precious time on earth. And we won’t get to see another one in this part of the world until 2044! 

I saw the 2017 solar eclipse in Montana, and it was so strange and beautiful that I’m half convinced I dreamed it. It doesn’t seem like it could have been real. I witnessed it with Mom and Ray and Mikah, and we’re heading to Texas to witness this one in one month.  

Even the existence of solar eclipses is mind-blowing…the moon is way closer to us than the sun, but the sun is way bigger than the moon, and based on both of those things, they just HAPPEN TO LOOK THE SAME SIZE TO US ON EARTH. Like, mathematically, that’s insane. If the sun was just a little closer, or the moon was just a little smaller, we wouldn’t get to see eclipses like this at all. So many planets don’t get eclipses at all! We are so incredibly lucky. 

And it’s not just that the moon blocks the sun—an eclipse like this is also accompanied by all of this incredible phenomena that feel completely otherworldly. 

At “first contact,” the moon seems to take the first little “bite” out of the sun. Not much else is noticeable during this phase—if you didn’t have eclipse glasses*, you might not notice anything is even going on. But as the moon covers more and more of the sun, you’ll be able to see thousands of crescent shadows on the ground near trees and plants. The shrubbery creates natural “pinhole cameras” that project the shape of the crescent sun onto the ground. 

After an hour or so, the light grows strange and eerie. I will never be able to properly describe the quality of the light in the minutes before totality. It’s like twilight, but brighter. It’s like the light before a thunderstorm, but sharper. It’s somehow dim and bright at the same time, and shadows are razor sharp. Sometimes, wildlife that usually come out at dusk make an appearance, thinking it’s already later in the day. 

As totality approaches, the temperature drops by a few degrees—it’s noticeably cooler, and the light continues to dim. If you’re in a very flat area, geographically, you may be able to see the moon’s shadow barreling over the ground at 1600 mph toward you. 

In the few minutes before totality, sometimes you can see “shadow bands” moving along flat surfaces. They look like the dancing light at the bottom of a swimming pool. We actually don’t know for sure what causes them, but the most likely explanation is that the sun’s rays are being distorted by earth’s atmosphere. 

In the very last second before totality, if you’re watching closely, you’ll see the last sliver of the sun suddenly break into a thin string of “Bailey’s Beads.” This is the last of the sun’s light peeking through the VALLEYS OF THE MOON, creating these glittering beads of light that are only visible for a moment. 

And then totality. 

When we experienced this in 2017, on a random hillside in Montana with a few hundred other people, the entire crowd erupted into emotional cheers. I burst into tears, and my mom also burst into tears, and at one point she had to be told to sit down so that she didn’t pass out. It was just so beautiful. It felt like we were on an alien planet, or in a dream, or somehow thrown into a science fiction novel. 

During totality, there’s a 360-degree “sunset”—colored gradients of light in every direction. Stars and planets are visible throughout the sky, even though it’s not quite dark enough to be night. You’re able to see the corona…the sun is a black hole with a white cloudy halo of light surrounding it. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch a solar “prominence,” a flare of solar plasma erupting from the sun’s surface, visible with the naked eye only during an eclipse. 

Totality only lasts a few minutes. (Although this time in Texas, we’ll get four and a half minutes! That’s twice as long as the 2017 eclipse!) And then the whole thing happens in reverse—Bailey’s Beads, shadow bands, temperature changes, crescent shadows. 

And then it’s done. A three-ish hour long wonder complete. 

Then we get back into our cars and slog our way through eclipse traffic** to get back to our Airbnb and wonder if it all really happened. Sometimes we only have to wait a few years for the next one, like in 2017. And sometimes, like now, we have to wait a few decades. 

There are times when I’m absolutely astounded at the beauty of living on this planet. There is so much cause for heartache, but the sun and the moon appear to be the same size in the sky above us and every now and then, we get to see them make magic. 

See you in 26 days, Texas. 

*IMPORTANT NOTE: DO NOT LOOK AT THE SUN WITHOUT ECLIPSE GLASSES. You can buy eclipse glasses online—make sure they’re actually safe and not counterfeit. They should have “ISO 12312-2” printed on them and have an authentic ISO certification label.

**I have never in my life experienced traffic like we did after the eclipse. It took us 11 hours to drive like 200 miles. At several points, we would each get tired of sitting in the car and just get out and walk beside it for a while. We tried to stop for food at a Wendy’s and they were sold out of almost everything, and there was still a mob waiting in line. This time we’ll be prepared! 

"When I go to sleep, I can't count sheep for the white lines in my head" --Bruce Springsteen

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that I prioritize travel. 

I’m actively silencing the voices that say “it’s too expensive” or “that’s not for you.” 

Why the hell not? Why not take the extra $1,000 that sometimes comes in from a well-paid gig and go explore some part of the world? 

Granted, right now I’m prioritizing raising funds for my intimacy direction certification program, and I will always have bills to pay. But I’m daring myself to ask “What would it look like if I prioritized exploring the world?” 

I’m also actively silencing any voices that come from outside of myself, about the dangers of traveling alone. I’m not really worried. Our world looks less like that dumb dumb movie “Taken” than people think, and I’m confident in my ability to navigate potentially dangerous situations safely. (Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am. *shrug*) 

I also have no qualms about navigating a new city or transportation system by myself, figuring out where to eat, or getting lonely. I’m an introvert and homebody at heart, and most of the things I’d want to do in a foreign place are things that can be done alone–read, wander, eat, write. 

(That said, if anyone I love wants to join me, let’s make plans! We’ll go out dancing!) 

I’ve had wanderlust for a few weeks now. Maybe even months. But I picked up a copy of National Geographic labeled “100 Unforgettable Destinations” and now I’m revisiting my globe-trotter Pinterest board and making lists. 

Amsterdam. 

I’ll bring my tattered copy of “Anne Frank” and my own journal when I visit the place that feels so familiar to me already, see the location of a story that has informed so much of my life. 

Paris. 

An airbnb will probably be cheaper by the month. I’ll find some little place and walk to marketplaces every few days to buy food, sit at cafes and write, visit museums. I’ll eat at an outdoor table with a book in my hands. 

Tahiti. Or Bora Bora? Someplace tropical. 

Because for some reason, I just assume that tropical locations are not for plebes like me? But I don’t need an all-inclusive White Lotus resort experience. Just sun and sand and sea. 

Machu Picchu. 

Apparently it’s a whole-ass PROCESS to get there. But I bet it would be worth it. I’ll stop by the salt flats in Bolivia while I’m nearby. Swing up to the pyramid of Chichen Itza. 

Egypt. 

The pyramids at Giza. Hapshetsut’s palace. Amarna. Karnak. They’ve held me in thrall for as long as I can remember. It seems absurd that I wouldn’t visit them in person at least once. 

England. 

Plays at the West End, and a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. A pilgrimage for the hopeless theatre kid I am. 

But while I make all these plans, it’s been deeply fulfilling to think back to all of the magical traveling I have gotten to do. Through the generosity of family and friends and happy sets of circumstances, I’ve been able to explore more corners of the earth than some people get to do in their lifetimes. (And I've gotten to do it all with some incredible people!)

I’ve eaten Black Forest gateau in the actual Black Forest of Germany, and explored the fairytale castle of Neuschwanstein, wandered the cobbled streets of towns centuries old.

I’ve strolled the National Mall and wandered past Ford’s theatre, walked through the museum of the home where Lincoln died. 

I’ve snorkeled in Hawai’i and Mexico.  

I’ve climbed ancient ruins in Belize and walked beaches in El Salvador. 

I’ve explored the ruins of ancient Greece, where I ran a footrace in Olympia, had a philosophical discussion in Athens, wandered the alleys of Pompeii, spoke the words of Sophocles’ “Oedipus Rex” at the ancient theatre Dionysus. 

I’ve wandered past Italian families playing soccer on Sunday afternoons to get to the Coliseum in Rome, and I’ve taken a train through Tuscany to stand before Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” in Florence. I’ve eaten pizza in Naples. 

I’ve walked through the maze of the Grand Bazaar and slipped my shoes off to enter the Hagia Sophia in Instanbul. 

I’ve wandered the French Quarter of New Orleans, jazz music pouring out from every open door, a new pack of tarot cards in my purse. 

I’ve looked up at the Redwoods and looked down into Crater Lake. I’ve hiked slot canyons and hoodoos in southern Utah, and looked up at the stars from the waters of Leigh Lake in Grand Teton National Park. I’ve spent entire summers in Yellowstone. 

I’ve taken a ferry across the San Francisco Bay and taken an elevator to the top of the Empire State Building. 

When I list it out like this, I feel astonishingly lucky. 

So I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, listening to some weird voice that says traveling isn’t for me. It clearly already is for me. I just have to ask myself what it looks like when I make it a priority, instead of something I do when others invite me.  

I guess we’ll find out. 

Tableaus of the American West, spring 2021

There are stretches of Utah that are, frankly, boring. Pastures, shrub-covered hills, sage and tumbleweeds. But down near the southern border, it becomes almost other-wordly. The sandy red cliffs rising against a backdrop of cotton candy clouds. I feel my stomach unclenching the farther south I go. 

At Zion that afternoon, it’s too hot to sleep in the tent. So I lay my sleeping pad out on the ground in the shade of my car and nap there. When I wake, it’s still hours before sundown, but I make a fire and roast hot dogs for dinner anyway. I read. I look at the fire. I move my chair in a steady orbit to avoid the smoke. I am discovering that more than half of what I enjoy about camping is spending time with other people. Maybe if I had a good place to hang my hammock, I’d feel differently. I make two unsatisfactory s’mores and go to bed. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I unzip my tent to look at the stars. It’s only a moment, but it’s beautiful anyway. 

The Grand Canyon is truly and actually GRAND. It’s also fucking enormous. I feel like I pass signs for hundreds of miles that tell me I’m at the Grand Canyon. I pull over after crossing the bridge at Glen Canyon, then walk back over it. It’s so far down to the water it doesn’t even feel real. Later, I take a small detour and hike ½ mile in the desert sun to see Horseshoe Bend. Maybe one day I’ll kayak around it. For now, I lean over gaze down, the metal of the railing scalding my forearms. I hold my breath as I glance over at a man close to my age, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, hundreds of feet above the Colorado River. 

I’ve decided I hate camping by myself, so I cancel all of my camping reservations and book cheap motels. It’s probably just the fact that motels have internet access, but it feels much less lonely. In Williams, Arizona, I eat a meal by sitting down in a restaurant for the first time in 14 months. It’s surreal and a little nerve-wracking. I sit at the bar in a 50’s-themed diner and devour a burger and sweet potato fries with my book propped up behind my plate. At one point, I glance up in time to see one of the dishwashers in the back drop a cup onto the ground and put it right back onto the shelf. 

I listen to books on tape while I drive, or BTS, or podcasts, or my “Wandering Tunes” playlist. I’ve learned that I do best when I take a break every hour and a half or so. I pull over into rest stops and stretch, I wander the aisles of Maverick gas stations and side-of-the-road gift shops. I see a sign advertising the ancient site of Montezuma’s Castle and drive a few miles past two casinos to see it. I feel like John Steinbeck, “traveling with Charley.” But instead of a poodle and an RV, I have a journal and a Prius.

At a gift shop on Navajo land, things feel like April 2020. Masks are required, spacing is enforced, entrances and exits are calculated so that only a limited number of people are in the building at a time. After I spent so much time in areas that probably never really took the pandemic seriously, and as someone who’s been fully vaccinated for a while, it feels like a time capsule.  

There are whole stretches of the American southwest that look so much like the quintessential idea of “The American Southwest” that it almost feels fake. If I lived in a different country and had never been to America, and you asked me to describe Arizona, I’d say, “Big open areas with tall saguaro cactuses, flat-roofed adobe houses with dogs sleeping in the dusty driveways, the occasional tumbleweed, metal sculptures in the yards of the more wealthy.” It sounds like a movie set, or Disneyland’s Cars ride. But it’s 100% accurate. 

There’s something sort of surreal about the moment when your drive home turns from unfamiliar to familiar. I don’t know my way around Spanish Fork, but once I hit Provo, it feels like I’m “home.” Even if I still have an hour left to drive. 

I’m not entirely sure how to end this piece. I can’t tell if it’s a love letter to the American west or reminders for my next solo road trip. 

I suppose I’ll end abruptly, in that crisp way that you pull your car into your own driveway after a week away. 

Dashing

Welcome to Door Dash! We’re pleased you’ve decided to become a “Dasher.” You probably started doing this as a “temporary gig,” but you may find that it becomes one of the best jobs you’ve ever had, if you’re a slightly rebellious type who doesn’t like being told what to do. There’s almost complete freedom, you can consistently make around $20 per hour, and it’s mostly driving around while listening to music or podcasts. You don’t even really have to schedule yourself. Just dash when you feel like it. 

But as a new dasher, there are a few things you should know. 

People will not always leave their porch lights on, have a clearly visible address on their house, nor leave detailed instructions on how to reach their apartment number within a sprawling labyrinth of a complex. You may occasionally find yourself wandering around with a full meal from Popeye’s for ten minutes before finding your destination. You may consider writing a strongly worded letter to the universe in general, requesting that your destinations always be well-lit and easy to find. 

While the Dasher app has the ability to connect to your phone’s GPS system, this is not always reliable. You could discover that in your attempt to deliver McDonald’s to a family in Magna, your phone has guided you to the abandoned Saltair Pavilion, a dilapidated venue on the edge of the Great Salt Lake. These kinds of misadventures can be avoided by making sure the location in the Dasher app and the location in the Maps app are the same. 

Some people will be assholes. They will come out of their houses without masks and expect you to hand them their food, which you will either reluctantly do, or more often, you’ll set their food down on the ground and walk away because there’s a pandemic still happening. Some people will also be assholes by not tipping. You don’t have to take those orders. You can ignore them. 

If you’ve struggled in the past with the difference between left and right, in part due to years of being both an actor/dancer and a director/choreographer, where stage left and stage right are opposite of your left and right when looking at the stage, you may find that following GPS instructions regularly will help improve your ability to tell the difference. Spending hours each day being told to turn either left or right with pictures and arrows to guide you will kind of start to embed the difference more solidly in your brain.  

You’ll also grow more deeply familiar with the area in which you live in general. You’ll start to patch together neighborhoods and highways and areas into a more comprehensive mental map. It will be deeply satisfying. 

You’ll also grow familiar with restaurants in your area, and learn their quirks and what to expect. An order from that Boba place will usually take 10 minutes longer than stated, but you’ll get to watch KPOP videos on the large TV in the lobby while you wait. One restaurant chain will not serve Dashers through the drive-thru, but this other one prefers it. That cookie place always pays well, and the customers tip like gangbusters. Never take a grocery delivery from Walmart unless you know how big it is. 

Note that there are a dozen hotels near the airport and that the drive is a bit of a pain, but the tips are usually worth it. Also not that the FBI has a large, nondescript office building in the same area. You’ll discover this because one day you’ll deliver Panda Express to a friendly employee there. 

You may, on some nights, find yourself wishing that no one else would be on the roads while you are driving, ever. You may long to cruise through town, unhindered by other drivers, not needing to deal with long lines, lights that are slow to change, or people who don’t understand speed limits and/or turn signals. This is normal. Take a few deep breaths. 

If at all possible, drive a car that has infinite cupholders. You will need to be able to transport your water bottle, a separate drink for yourself if you’re fancy, customer drinks, and your phone. A 2012 Compact Toyota Prius will have excellent gas mileage, but not enough cupholders. 

Keep your eyes open. Not just for safety, but for wonder. There will be evenings when the sunset sky looks so spectacular it will seem like a painting. You may see a white rabbit nibbling in the grass of someone’s front yard. You’ll get two orders in a row for two different people named “Gray.” Look for magic. There are little altars everywhere.

On Shakespeare

I did it. 

Two years ago, I made a goal that by my 35th birthday, I will have read, watched, or participated in all 37 of Shakespeare's plays.

I turn 35 tomorrow, and I finished the 37th play today.

I have some thoughts on Shakespeare in general to share, but first, a quick tour through the plays at a glance! (A handful of these have some disputed authorship, or shared authorship, but this list is the one that came up most often when I was researching the Shakespeare canon.)

Antony and Cleopatra
Read with some friends at the "Sigh Away Sundays" club in 2018
SUMMARY: Classic story of obsessive love, with a classic death by asp bite for our heroine.

Coriolanus
Watched the 2011 film
SUMMARY: OMG so much war, with one badass mama tries to convince her son to stop doing so much war.

Hamlet
Watched lots of films and productions, read lots of times
SUMMARY: Hamlet can't decide whether or not to kill his uncle (or himself?).

Julius Caesar
Read during undergrad at BYU-Idaho
SUMMARY: Ancient Greek story of ambition and betrayal.

King Lear
Read during undergrad at BYU-Idaho
SUMMARY: Which of the three daughters loves their father, the king? Who knows, he'll go mad.

Macbeth
Watched a handful of productions, played a Witch in a production at BYU-Idaho in 2009
SUMMARY: Witches and ambition and battles and Scotland!

Othello
Read in high school, played Bianca in a production in Salt Lake City in 2018
SUMMARY: Racism and rumors cause PROBLEMS.

Romeo and Juliet
Read lots and lots, seen a few productions
SUMMARY: Young teenagers from feuding families fall "in love" and everything goes terribly.

Timon of Athens
Watched the 2017 Stratford Festival production online
SUMMARY: Money can't buy you friendship.

Titus Andronicus
Watched the 2017 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: Romans (and Goths) are bloody and cut off hands and heads in revenge.

All's Well That Ends Well
Watched the 2013 Shakespeare By The Sea production
SUMMARY: The ole bedroom bait-and-switch will cure marital displeasure.

As You Like It
Watched the 2017 Shakespeare's Globe production online
SUMMARY: Rosalind dresses as a boy and falls in love with Orlando the poet in the forest.

Comedy of Errors
Played a servant in a production at BYU-Idaho in 2004
SUMMARY: Twins cause hilarity and chaos.

Cymbeline
Watched the 2016 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: War, mistaken identities, wagers on virtue.

Love's Labour's Lost
Watched the 2014 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: Studying is more important than women. Right? RIGHT?!

Measure for Measure
Read during undergrad at BYU-Idaho
SUMMARY: Corruption vs purity, morality and mercy in Venice! Starring Angelo the creepy lecherous priest!

Merry Wives of Windsor
Watched the RSC 2018 production online
SUMMARY: Falstaff tries to seduce two different women, but together they outsmart him multiple times.

Merchant of Venice
Read during undergrad at BYU-Idaho
SUMMARY: Antonio owes Shylock a pound of flesh.

Midsummer Night's Dream
Played Mustardseed in a production at South Medford High School, watched
SUMMARY: Fairies and lovers and actors in the woods!

Much Ado about Nothing
Watched the film in high school
SUMMARY: Benedick and Beatrice are secretly IN LOVE, and rumors both cause problems and solve them.

Winter's Tale
Watched the Shakespeare By The Sea 2018 production
SUMMARY: A king freaks out over the virtue of his wife, and Hermione is a living statue.

Two Gentlemen of Verona
Watched the 2014 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: Male friendship rivalry in romantic Italy.

Twelfth Night
Watched the 1996 film
SUMMARY: Twins cause romance and hilarity.

Troilus and Cressida
Watched the 2018 Royal Shakespeare Company production online (post-apocalyptic!)
SUMMARY: Greeks and Trojans (Helen and Achilles and all them) freak out about war and lechery.

The Tempest
Watched a production in high school, played Caliban and designed sound for a children's production at BYU-Idaho, played Gonzalo in a production at BYU-Idaho
SUMMARY: Prospero is magical and rules an island. His former betrayers show up and things happen.

Taming of the Shrew
Watched multiple productions and films
SUMMARY: Petruchio "tames" the headstrong Kate and marries her so that her younger sister can get married.

Pericles
Watched the 1984 BBC film
SUMMARY: Pericles guesses a riddle about incest and then goes on a lot of adventures that involve shipwrecks.

Henry IV, Part I
Watched the 2014 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: Hal is Prince of Wales but mostly wants to hang with Falstaff.

Henry IV, Part II
Watched the 2014 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: More of Hal hanging with Falstaff, and more of Falstaff and his gang in general.

Henry V
Watched the 2014 Royal Shakespeare Company production online
SUMMARY: Hal is now officially royal and beats France in a battle on St Crispin's Day, even though the odds are against him.

Henry VI, Part I
Watched the 2013 Globe Theatre production, performed on the battlefield of Barnet in the rain
SUMMARY: Joan of Arc fights for France, and people wear red and white roses to show their varying allegiances.

Henry VI, Part II
Watched the 2013 Globe Theatre production, performed on the battlefield of Barnet
SUMMARY: Women and commoners all seek to take over.

Henry VI, Part III
Watched the 2013 Globe Theatre production, performed on the battlefield of Barnet
SUMMARY: Bloody revenge and we meet Richard III.

Henry VIII
Watched the 1979 BBC film adaptation.
SUMMARY: Everything was the corrupt Catholic Church's fault and Queen Elizabeth and her dad are actually awesome.

King John
Watched the 2015 Stratford Festival production online
SUMMARY: France vs. England, starring a witty bastard

Richard II
Watched the 2013 Royal Shakespeare Company production online (starring David Tennant as Richard)
SUMMARY: Spending money on Irish wars leads to the rebellion of nobles, especially when they think the king is weak.

Richard III
Watched the 1995 film
SUMMARY: Tyrant with back problems.

BONUS: Two Noble Kinsmen
Watched a production by Grassroots Shakespeare Company in Salt Lake City, 2018
SUMMARY: Brothers in jail fall in love with the same woman.

And here’s what I’ve learned:


Shakespeare is AMAZING.

I know that his talent as a writer gets talked about so much that it’s a cliché, but really, truly, his writing is incredible. The language, the wit, the character development. Dude could freaking WRITE. Gimme those dirty puns and those inspiring speeches and that quick banter and those rambling soliloquies. I am here for all of it. Shakespeare activates this part of my heart and soul and brain that nothing else can, and I don’t know how to describe it except to say that it’s bliss and satisfaction and delight.

I am a big fan of the Royal Shakespeare Company

I watched a good portion of these plays on DigitalTheatre.com, where the Royal Shakespeare Company has made recordings available for a small fee. And it was WORTH it. I watched a few other productions online, from Shakespeare By The Sea and The Stratford Festival and The Globe and the BBC, but by far, my favorite productions were always the RSC’s. The costumes and lights and sets and ACTING and concepts and just all of it. (The exception was the ending of the RSC’s Love’s Labors Lost, which I thought was not well justified or developed.)

There are some common themes in Shakespeare’s plays

I think because I was consuming Shakespeare so frequently, especially during the last year or so, I began to see come common themes. The most notable of which is this: When men freak out about the “chastity” of the women they love because they listen only to other men about it, all hell breaks loose. In fact it’s a major plot point in at least 7 of Shakespeare’s plays: Othello, Cymbeline, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Much Ado About Nothing*, The Winter’s Tale, Two Gentlemen of Verona, and Troilus and Cressida.

I know that misunderstandings about sex are good for high-stakes theatre, both comedic and dramatic, and it’s something that would resonate with Elizabethan audiences. But I also like to think that Shakespeare was trying to tell us something.

Other notable themes include gender-f*ckery/queerness, the dangers of ambition, duality/opposites, appearances vs. reality, and revenge.

The histories are actually pretty awesome

I’ve always struggled getting into the histories. I haven’t even really tried that hard because I was like “royalty is boring” but it turns out I was mostly wrong. I am especially a huge fan of the Henry V story (Henry IV, Part 1; Henry IV, Part 2; and Henry V). The RSC produced all three plays with the same cast and concept, and I fell in love with our boy Harry and Falstaff is delightful, and that St Crispin’s Day speech really did make me cry.

I could spend the rest of my life studying, reading, watching, performing, and talking about Shakespeare and still make new discoveries

That’s part of why Shakespeare has lasted so long. His texts are so rich with meaning and so layered, and there are so many possible interpretations of his work and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.



I’m almost tempted to re-do this entire challenge every ten years or so. In the meantime,

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended—
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.

(exits, pursued by a bear)









* The word “nothing” in the title of “Much Ado About Nothing” has a triple meaning. 1. Regular definition, AKA absence of something. 2. The word “nothing” has an Elizabethan pronunciation of “noting,” as in “noticing.” 3. IT’S ALSO A SLANG EUPHEMISM FOR VAGINA. This play is literally called “A Whole Lot of Freaking Out Over Rumors/Noticing/Pussy.”

You can't choose your race, but you can choose your class

Welcome to the campaign!*

We're playing a long-term game of Dungeons and Dragons here, and if you're new, there are a few things you should know. 

First, we have to function as though there's no Dungeon Master. (Or if there is, we don’t know who they are, but that gets into a whole ‘nother thing, so.) We’re all just going for it with the information we have. 

Second of all, we’re a big group of adventurers with different priorities, but in general, we’re fighting for social justice. We often come together to work on a specific campaign or battle. (For example, right now, in June of 2020, a big group of us is focusing on racial justice.) 

Third of all, unlike real DnD, you don’t have to stick with one class if you don’t want to. You can choose a different class each day, or overlap which class you’re a part of at any given moment. 

Okay! Ready to join? Here are the classes you can choose from: 

Fighters

Probably the largest and most visible class. These are the folks who march, carry signs, attend rallies, who are vocal on social media. 

Barbarians 

Warriors whose rage fuels them to (often violent) action. Throwers of bricks, topplers of statues, and painters of graffiti. They primarily fight for causes by disrupting the economy. These folks are definitely valuable to any cause, although some argue that too many on your team can become a liability. 

Monks and Paladins 

These folks focus on the spiritual and emotional aspects of the fight. These are the psychologists, the writers, the podcasters, and the friends reminding you that it’s okay to take a break. They provide a good balance for the fighters and barbarians. 

Bards 

The artists who use their art to critique the social order and provide hope for those fighting for change. Singers and songwriters, painters and other visual artists, theatre companies, TV and filmmakers, and creative writers. 

Clerics and Druids 

The healers and suppliers. They support the fighters during rallies and protests by providing medical care, food and water, transportation, and protection. This can sometimes be a dangerous job, but their involvement makes a huge difference at large protests. They’re the ones with first aid kits and bottles of water.

Rangers 

These folks are fighting on the fringes, having tough conversations with friends, family members, and acquaintances. Rather than participating directly in rallies and protests, they work to challenge the status quo wherever they are. This work isn’t as visible, but it’s deeply meaningful, and crucial to any social justice movement. 

Rogues 

The folks who use subversive tactics to fight against “enemies” of the movement. The internet group Anonymous is the perfect example. Standard tactics include things like hacking social media hashtags (like when KPop fans started using #WhiteLivesMatter to flood social media with KPop instead of white supremacy), crashing websites, sending memes to surveillance apps/sites to drown out any actual surveillance, and doing otherwise generally “legal” activity to stop immoral activity. 

Casters and Support Casters: Sorcerers, Warlocks, and Wizards 

These folks take direct action through donating, calling representatives, showing up at government meetings, voting, drafting letters, etc. These folks do the work “on the ground” even when there isn’t a protest or news story. Consistent ongoing work is key here, and it’s often most effective when you prepare a specific spell to utilize. 

COVID-19 blah blah blah, for posterity

Here’s what it was like. Here’s what I will remember.

I spend early January to mid-March dismissing everyone’s fears, before actually doing the research and realizing that this is serious. Not necessarily because of the mortality rate, but because our healthcare systems will not able to handle the load, and that will lead to a loss of life on a terrifying scale.

Early on, grocery stores are chaos. They’re quickly cleaned out of hand sanitizer, bottled water, and toilet paper. When I go grocery shopping, I can’t find eggs, flour, baking powder, vegetable oil, or frozen lasagna. A lot of other things are almost gone—butter, cereal, sour cream (for some reason?), canned veggies, fruit, beans, meat. With toilet paper being so hard to come by, I decide to take a “greener” route and learn how to use and launder “the family cloth.” I get into the habit of ordering my groceries online for curbside pickup. We all wear masks when we're out in public. (AT LEAST WE'RE SUPPOSED TO.) When we do go into grocery stores, the lines all have markers six feet apart, and the aisles are all one-way only.

Schools close for “two weeks,” which quickly becomes “until the end of the school year” as the governor publishes a “shelter in place” directive until the end of April.

Early on a Wednesday morning in mid-March, we’re awoken by a 5.7 earthquake in Utah. My roommates and I feel dozens of aftershocks, and spend the whole day sitting in the living room together, for comfort.

America collectively loses its mind over a Netflix documentary series called "Tiger King," which has everything from polygamy to arson to murder-for-hire, because in the hours we're watching that, we're not thinking about the pandemic.

K goes to Boise to be with her parents for a few days, although things are so uncertain when she leaves town that we say goodbye accompanied by “See you in a few days! Or a few months…?” She stays there for four weeks.

A and I have “reading parties” in the living room most nights. We trade book recommendations back and forth and read the same things at different times. There’s one memorable night when we get high and watch “A Goofy Movie.” At one point, early in the movie, A struggles to reach the remote to pause the movie and say to me, very seriously, “This is important. I need to tell you this. All of the teenagers in this movie are dogs.”

When K comes back into town, our reading parties turn into “reading, stitching, video gaming, writing, puzzling” parties. We spend one week watching films based on/thematically related to novels written in the 1800s. All of our home improvement projects are put on hold, since we can’t go to Home Depot for supplies. I work from home roughly 4 hours a week, and spend the rest of my time cycling through the same half dozen activities.

I complete jigsaw puzzles on an app on my iPad. I journal. I read. I watch TV. I listen to podcasts. I stitch. I write. I do some work for Royter Snow. I do chores. I go on so many walks that I grow bored with my neighborhood and drive out to other neighborhoods to walk there. I come to enjoy the solitude of the days when A is at work and K is out of town, although I joke to A that I understand why housewives in the 1960s rebelled because this is “boring as f***.” Lock-down has turned me into the housewife that my Mormon upbringing has trained me to be. When K does return from Boise, it takes me a few days to adjust to someone else being there during the day.

My sleep schedule, despite my best efforts, reverts to its preferred pattern of 1:30 am – 10:30 am. I take a lot of naps early on, dealing with the stress of it all. Time has ceased to matter or make sense anyway. I rarely have a strong sense of what day of the week it is, and the passage of time is impossible to measure. At any given moment, it feels like we’ve been under lock-down for at least three months.

On a morning in early April, I awake longing for the pillowy soft sweetness of a freshly made donut, and lament that it’s out of reach for who knows how long. I attempt to make beignets to satisfy this craving, which is only sort of successful. I do learn an excellent apple dumplings recipe a little while later.

After a while, I find myself applying COVID-19 social distancing rules to the characters in books I’m reading. Sometimes the characters will be having a big gathering, and I’ll think, “No! You can’t do that!” before realizing that it’s not real.

Around mid-April, my dreams start to get strange and vivid. I mention it to A and she tells me that multiple people have mentioned the same thing. Later that day, National Geographic publishes an article about how the pandemic is causing widespread vivid dreams—both because of the lack of new stimulus to process, and because of our anxiety about a virus that’s essentially invisible to us.

Beckah and I begin a tradition of watching bad Netflix movies together once a week, via Skype and a Google Chrome extension called “Netflix Party.” By far the best one is “Iron Sky 2: The Coming Race,” the sequel to “Iron Sky,” a Finnish-German-Australian-comic-science fiction-action film. Major elements of the film include a reptilian Sarah Palin, a cult of Apple lovers called “Jobsists,” a hollow earth, a moon-Führer, and Hitler riding a T-rex. At one point, Beckah and I get really hung up on one particular plot point regarding how a compass would work in the middle of a hollow earth before remembering that no part of the movie made any sense.

My cousin starts a movie watching group and we meet weekly on Zoom. I do a lot of Zoom/virtual meetings. We all do. Patrick and I are stuck in separate homes, and connect through Skype a few times a week, and I long for his arms around me so much I can hardly stand it.

I learn how to play Risk on my iPad, and decide that I’m a Risk prodigy, winning 51 out of 56 games by the beginning of May, at all levels of difficulty, against both bots and humans.

I deal with my anxiety about the current situation by small-scale compulsive internet shopping, purchasing new sheets, new cookware, fridge organization sets, and a dozen other things I probably don’t need, but will definitely use.

Most of the time nowadays, I’m okay with our “new normal.” I feel guilty about the times when I’m not…when I wake up in the morning and fill with dread at the realization of being stuck at home for who knows how long. But we’re all taking it one day at a time.

At the time of this writing, from January on, I’ve played 56 games of Risk, completed 31 jigsaw puzzles, and read 9 books. I could look up how many stitches I’ve completed and how many hours of podcasts I’ve listened to, and all of the television and movies I’ve watched, but the answer doesn’t interest me enough to do the work required.

That’s what it’s like right now.

The Crypt

Beckah and I are in the same place this week! So we decided to write in tandem, like we did for this entry about a year ago. In two weeks, each of us will continue/conclude this story individually, in our own ways. Here was the prompt we started with: "A woman in her late twenties, who is very selfish. A woman in her late forties, who can be quite idealistic. The story begins in a church crypt. Someone is tormented by the memory of a dead family member. It's a story about freedom. Your character has to do some quick thinking to keep ahead."

Tricia ran her finger along the arm of the statue, then brought the finger to her mouth, wiping the blood from the edge of her lips. She felt the angel was a tad sentimental, but it wasn’t her family she was laying to rest. She hoped Dominique would come soon. She was growing bored.

“Tricia.” A voice echoed through the chapel, and Dominique strode out of the shadows near the distant front doors. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. She wiped the blade of her dagger clean as she walked, and sheathed it at her side. She frowned at the blood on the angel statue. “Did you have some trouble, too?” she asked.

Tricia smirked, and Dominique scowled.

“We had an arrangement,” Dominique said, pouting. Tricia shrugged.

“No, you asked me to not eat people, and I said I would try.”

Dominique glanced down at the body lying at the statue’s feet and frowned.

“Trish…”

Trish crossed her arms as Dominique stepped closer, lowering her voice, as though there was anyone else within earshot.

“Trish, is that the priest?”

Tricia shrugged again and made a non-commital sound. Dominique’s face filled with worry. Tricia lowered her arms and rolled her eyes.

Dominique closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Well, at least you didn’t eat...all of him.” She began rummaging in her bag. “Let’s just...do this and get out of here. I brought sage and the candles. And chalk to draw a pentagram. Could you fill this up?”

Tricia looked blankly at the small vial Dominique handed her.

“Holy water, Trish. From the bowl over there.”

While Tricia wandered over to the silver dish a few steps above them, Dominique pulled a lock of hair from her bag and laid it gently down on the cold stones. “It’s got to work this time, Sarah,” she whispered to herself. “I can’t keep doing this.”

A clatter came from behind one of the pews and both women spun around.

The church was empty, but Dominique drew her dagger. Trish’s nails grew and she bared her sharpened teeth. They moved forward together, each eyeing the space between the pews as they advanced. The light was dim--the sun had just set and there were only a few candles lit at the altar.
The clatter came again. This time it sounded like something metal falling to the stone floor. It rang loudly in the small chapel, and Tricia suddenly brought her hands to her ears.

“Dominique…” she said through gritted teeth.

Dominique heard it too, but it didn’t affect her as it did Trish. The ringing went on, far too long for a normal object, and suddenly Dominique knew what was in the church with them.

It was the Carrier.

“Dammit.”

Dominique crouched to the ground, squeezing herself in between a row of pews. She was lucky. She hadn’t begun the ritual that would allow her to save Sarah’s spirit, or the Carrier would sense the magic in her. Tricia, on the other hand, was exposed and reeked of the magic that had caused her transformation.

“DAMMIT,” Dominique whispered again. She brought her dagger up to her lips and whispered a few words into it, until it began to glow a faint blue. It was a risk but she didn’t see what choice she had. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stood.

The Carrier was only a few rows away, its eyeless face turned toward Tricia, who stood stock still near the altar. It took one gliding step, and the long chain it carried clanged against the stones. The chain was long--Dominique had seen grown men strangled by Carriers with chains of only ten or twelve links, but this one was made of at least fifty. The Carrier took one ragged breath in and then let out a wet growl. Dominique heard Tricia snarl in return.

Dominique stepped into the aisle with her dagger raised towards the Carrier.

With horrifying speed the Carrier turned toward her, its chain whipping through the air toward her neck. Dominique quickly dropped to the ground and felt the whoosh of air over her head as the chain swung past, narrowly missing her scalp. Taking advantage of the few seconds she had, she scrambled forward on her hands and knees and lunged forward, burying the dagger with its magical augmentation deep into the Carrier’s flesh.

To her horror, the dagger froze and shattered, falling to the floor in pieces. Had she used the wrong spell? She had felled only two Carriers in her past, but they had been much smaller, much weaker.
She heard Tricia shout. The Carrier leaned down over her, its putrid breath poisoning the air around her. She stared up into the blank face, silently pleading forgiveness from her sister, prepared to be borne away into the darkness.

To be continued...

Lessons In Luxury

I spent the last 10 days dog/apartment-sitting at a “luxury apartment complex” in north Salt Lake. And while this blog entry will probably be an insufferable examination of privilege, I learned some things about living luxuriously that I want to share.

The hallways smell like Disneyland
Or like a combination of Disneyland and a new car and a house that a realtor is showing. I can’t quite describe the smell. Maybe there’s some vanilla in there? Some kind of citrus? It’s bright and clean and sort of cloying. Even when I knew to expect it, it surprised me every time I walked in.

Everyone is really friendly
Smiling inquiries about your day are common in the elevator. There’s a casual “Hey how’s it going” every time you pass someone in the hallway, or out on the sidewalk outside. I attribute the phenomenon to people not really having much to worry about? I KNOW that there are plenty of things to worry about, regardless of income or address, but everyone I met seemed either really okay with their circumstances, or they were really good actors.

Everyone is really attractive
And not because it’s a requirement on the lease. But because if you can afford to pay thousands of dollars per month to live in an apartment with a rooftop pool, a gym, a private dog park, a spa, and a private sports club with 16 screens, you can also probably afford to pay for braces. And tanning. And Proactiv. And high-end face creams. And regular salon trips. And you also probably have time for regular exercise, cooking with fresh produce, and regular sleep.

Food delivery is complicated in what’s basically a gated community
Every evening, there was usually a crowd of five to ten people standing outside, waiting for Dominos and GrubHub and Jimmy John’s. Because you need a key to get into the building, and to use the elevator, and the lobby closed at 5, so it was impossible to get anything delivered to your door.

All the grass is watered at night
I know this should seem obvious. But I haven’t lived in a place with professionally watered lawns for…actually maybe never? I discovered this one night when I took the dog I was sitting to the private dog park to run around at a time when it wasn’t crowded or 150 degrees. I threw the frisbee exactly one time and then took two steps forward and fell right into a huge mud puddle. My sandals, my knees, and my right hand were caked in slimy wet dog park mud. (I have decided that it was mud and only mud and there were no other substances in that mud.)

A rooftop pool is where I’m supposed to spend my afternoons
Technically, I also had access to the gym, but why would I spend time in a gym on a hot summer afternoon, when I could be cooling off IN A POOL? A pool with a view of the Capitol building and Temple Square to the east, and a valley stretching out to the west. A pool with “wet deck seating” (AKA lounge chairs all along one shallow end of the pool) and fountains and private cabanas and very soft fake grass? ON THE ROOF? The first day here, I took a book and a towel up and spent a blissful two hours basking in my new, albeit temporary, life. It also provided a helluva view for fireworks. I’m a big fan of living small, but if I could have a rooftop pool for the rest of my life, that would be acceptable.

My standard of living IMMEDIATELY adjusted, regardless of the fact that my income stayed basically the same
I spent maybe three hours at the apartment before being like, “Yeah, I WILL order an extra side from Noodles and Company!” “I’ll get premium gasoline!” “This toilet paper isn’t soft enough!” That didn’t last long, because even though I did get paid for this dog/house-sitting gig, it was not enough to cover the costs of extra sides, premium gasoline, AND top-notch toilet paper.

I had to check my racist assumptions at the door
At the beginning of this experience, I rolled my eyes at the indulgence of what was sure to be a rich, white kid playground. It’s Salt Lake City, Utah. And they’re luxury apartments. How much whiter can you get?
And then I got there and realized that there was actually a lot of diversity and I should give Salt Lake and the people who live there some credit. I was coming from this liberal “class is a racial issue!” perspective, and while I do still think that class and race are deeply entwined in this country, seeing the diversity at the apartment complex was a good reminder to me to check my own racism. Because I realized that I was assuming that only white people could be rich in conservative Salt Lake City. Yikes. YIKES, RIGHT?! It’s like I was trying to be SO AWARE of my WHITE PRIVILEGE that it didn’t immediately occur to me that I might be making some hasty generalizations.

East, west, home is best
While a rooftop pool is heavenly, and lightly scented hallways are pleasant, and it’s nice to exchange pleasantries with attractive people in the elevator, I don’t think I’d be happy living in a luxury apartment. I love sitting on a slightly cluttered porch with a book and a popsicle. I love a backyard and a big living room and nerdy feminist roommates and doorknobs that are almost 100 years old. There’s something sort of beautiful and comforting in things that are imperfect.

On the Pleasures of Wandering

A few years ago, my family spent Christmas in Rome. We were there for about a week, without too many detailed plans, so one Sunday afternoon, they all said, “We’re going to go see ‘The Hobbit’!” And I said, “I’m going to go see Rome.”

I grabbed my passport and wallet, a copy of the key to our small apartment, and started walking, with no planned destination or activity in mind. I headed west because the streets looked interesting in that direction. They opened up onto a park, where a dozen barbecues were taking place around a community soccer game. The men on the team were middle-aged, with a few thirty-somethings here and there. Fathers who had been kicking soccer balls in public parks since they were kids themselves. I walked around ancient columns, now crumbling in the grass, and sat on a patch of grass and watched the game, cheering and booing in passionate English, to match the passionate Italian around me. At a nearby table, laden with food, a radio played pop music while people chatted.

I wandered down towards the Colosseum, taking side streets and eavesdropping on fellow tourists. I stopped to listen to a woman sing while accompanying herself on a guitar, before being verbally accosted by an older man who told me I was “very attractive” and told me that I should sleep with him “on the last night of the year for many presents!” I declined.

I made my way past the Spanish steps, past gelato shops and designer clothing stores. As night fell, music drifted out from the doors of the churches I past. I found myself in a large courtyard and turned to discover that I’d stumbled upon the Pantheon. I stepped inside and craned my neck, looking up and up and up at the concrete dome, at the oculus at its center that would flood the cavernous room with light during the day. A group of people were singing hymns, standing in a small cluster, and I stood and listened to their voices echo off the old church walls.

It never occurred to me to worry about how I was going to get home. My internal compass is pretty reliable, and our apartment was near the Colosseum, which I figured would be pretty easy to find. I actually don’t really remember how I got home that night—I must have just walked in the direction I figured I needed to and eventually found my way back.

I am now a fierce advocate of wandering. It’s how I discovered the Pantheon. Years ago, it’s how I discovered “magical Egin” while on the back of a Kymco People 150. Through wandering, I’ve stumbled upon art installations, hidden parks, and historical sites. And sometimes I don’t stumble onto anything at all, but end up just wandering. It’s a reward in itself.

Here’s the counterintuitive thing, though. If you’re traveling to a new place, you have to actually schedule time in for wandering, or it won’t happen. You have to consciously set aside a block of time and guard it ferociously. The entire point of wandering is not to plan the time, but I highly recommend planning the time in which to not plan the time.

In order to have an enjoyable wander, I also recommend not bringing very much. No maps, no notebooks, no umbrella in case of inclement weather. Just the absolute minimum of what you need to be safe.

Wandering can be done in a car, or by foot. When traveling to a new place, I’m a huge fan of the walking wander. But I’ve also had many a lovely exploratory drive, alone or with company. That’s another thing about wandering—it can be done alone, or with others.

During that same trip to Italy, there was a day I scheduled to go explore Florence. I had a few places on my list to see—the Duomo, the Uffizi, the Galleria dell’Accademia. But I didn’t really make plans beyond that. I told family that they were welcome to join me, although I warned them that I didn’t have much of an itinerary. In the end, a few of us ended up taking the train from Rome to Florence, and spending the day wandering the city, looking at art, walking cobblestoned streets.

I know not everyone enjoys wandering as much as I do. I’m usually a planner in most aspects of my life. But there’s something sort of magical about just…moving forward. Not having a clear destination in mind. Not worrying about whether you’re doing something right or wrong. Not trying to meet anyone’s expectations or to get the right picture or the check the right thing off the list. Just walking. Just driving. Just stumbling. You might find a gem. But if you don’t, it’s usually all right. Just exploring is its own reward.


photo via

Parks, Reviewed

(Summer is basically here and all I want to do is be outside, so I think this will be a recurring feature/series.)

Faultline Park

1100 East, 400 South in Salt Lake City

A small and charming park near the University of Utah. Features steep grassy hills that look dangerously good for rolling down, but which you probably shouldn't roll down, because there's a road/parking lot at the bottom of the biggest hill. Stunning views of the Salt Lake Valley, and a swing set that's perfectly aligned to watch the sunset, if you can claim the swings from couples who have the same idea you did. Playground has the kind of soft rubber that feels exactly how you imagined walking on the moon would feel when you were a kid. Confusing, yet charming playground equipment. Terrible place to be if there is an earthquake, since the Wasatch Fault Line runs right through it. 4/5 stars.

Liberty Park

700 East, 1300 S in Salt Lake City

Huge and rambling and satisfyingly full of trees. Every Sunday, this park is transformed into Woodstock. People are unapologetically themselves and you can get a contact high just walking through the crowd. A romantic gazebo overlooks a pond if you have someone you'd like to kiss and need a good atmosphere. Hella geese and ducks, which eat bread that people feed them even though BREAD IS REALLY BAD FOR DUCKS AND GEESE AND IT MESSES UP THE ECOSYSTEM AND YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT. Additional features include various playgrounds, a splash pad, multiple fountains, an aviary, and a place to drop off your recycling if, like me, you don't have curbside recycling so you put it all in your car until you can drop it off the next time you're near Liberty Park. 5/5 stars. 

Fitts Park

500 East, 3050 South in Salt Lake City

A charming little river runs through this park, filled with ducks and geese (which will still eat the bread that people shouldn't feed them). Pleasant walking paths. Your 3-year-old nephew will call this the "fall-down park" after seeing a child his own age fall from the top of a play structure, but he will be comforted from this trauma by throwing rocks into the water. 3/5 stars.

Reservoir Park

1300 East, South Temple in Salt Lake City

A small park that's conveniently located for parents of small children who live in/near the Avenues. There is a huge hill that actually IS good for rolling down, and there are almost always dogs playing happily. You will always forget that this park exists, and what it's called. And apparently so will everyone else because there will be like, no distinguishing photographs of it online. 2/5 stars. 

"I have not eaten the heart," or The Time I Got a Tattoo And Didn't Really Tell Anyone For A Minute

"If I don’t get cast in this part, maybe I’ll get that tattoo. If I don’t get this job, maybe I’ll get that tattoo. After I make it a year after divorce, maybe I’ll get that tattoo." --My inner monologue for the past...5 years? 

(I don't really have the energy to go into the whole "Mormon getting a tattoo" thing at the moment. I know, I know. Maybe someday I'll talk about that, but not today. I just thought I'd get that disclaimer out of the way.)

I’ve had the design made and taped to my bathroom mirror for over six months now. It’s an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph, the feather of maat (click link for explanation), surrounded by a geometric pattern of an icosahedron (20-sided die). There wasn’t necessarily any planned symbolism to the icosahedron—I just liked the way it looked. But when I thought about it later, I also liked that there was a tabletop RPG connotation to it. I decided the tattoo would go on the outside of my upper thigh. Easy to cover for acting gigs, but not too hard to show off if I really wanted to. So I made an appointment for a consultation. And then I made an appointment for getting inked.

And on Wednesday last week, I walked into SLC Ink and got my tattoo.

Originally, I was going to have a friend or two come with me. It turned out that both friends who were going to come along were out of town, so I went by myself. Which ended up being perfect. I was doing something for myself, by myself.

Me laying in the chair at SLC Ink and wondering
what the hell I'm doing

I opened the door to SLC Ink that afternoon and thought, “What the hell am I doing?!” But I walked up to the reception desk and told them I had an appointment with Paige. I filled out the paperwork. I lifted the hem of my skirt and watched Paige clean and shave my thigh. I held still while she put the stencil in place. I laid on the plastic-covered bed and tried to get comfortable. I gritted my teeth for 45 minutes while the picture I had designed months ago became a permanent part of my body. Paige and I chatted about astrological signs and gun violence. And the whole time, every few minutes, I kept thinking, “What the hell am I doing?! I don’t have to do this. I can walk away. I’m so scared of this. Who am I? What am I doing?”

And then it was done.

Paige wrapped my new tattoo in a protective bandage and I stood up and swiped my debit card and limped to my van. And couldn’t stop grinning.

I didn’t really tell anyone what I was doing. Not right before, not during, not after. I didn’t post on social media while I was getting inked. I didn’t tell friends as I chatted and messaged and visited with them throughout the day, even though it was consuming 75% of my thoughts. I texted my sister about it that night, but I didn’t tell the two friends who were possibly going to come with me. Over the next few days, I didn't tell anyone while it was stinging during Othello rehearsals, or when it ached as I bent down to pick up my nephew. I know a week isn't that long to keep something quiet, but I wanted to for just a little while. Because I didn’t do it for anyone else. I did it for me.

I did it because I’m so damn tired of worrying about what other people think of me. Positive or negative. Spoken or unspoken. I’ve spent so much of the last year worried—terrified—that the people I care about don’t care about me. It has made me anxious, jealous, angry, heartbroken, and desperate in turn. And all of those fearful thoughts I had while getting my tattoo were, at their core, about other people. What they would think. What they would say. How they would react.

But the thing is that it’s no one else’s body, and it’s no one else’s tattoo.

It's not quite that I was afraid of what people would think if I talked about my new tattoo right away. But I wanted this important thing to be just mine for a little while, with no one else's input. Just a few days. It took so much energy to fight all of my fears just to get the tattoo, and I didn't want to use any more energy to field responses from other people, even if they were positive.

I still kind of can’t believe I did it. But I did it. I did it after a year of life post-divorce. I did it after one of the worst callbacks I’ve ever done, for a bucket-list dream role with a theatre I love. I did it despite a fear of needles and pain. I did it alone, despite my underlying fear that I will actually be alone forever. I did it while my anxiety about what other people think clamored for my attention at the back of my mind. And now this lovely pattern on my thigh reminds me of the principles of maat (truth, balance, morality, justice). But it also reminds me of a time when I overcame a whole bunch of fears, and a whole bunch of pain, and did something meaningful for myself. It reminds me of a time when I let peace speak louder than fear.

The phrase "I have not eaten the heart" is a part of maat, the hieroglyph at the center of my tattoo. It's one of the "42 Negative Confessions" listed in the Papyrus of Ani, and it's a poetic and ancient Egyptian way of saying "I have not grieved needlessly. I have not felt needless regret."

There have been times in my life, when making big decisions, when I have been filled with terror. Going to BYU-Idaho. Getting married. Going to grad school. Moving to Utah. Auditioning for that role. What if it was the wrong thing to do? What if I regretted it? What if what if what if?! But I did all of those things because in the moments when I was the most still and the most connected to myself, I was completely confident about the decision I had made. I felt peace about it, and knew that it was “the right thing to do.”

Not all of those things worked out the way I thought they would. I took 8 years to get my Bachelor's from BYU-Idaho. My marriage didn't last. I didn't (and don't) get every role I auditioned for. But that doesn't change the fact that those were the "right things to do." I'm so grateful for my time at BYU-Idaho. I'm so grateful for my time being married to Jacob. I'm so grateful for chances to do what I love at so many wonderful theatres. It took a lot of courage to do some of those things, but I don't regret any of them.

And I don't think I'll regret this tattoo either.

Totality, in flash fiction form

Maybe someday I'll write more about witnessing totality with Mom and Beckah and Ray in Wyoming. But in the meantime, here's the experience from another (albeit fictionalized) point of view. 

"Two Minutes and Twenty-Two Seconds"

I live in a plastic package. There are lots of other packages here in the box with me. We wonder why we are here, and we wait for a long time.

Finally, I feel hands. I hear a voice say, “Ship to Portland, Oregon.” More voices say, “Cheyenne, Wyoming.” “Rexburg, Idaho.” “Excelsior Springs, Missouri.” I’m put in different box with some others like me. Our box travels to Alameda, California.

A woman opens the box. She says “The eclipse glasses came!” I wonder now what is eclipse glasses. The woman takes me out of the package. She unfolds me and puts me on her face.

“I can’t see anything with these,” she says.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to,” a man voice says. “You’re only supposed to see the sun through eclipse glasses.”

I think I am eclipse glasses.

The woman carries me outside. We look at the sun. It is very bright, but the woman is smiling big. I know this because when big smiles happen, there is a lifting of cheeks and I feel myself lift with them. She goes inside. I stay on the fridge with a magnet, in plastic with other eclipse glasses. The four of us stay there for long time. Sometimes the woman looks at us and makes a mark on the paper next to us. We watch shadows creep across floor every day, warm, then cool, then dark, many times. 

One day, the woman takes us off the fridge. She smiles big and does a little dance and sings about a thing called “Fort Douglas Wyoming.” We go into a suitcase, with clothes and binoculars and maps. 

When the suitcase is opened, there are two more woman voices. I go onto different faces. We look at the sun again. It is still very bright. There is more big smiling.

We sit in the car for long time. Then, the first woman—the woman from before—opens the car door. I see many other people here, too. There are many other eclipse glasses on other faces. This is a place with many cars, one small building, and a big road. A place for resting on long journey. There is food and laughing and people looking up.

The woman puts me on her face. We look at the sun. The woman puts me down again. She does this many times.

But then, the sun is different. The sun is not a whole circle like before. I can see a little bite out of the sun. The woman gasps. She says “First contact!”

The woman puts me down, puts me on her face to look at the sun, puts me down, puts me on her face to look at the sun. What is strange about this is that the sun is different every time now. The bite is bigger, and there is less sun.

A different woman talks. “The light is so eerie!” She is right. The light is different. The sun is almost gone.

Then suddenly, the sun is black. The woman takes me off her face and gasps. I hear many other gasps from the other people here.

I can see all around. The sky is not like daytime, and not like nighttime. It is most like the end of a day, with colors and shadows. There are stars even, there near where the sun should be. But the sun is most of all different. It is black, a black hole in sky, dark dark dark. But around the sun are light beams. Light beams that look like shadows, but opposite. Shadows of light. Three big light beam shadows, and many small ones.

It is strange, and feels not real. This is daytime, but light is like end of day, but even that is not quite right. It is a different light.

Then there is a bright diamond beam from the sun. The woman puts me back on her face. Her face is wet now…there is a salty wet from the woman’s eyes. She puts her hands on her cheeks, and her face is lifting me.

The sun is growing now, making it again like daytime, with no more stars. When the light is all the way like day again, the woman takes me off her face. I sit in the car. I sit in the car for many hours. I listen to the music and I listen to the voices talking.

“That was totally totally worth it,” the man voice says.

The woman voices all say yes. Yes, it was worth it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget how that looked,” a woman voice says. “The whole thing was so strange. It feels like it couldn’t have been real.”

I feel the same way. I do not say this, because I am eclipse glasses.

I stay in the suitcase for some time. Then I live on a shelf in the woman’s house. She smiles at me some days. The sun is the same always now, shadows creeping across the floor every day, warm, then cool, then dark again.

Maybe the place where light changed was dream. Maybe it was not real when the sun became black with shadows of light. But I remember always the salty wet from woman’s eyes. That did taste real.

I stay on the shelf. I watch the shadows across the floor many times. The woman’s hair changes to grey. I live with dust and I do not look at the sun anymore.

But I am eclipse glasses. I did, one time, see a wonder.