Writing Elsewhere

Hello, my friends! 

Things have been a bit quiet here on the blog lately, and I just wanted to post real quick to excuse and justify my absence. 

RJ and I are continuing our Sister Blog Challenge, but we're on a brief hiatus while we focus on other projects. I'm doing NaNoWriMo (again) this year, so for the month of November, I'll be focused on that. And during October, I spent a lot of time editing old works and submitting them for publication and applying for writer residencies and doing all kinds of other writerly things. 

But if you're craving some Liz writing, never fear, because one of my essays got accepted for publication! You can read my creative non-fiction piece, "The Goddamn Miracles of Nature," on the Sad Girls Club Literary Blog by clicking here. (While based on truth, names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike.) 

Happy reading and writing, loves.

Breaking point

 I'M NOT BLOGGING THIS WEEK I AM TOO BUSY. 

I'll be back with more writing later, on the regular schedule, when I'm not Door Dashing, Etsy-ing (x2), doing other side hustles, memorizing 2 different scripts, doing improv shows, house managing and rehearsing in Provo, and attempting to make food at home so that I don't spend a billion dollars on eating out. 

Love you all. 

Loving Our (Imperfect) Bodies

DISCLAIMER: I am not a health professional, for mental or physical health. I have done research and am providing relevant links, and I'm also experienced in advocacy and non-violent communication, which is really the focus of this blog. 

CONTENT WARNING: This blog contains frank discussions of body image and disordered eating, including examples of harmful things that are sometimes said about bodies and examples of negative inner monologues. I invite readers to practice self-care and discretion in reading, and offer the option of skipping the examples written in orange text. 

Image: A dim picture of an empty dressing room, with lighted mirrors.
(via Travel Salem on Flickr) 

Hello my friends! Before I start this blog, I want to be transparent about the fact that for most of my life, I've been thin. My body has grown somewhat in the last several years, and nowadays I've got a bigger and softer tummy and a proper double chin. But I haven't personally experienced a lot of fatphobia or disordered eating or body image issues. This makes it easy for me to stand up and say "Hey, let's all love our bodies!" with very little baggage. But the amount of baggage I have or don't have doesn't have anything to do with my willpower or character. I just got lucky. I won a genetic lottery and got a body type that happens to be valued in my society and a family that doesn't have too many issues around body image. All of us humans have grown up in this culture, and all of us have internalized messages about fat, about age, about appearance. No one should be shamed for how much those messages affect them. For all my positive body talk, I also still have plenty of moments when those messages get to me, too. This blog entry is about why I do my best to consciously undermine those messages, and some practical ideas about how to do it. It's a skill that has to be learned and practiced. 

So! 

Now that more people are vaccinated (for the love of Osiris, if you can get vaccinated but haven't yet, PLEASE GET VACCINATED), we have more opportunities to do live theatre safely! And with that comes something I had literally completely forgotten about: the negative body talk that gets thrown around in women’s dressing rooms. 

I don’t know what happens in men’s dressing rooms, and it’s been a while since I’ve been in a universal dressing room. But I’d like to invite everyone, regardless of the dressing rooms you’re in, to move away from this kind of talk. The last year and a half has further radicalized me into working for all kinds of equity and compassion, and the dressing room is one place where I can do that work. Come join me! 

WHAT IT IS

Negative body talk is any negative comment about your own body, someone else’s body, or bodies in general. It may include comments about weight, shape, age, or appearance. Sometimes negative body talk comes in sneaky forms, like praising people for weight loss, or assigning moral value to certain foods. 

Here are a few examples: 

• “Ugh, this costume makes my butt look huge.” 
• “These crow’s feet around my eyes are driving me crazy.” 
• “I was so bad today. I ate like five cookies.” 
• “Okay, time to put on makeup. Because no one wants to see this face without makeup.” 
• “I’m gonna have to go to the gym for an extra hour to work off that lunch.” 
• “I hate having such tiny boobs!” 
• “I felt so bad for him, trying to do that lift with her.” 
• “You’ve lost so much weight! You look amazing!” 
• “Time to put on my Spanx. Gotta tuck all of these saggy bits in.”
• “These gray hairs look just awful.”  

WHY IT’S IMPORTANT TO SHIFT AWAY FROM IT

(My radicalization is gonna show here…) 

Negative body talk upholds the patriarchy

It’s the patriarchy that says “women are valuable because of their looks.” It’s the patriarchy that says “Men should look a certain way to get women to date them, because that’s where men get their value from.” It’s the patriarchy that says that women’s jobs are to be ornamental, decorative, and make others comfortable. It’s the patriarchy that makes no room for queerness or anything outside of the gender binary. It’s the patriarchy that says only pretty people can be romantic leads. It's the patriarchy that says women's value goes down as they get older. And there’s no inherent truth to any of it. It’s what society teaches us, but we can decide to disregard it. And as more of us disregard it, the less power it has. 

Negative body talk perpetuates the toxic aspects of capitalism

Think about how much money we spend trying to change how we look. I’m all for cool haircuts and tattoos and piercings and sunscreen and yoga studios—those things help us express and care for ourselves. But the only reason women shave their legs is because some guy in the 1920s wanted to sell us razors. The only reason we have so many diet programs is because people want to make money off diet programs. Even though none of them demonstrably work long-term and restrictive eating is always harmful. (Check out The F*ck It Diet for one resource on this.) The diet industry makes an estimated $60 billion a year. Imagine how much good that money could do if we spent it elsewhere. On small businesses. On bail funds. Or hell, on our f*cking bills. And don’t even get me started on the “pink tax.”

Negative body talk is often deeply rooted in racism

This is way complex, and I’m not the best person to speak on this, and many others have spoken about this more eloquently than I have. (Check out this interview with Sabrina Strings on NPR for one example.) But the idea that “thin is the only and best way to be beautiful” is an extraordinarily Western idea, based on white ideals that attempt to separate “superior” bodies from “inferior” bodies. The beauty ideals of other cultures are all so radically different…if we say “Well, being thin and young are the ONLY ways to be beautiful” we’re saying “White colonial ideals of beauty are the only valuable ones.” (Also, your value as a human being doesn’t have anything to do with how you look ANYWAY.) 

Negative body talk perpetuates the fatphobia that plagues the entertainment industry

There is literally no reason for actors to be thin. Because we use our bodies to tell stories, it’s helpful if our bodies are strong and healthy. But the lie that we’ve been fed for so many decades and from so many sources is that fat = unhealthy. And it’s just not…true. (Check out Health At Every Size to learn more). Health can be measured in a few different ways, but generally speaking, the actual science says that weight is not an accurate predictor of health. Lizzo can do cardio while singing and playing the flute for hours at a time in heels, night after night, for months on end. And have you seen Olympic weight-lifters? And also, the BMI is racist and completely useless and was never intended to measure health. So if you’re ACTUALLY worried about health, you don’t need to worry about weight. And as far as storytelling goes, there’s no reason we can’t have a fat Juliet on stage. A fat Elle Woods. A fat Hedda Gabler. LITERALLY NO REASON. If being thin doesn’t mean being healthy, and if you don’t have to be thin to play certain roles, then there’s literally no reason to push ourselves (or each other) to be thin. 

Negative body talk harms those with body image issues and disordered eating

It's difficult to get really accurate statistics, but eating disorders affect AT LEAST 9% of the population. So if you're in a room with 10 people, it's highly likely that at least one of them has experienced some kind of eating disorder, and even likelier that more people in the room have a difficult relationship with food or body image (if not all of them/us). When we make comments about our own weight, or the weight of others, we're adding our voices to the chorus of already loud voices saying "you're not thin enough" or "you'll only be loved if you're thin" or "you're not worthy of love unless you're thin." This is also why it's powerful to not compliment people about weight loss. I personally have multiple friends who have shared that compliments on their weight loss caused their eating disorder to deepen. Or perhaps their weight loss was because of another health issue, and the compliment made their pain feel invisible. In both cases, they were being rewarded with love and acceptance in times when they were very ill. I want to live in a world where we give people love and acceptance regardless of their weight. 

HOW TO UNDERMINE NEGATIVE BODY TALK IN THEATRE DRESSING ROOMS 

(and any other rooms, really)

Okay, so if you're on board with moving away from the negative body talk that perpetuates the patriarchy, toxic capitalism, racism, and myths about health, here are a few ideas of how to do it. 

1. Aggressively compliment yourself. Look at yourself in the full-length mirror and smile at what you see. Exclaim with ecstasy. “Are you seeing this?! Look at these thighs! Look at these curves! Man, I love this gorgeous tummy.” Grab handfuls of your body and jiggle it with joy.
2. Abstain from the “script” when someone says something disparaging about their own appearance. When one person says “Ugh, I hate how this makes my butt look!” the expected response is either “No, it looks great!” or “Well, MY costume makes my tummy look huge.” Both of those responses reinforce the idea that appearance = worth. Which is completely false. Speak up, or change the subject, or abstain. 
3. Give specific compliments that don’t have to do with size. These compliments can have to do with appearance, but think of it as praising the way you’d praise a painting. (“You have such great eyebrows.” “You have such lovely hands.” “Look at your beautiful elegant feet!”) You can also compliment things that don’t have to do with appearance at all, like talent or smarts or interpersonal skills. 
4. Respond to negative body talk with “That’s the patriarchy talking!” or another quippy one-liner of your choice. 
5. Post body positivity quotes/images by the mirror/on the walls. A few of my favorites include "Love Your Tree" from Eve Ensler's The Good Body, some variation of this popular sticker, or this one, and this cross-stitch from my own Etsy shop (shameless plug).
6. Respond with a simple “Hey, this kind of negative body talk isn’t okay with me. Could we please keep it out of this space?” 
7. If the costumes/time period of the show allows, refuse to wear Spanx or other shape wear. 
8. Invite people to explore the ideas behind the fatphobic comment. “Hey, have you ever thought about where those ideas come from?” (This can also be done more pointedly, in the form of “Explain what you mean by that?”)
9. Speak frankly and matter-of-factly about your own body to the costume team (“These jeans are too small for my belly.” “If I wear this skirt, can I also get something to wear underneath so that my thighs don’t get irritated from rubbing together?”)
10. Respond with “Hey, friends. Someone recently pointed out to me that this kind of negative body talk can be rough for folks with eating disorders. So because we never know what the people in the dressing room are going through, I’ve been trying to just refrain from any kind of negative body talk in every dressing room I’m in. Would it be cool if we did that in here?” 
11. Sometimes negative body talk is an attempt to bond with those around us. The desire to connect to our fellow humans is deep and primal! (This is often what's going on when people are following the "script" mentioned earlier in #2.) So work on finding other ways to connect. Tell a funny story about your day, ask people what their favorite part of their day was, bring up an interesting article or YouTube video you recently read, or ask any of these conversation starters. (I always love hearing about people's journeys, so I like to ask "How did you get into theatre?") 

If you have other ideas, feel free to share them in the comments! Now go forth, and practice showing love to your beautiful, imperfect body and help others love theirs! 

Am Writing

No blog today. But it's because I'm working on two essays, four poems, and one script (at least). The entire point of the Sister Blog Challenge is to stay writing. And I am writing. It's just not ready to be seen yet. 

Maybe in two weeks it will be. See you then. 

In Bloom

I’ve had the sense, lately, that the last year and a half was like a long winter. But as vaccinations go up and COVID numbers go down in my home state, it feels like a kind of spring. Like things that were buried and waiting in the soil are now reaching upwards towards the light. 

Or maybe it feels like summer. Like things have been awake and blooming for a while now. 

I’ve thought about this on warm evenings as I watered the yard. When A and K planted bulbs in the flower beds, A didn’t think they’d show up until next year. But there they are, growing taller every day, their green leaves standing strong in the dirt. The desert grasses are growing new stalks (well, except for that one by the mailbox). And while the lawn is struggling in this goddamn drought, there are patches of green that keep returning under our obstinate watering. 

It feels like things are blooming. And I want to embrace the blooming. 

First of all, I have declared summer of 2021 to be “Hobbit Girl Summer.” 

Inspired by this tweet, I’ve chosen to make this summer a time of taking pleasure in simple things and guarding my comfort fiercely. 

When I made this plan, I quickly discovered that I’m at least 75% Hobbit already. Often barefoot. 7+ meals per day, usually consisting of simple fare—fresh fruit, baked goods, pasta. Taking pleasure in homey, domestic past-times like cross stitching and gardening. Going to bed late and getting up late. 

So there may not actually be many radical changes. But rather, Hobbit Girl Summer will be about embracing those things more fully, and being more deliberate about them. I’m planning to throw in a few other Hobbit-y things. Reading books and taking naps under trees. Writing poetry by rivers. Smoking the occasional pipe-weed. Maybe there can be a garden party or two. (Sans Gandalf’s fireworks because Utah is in the worst drought since the 1970s.) (I will also not be donning any ornamental waistcoats, because it’s bloody hot outside.) I may seek a handful of adventures, Baggins-style. But a friend recently described hobbits as “hippie dippie hedonists,” and if that’s not what I want for my life this summer, I don’t know what is. 

Second of all, after a year and a half of Zoom theatre and streamed performances and radio plays, my fully vaccinated self is re-entering good old-fashioned rehearsal rooms and theatres all over the valley and it’s my favorite thing. I’m rehearsing “Footloose!” at West Valley Arts, and sort of also became the de facto intimacy and fight choreographer as well. I’m halfway through choreographing intimacy for a production of Much Ado About Nothing, and have another intimacy/fight choreo gig lined up for the fall. In a few weeks, I’ll teach an intimacy direction workshop at the Utah Advisory Council for Theatre Teachers Conference. I’ve been submitting resumes and self-tapes a few times a week. I felt rusty as hell for a while there—I spent a week doing vocal warmups for 15 minutes a day because any time I tried to sing, my diaphragm felt non-existent. But it’s like riding a bike…when you’ve been doing it long enough, it comes back to you pretty quickly. An Other Theater Co had our first in-person company call a week ago, where we made plans to clean up the space and get ready for our upcoming season. I feel like there’s a forward momentum in my theatre career that had been on hold for a while. 

Third of all, a handful of writing projects have been percolating in my brain, and some are ready for…consumption? Creation? Clearly, metaphors aren’t my strong suit today, but the point is that I’m moving out of the brainstorming phase and into the “actually writing” phase on a few things. I’ve been fighting myself on the idea of tropes and clichés, and was just being an insufferable, snobby hipster about it all. Like “tropes are too simple and therefore beneath me because I’m an original artist and only art that is challenging is worthwhile.” I’m calling myself on my own bullshit. I’ve started leaning hard into tropes and have found it makes writing much easier, and that there’s still room for “originality” within tropes anyway. 

I sometimes worry that I sound a little too “hippie dippie” in my observations about how “it feels like this is a season of blooming.” This feeling is 100% completely subjective and also deeply personal. But as I grow more into my witchy, intuitive, whole self, it’s empowering to speak these things, to name the chapters of the book I’m in. Friendships are beginning and deepening and shifting. Careers are gaining momentum. Things are just…blooming. So I’ll keep metaphorically watering them, and embrace the blooming.  

(I know I just had this like, great meaningful "button" for this blog, but as I initiate Hobbit Girl Summer, it feels necessary to share these pictures from 2008, when cell phone cameras were blurry as hell, and when some friends and I put on a sketch called "Middle Earth's First Christmas" and I played Legolas with my Nigel Lithgoe hair and RJ was a perfect hobbit and C was "Gandalf the Red" even though he was dressed in white.)

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. 

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!

HOUSEHOLD DOG IS CERTAIN THAT OWNER WILL NEVER COME BACK, EVER

Late yesterday afternoon, a 1-year-old coon hound mix lost his sanity when his owner walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Despite the fact that this is a frequent occurrence and that the owner always returns, the adolescent pup stood at the door and whined for the entire three-and-a-half minutes that the owner was gone. Other household members attempted to offer reassurances and comfort, but these had little effect on the worried doggo. It was only when the owner opened the door with exclamations of “Can you chill?” and “Why are you like this?” that the dog calmed down. Currently, all is calm in the house. (The dog declined to provide a statement for this story.)

WEATHER 

It is that time of year where it’s hot during the day and cold at night. We recommend wearing shorts but bringing a jacket. Pollen count is very high, with winds expected to exacerbate any allergies. This report is only included to help meet the word count requirement. 

EYE ON SCIENCE: GROWING WEEDS AND DYING LAWNS IN A YEAR OF DROUGHT

It’s that time of year—perennials are coming back, trees are blossoming, and the lawn mower is getting pulled out of the shed. But this year, Utahans are facing a conundrum. Their yards need water, but there isn’t a lot to spare. The state of Utah is currently in one of the worst droughts since the 1970s. With watering restrictions in place, residents have a more pressing question: Why doesn’t the drought prevent the millions of weeds sprouting up? Freelance scientist Rebeth Whitner has been studying the question for years. “The truth is…we don’t know,” Whitner says. “It could have to do with how much water each different plant needs to grow, but so far, our research indicates that there’s no real pattern. It seems like they do this just to spite us.” Whitner and her colleagues at the Center for Plant Science have been conducting experiments since 2014, but their findings have been inconclusive. When can we expect answers? Whitner laughs sardonically. “When hell freezes over,” she says. So in the meantime, wait to water, and just keep spraying those weeds. 

SECRET LIP SYNCING: WHAT MASKS HAVE BEEN HIDING ALL ALONG

With the CDC recently lifting mask guidelines for vaccinated individuals, many are finding this new world has a few challenges to navigate. There’s the obvious uncertainty that comes with the fact that going mask-less is based on the “honor system.” There’s no way to know whether someone is vaccinated or not just by looking at them, sending some into anxiety spirals that can be difficult to come down from. But there are some unforeseen complications as well. One source, who wished to remain anonymous, shared her experience: “I didn’t realize how often I lip sync in stores,” Jane (not her real name) stated. “I’ve been doing it for about a year, and the first time I went out without a mask, I couldn’t figure out why people were staring and smiling.” It took Jane a few minutes to realize she’d been lip syncing to the Bruno Mars song playing over the loudspeakers. While most of us have found mask-wearing a little annoying, many have discovered unexpected benefits. “I went two days without brushing my teeth!” said one source, who also wished to remain anonymous. Others cited being able to cover acne, secretly mouthing rude things to people who walk too slow, and not feeling obligated to smile at friends’ babies. There’s also the benefit of not getting sick as often—while masks prevent the spread of COVID, they also prevent the spread of other infections like the common cold. It will likely be several months before we all adjust to a post-mask-requirement world, and there may be a few growing pains. None of us expected mask requirements to have silver linings, but it turns out there was something to smile about after all. Even if no one could see it.  

GETTING THAT SUMMER BODY! 

It’s been a long year and a half! We’re all coming out of isolation and getting ready for a summer of hedonism. Worried about that “quarantine 15”? You’re not alone. But luckily, you are only two steps away from having that “summer body,” and both take little to no effort. Step One: Have a body. Step Two: Experience summer.  

CORRECTIONS

Last week we ran a story about a local cat who believed that the entire couch was hers. We erroneously stated that the couch belonged to the humans in the household. We have been informed that the couch is, in fact, the cat’s. 

Full reviews of things half-finished

***NO SPOILERS INCLUDED; PLEASE DON'T SPOIL IN RETURN***

New Girl (television sitcom) 

I slept on this show for literally a decade, and then A recommended it, and now it’s 2 weeks later and I’m almost done with season 4. I am charmed and delighted by this ensemble-based sitcom. I dismissed this show for so long for a few dumb reasons. One is that I was (am) a hipster with no logic and had this unjustified sense of superiority for “not liking sitcoms.” The other is that I am intimidated by Zooey Deschanel and have an unfounded fear that every straight guy wants me to be her. (That’s probably some internalized misogyny, actually.) But I now adore Zooey’s character Jess, and I’m also deeply in love with Nick Miller. (Crush on TV character = another way I’m currently acting like an 8th grader.) 

Shadow & Bone (series on Netflix) 

I read the “Six of Crows” series last summer, and then devoured the “Shadow and Bone” trilogy a few months later. Leigh Bardugo has become one of my favorite authors. (Strong focus on characters and relationships, good world-building, suspenseful plots, diversity of all kinds!) The Netflix series combines these two separate series into one story. They take place within the same world, but in different timelines, and are really pretty damn completely different. Six of Crows is all “ragtag group of petty thieves pulling off an epic heist” and Shadow and Bone is all “a girl is the answer to a prophecy about destroying the work of dark magic.” Structurally speaking, so far I think they’ve combined the plots fairly well. I think it technically works, but in all honesty, I think some executive at Netflix made a poor choice in slamming these two stories together. Even if you were just thinking as a dirty capitalist, the fan base absolutely exists to get way more mileage out of this world. They could have done literally twice as many episodes and people would have watched the hell out of it. But too late now, Netflix, so I’ll embrace what is and accept these plots being interwoven. I’m a fan of the art direction/design. I think the casting is fairly perfect, with no A-list stars to distract or “carry”—just capable actors doing good work. (Thank GOD this wasn’t made in the 90s, when studio execs would have cast Leonardo DiCaprio as Kaz for the star power and made every character straight and white and neurotypical.) (Also, I hadn’t realized until I watched the first few episodes of the series that I’d been picturing the Darkling looking a lot like David Bowie. Ben Barnes is much better casting.) 

Dear Edward (book) 

I dragged myself through 80% of this book. It had so many good reviews on Goodreads, and it was on so many lists, and I always like stories with multiple intersecting perspectives. Maybe I wasn’t in the right mindset or something, but I found this book to be a BUMMER. A whole lotta focus on trauma. Especially about, and from the perspective of, Edward. I imagine the end of the book is probably uplifting somehow. Finding meaning in the tragedy or whatever. But the discovery of the letters felt sort of trite. It was a “Chicken Soup for the Soul” resolution being set up. I spent most of this book hoping for a final chapter like The Goldfinch’s, but eventually decided I didn’t have the patience to get through the rest of the story to get to it (if it existed). 

The COVID-19 Pandemic (a pandemic) 

I’m mostly including this as a reminder (to myself more than anyone) that the pandemic is not yet over. I got my second shot in early April, and as of Friday, our entire household is vaccinated. Today, I drove past a movie theatre and thought about being able to sit in a darkened room in front of a big screen again and almost cried. I still haven’t eaten IN a restaurant yet, and we’ve had two or three other vaccinated people over, and I just accepted a role in a musical with COVID precautions. So in my corner of the world, things are looking pretty good. Vaccinations are up and infections are down. I still wear a mask when outside the house, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I give the pandemic as a whole zero stars, but I give the current healing Utah curve a solid four and a half. 

Parallels to 1998

In the summer of 1998, I moved from the San Francisco Bay Area to southern Oregon. I would turn 13 that September, and begin my new life as an 8th grader at Talent Middle School. And while I’m turning 36 this year, and that middle school beginning was over two decades ago (!), I’m finding myself at a similar new beginning, with some strange parallels. 

I should state that I know that the pandemic is definitely not over. We’ve got variants popping up, and mask mandates and business restrictions ending way too soon, and in general our enthusiasm seems to be outpacing the decline of COVID. 

But there does seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel, and after receiving my 2nd vaccine shot, I find my heart readying itself to enter the world again, post-pandemic. 

First of all, just like in 1998, I spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I should shave my legs. Ditto on wearing mascara. I can’t decide if I agree with society’s expectations enough to justify the time spent in meeting them. But I also want the social currency that comes with meeting society’s dumb expectations. Will people still be friends with me if I don’t shave my legs or wear mascara? Because I really want to have friends. 

And just like I did in 1998, I feel vaguely uncertain about my social skills. At age 13, I just didn’t have a ton of experience in making and maintaining friendships. At age 35, I’ve got the experience. It’s just that I’ve been hanging out with the same 2-4 people for more than a year and don’t entirely remember how to have conversations. Even social interactions with people I’ve known and loved for years are tinged with a slight uncertainty. There’s an 8th grader inside of me nervously whispering “Did you say the right thing? Should you say something else? What else can you talk about?” 

This also means that any successful (AKA not too awkward) human connection is cause for celebration. (A few weeks ago, I chatted with an entire group of people I didn’t know and I wasn’t very awkward and I rode the high of that for like four days.) 

And if I'm being completely honest, beyond social interactions, in the back of my mind, there’s the buzzing possibility of romantic interactions. In 8th grade, I didn’t have any plans to date until I was 16, and it would still be a full four years before my first kiss. And okay, maybe the possibility of romance was in the front of my mind in 8th grade. I couldn’t help it. I was a hopeless romantic and Ryan Gosling was stealing my heart as Young Hercules on Fox Kids, and the radio kept playing these sappy songs, and I could see my peers pairing off in halting, hand-holding couples. I kept wondering if it would happen for me. When? With whom? How? Would it be all starlight and dancing in gazebos and poetry, like I dreamed? 

I'm pleased to say that as of 2021, I've been able to experience my share of starlight and dancing in gazebos and poetry. But at this point, four years post-divorce and five months post-breakup, some of those questions are beginning to reach up to my heart and head again. Every single relationship I've ever had felt like a fluke. Not quite an accident, but like something I fell into without any planning or expertise on my part. Yes, I've had relationships before, but their initiations don't feel like anything I can replicate. (How does one actually start dating someone? Besides doing a theatre show with them, flirting throughout rehearsal, and then eventually making out?)

But logistics aside, there are more urgent questions. What if I ask someone out and they politely decline? Will I survive that? (Probably?) Or what if my year+ in relative isolation has completely eroded my ability to read any kind of social cues, and I don’t notice if someone is flirting? Or worse, I think they’re flirting when they’re not? 

8th grader thoughts. 

But there are also some positive parallels between 8th grade and now. I draw comfort from the same sources now that I did when I was younger—from books and movies and music and walks in nature. I feel uncertain of my exact future, but I know what I love and what I want to do, just like I did in 1998. Theatre and writing has been in my bones for as long as I can remember, and I knew even 23 year ago that I wanted to do both of those things. There are days as an adult when I can't get over the beauty of making my 8th grade dreams come true. 

1998 definitely had its rough moments. Moving to a completely new state and new school at age 13 is pretty challenging. But in the grand scheme, things turned out okay. 

And while I'm sure 2021 will have its rough moments, I think things will turn out okay this year too.

On mileposts and the question "What's the point?"

I’ve been thinking a lot about mileposts lately. 

It’s partly because I’ve got a bad case of “itchy feet” lately, which sounds clinical, but is just my phrase for “wanting to travel or explore new places or be someplace that isn’t here.” I’ve been daydreaming about a huge cross-country road trip to see everyone I know and love this summer. I’m planning a trip to Arizona to see some family in May. 

But I also know that I can’t drive for more than about five hours before I start to lose my mind. It’s just too exhausting, and I get tired of music and podcasts and singing and silence and sitting. So I’ve been finding mileposts. Places to stop and rest, to take a break and refill my strength before I keep going. 

If I had more time and hadn’t procrastinated this blog entry, I would have written much more poetic and symbolic drafts of this essay before posting the perfect and complete version of it. But I’ll have to tell instead of show this time. 

Because the last year or so has been the longest metaphorical road trip of my life. It has been for all of us. Pandemic aside, mine has included everything from the sudden and unexpected death of a dear friend to childhood cancer in the family to rejection from dream jobs to the break up of a serious relationship. And I’m tired. Tired enough that my brain started asking, “What’s the point?” 

In the last two months or so, so many small to medium-sized hardships just kept happening. It began to feel relentless. None of them were anyone’s fault, necessarily, and most were just perfectly reasonable and un-preventable circumstances, that also happened to make me miserable. 

My brain was asking “What’s the point?” often enough that at the suggestion of my therapist and doctor, I finally raised my dose of antidepressants, and after a week or so of adjusting, it’s made a wonderful difference. 

But the other thing that’s helped me is these sort of metaphorical mileposts. Moments when I could rest and refill before I carry on. Some have been planned—a massage, a haircut, a weekend getaway. Some were tiny things I chose in the moment. Looking up at the stars before I go inside, after coming home from Door Dashing. Opening a window to listen to birdsong or rainfall. Letting my body sleep when it needs to sleep. 

But some of the most beautiful mileposts were ones that were unexpected gifts. A late night text conversation about travel and magic and tarot readings. A friend stopping by unexpectedly—sitting in the sun and talking for an hour about art and how our bodies hold stories. A book that unexpectedly captured my heart (I see you, “The Kiss Quotient” by Helen Hoang). A rehearsal where the actors are making beautiful discoveries and creating stunning moments. Moments of magic. The other day, I was waiting to pick up a Door Dash order in a Five Guys, and noticed a Pearl Jam song playing over the speakers. As I got back into my car, my iTunes on shuffle, I thought “I wish my iTunes would shuffle to a Pearl Jam song” and immediately, my iTunes began playing “Wishlist” by Pearl Jam. 

There are times when the road trip we’re metaphorically on is so enjoyable that we don’t even notice how long we’ve been in the car, or that we’re in a car at all. And other times when it begins to feel relentless. When we start to wonder “What’s the point?” So on the long drive from Salt Lake City to Tucson, Arizona, I’m stopping at both Zion National Park and the Grand Canyon. I’m giving myself mileposts where I can rest and breathe and refill before I keep going. And the trip itself is a metaphorical milepost in the longer journey of this spring and summer, one with so many unknowns and a few quiet longings. 

I don’t think there’s one “right” way to go through difficult times. But I’ve discovered that for me, having mileposts helps to answer the question “What’s the point?” The point is a visit to see my mom and sister in Arizona in May. The point is that talk with T on the front patio. The point is theatre. The point is magic and starlight and the universe answering prayers in the form of songs shuffled on iTunes and good books. 

Some mileposts are solid and scheduled, like a second COVID vaccine dose or a roadtrip. But the more I look for them, the more I see mileposts to give me strength day to day. And even though it’s cheesy, I thank the universe for them. 

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.

Flash Fiction: "Self Help"

 A "dive" into some fiction today, which I don't spend enough time writing. I found and polished up this old story from one of my MFA classes. At the time, I was interested in the idea of self-help gone awry, and the prompt I was given for class was "swimming pool." 

"Self Help"

Laura Lundquist did not have a swimming pool. 

She lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment, ten minutes away from the marketing firm where she worked. She had no dog, no cat, and no houseplants. She spent her evenings watching documentaries and foreign films, and trying new recipes, the results of which often languished in her fridge for weeks before she threw them out.

Walking into her apartment after work, the July heat radiating on her skin and hair, Laura imagined slipping out of her clothes and into the cool chlorine of Noah’s pool. She’d dangled her feet in it at last year’s work party, and he had smiled at her briefly, as she sat alone. She spent that afternoon watching him, and trying to hide the fact that she was watching him, and trying to figure out whether or not he was watching her. The hairs on the back of her arms stood up whenever he walked close by. 

Perhaps his invitation hadn’t been personal. Laura was a part of the head count. Noah just happened to be hosting that year’s work BBQ, and they happened to work together. Still. She felt hypnotized by the way the sunlight glistened on his warm arms, or how the water gathered on the hairs near his ankles. When he laughed, it was like firecrackers in her lungs…joyful and suffocating all at once. 

When it all became too blinding, she’d stood up from the side of the pool and quietly walked into the house. In the bathroom, she had pulled open drawers, peeked into the cabinets. She had categorized the inventory of his private life. Old Spice High Endurance Pure Sport Deodorant. Colgate whitening toothpaste. A razor that needed cleaning. All of these intimate things. Answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask. 

With music playing distantly outside, and the chatter of co-workers on the back porch, she had quietly opened doors until she found his bedroom. She’d run her hands along the row of clean shirts in his closet, and sat gingerly on his bed. For a few brief moments, she laid back with her legs dangling over the edge, his comforter had been cool beneath her as she’d stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, her arms stretched out to either side.

In the office, he never looked up from his desk when she walked past. But she had seen him, four desks down, slip his shoes off as he worked. She watched him twirl a pen between his fingers as he bent down over his sketchpad. She’d seen his lunch in the office fridge. 

It was late July now, weeks since that party at Noah’s house. Laura closed the apartment door behind her and pulled her dress over her head. She kicked her shoes off as she walked to the bedroom. Her sheets were cool on her back as she stared at the ceiling. She ran her hand along her neck. 

What she wanted was to swim in Noah’s pool. She wanted to come home to that backyard. She imagined him sitting with his feet dangling in the water, smiling at her as the water cooled her limbs. She imagined that he would ask her about the book she was reading, and if Marie from accounting was still ignoring her emails. And all of the thoughts that Laura had tumbling through her head would have a second home in Noah, and she would be able to breathe again. She would drown, smiling, in his love. 

Laura’s mother thought that Laura was depressed, because “she never went out and didn’t have any friends.” Laura replied that she liked being home and had friends at work. Laura arrived home one day to a package from her mother, containing four different types of vitamins, two DVDs of “guided positive affirmations,” and a book called “Taking Charge of Your Life: Going For (And Getting) What You Want.” 

In late August, Laura made her decision.

His back gate was unlocked. Laura stepped into the back yard and walked to the edge of the pool. She stepped out of her shoes and pulled her shirt over her head. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall, unhooked her bra, and stepped out of her underwear. 

She took a deep breath, and jumped into the blue-green, undulating water. Laura floated there, her face tilted to the sky, her arms making lazy circles. 

She didn’t hear the gate unlatch. So she was startled when she heard the voice she had been imagining. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

photo credit: Charlotte Astrid

“I am to wait, though waiting so be hell." --William Shakespeare, Sonnet 58

“I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises.” 

--Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2

I know we’re all sick of the pandemic, but I don’t know what else to write about. It touches almost every aspect of my life right now. I feel myself in a sort of uncomfortable limbo…I’m living in suspended animation and I do not like it. I have all of these goals, for my career, for my finances, for my art, for my LIFE, and all of them are temporarily on hold because of this goddamn virus. 

I’ve applied to one particular job that would start in the fall, and it would literally be a dream come true to get it. But they haven’t begun interviews for it yet (that I know of), and I know they’re busy managing pandemic-related challenges at the moment, and so I wait, though waiting so be hell. 

I also applied to different temp job, assisting with vaccine site coordination, and it pays literally 4x what my current job pays, and it would be doing something to help end the pandemic. When I spoke to them last week, they said they were 95% sure I was going to be selected for the next group, but I haven’t heard from them yet. And so I wait, though waiting so be hell. 

I have my fingers crossed for travel to see family, hopefully this fall. But it’s all dependent on the pandemic and whether or not we’re all vaccinated and how safe travel is in general. And we won’t really know the answers to those things until later this summer, or maybe fall. And so I wait, though waiting so be hell. 

I also find myself longing to spend time with friends. I’m generally pretty introverted, but all I want is to get together with a bunch of people and go out dancing, or have a party, or do karaoke, or sit around a bonfire and talk, or have a movie night. I want to hold and be held, and to sit in company of others I love. I did luck out in the people I’m sheltered at home with—A and K are magnificent humans. It’s just that I long for others, too. But the general public probably won’t get vaccinated for another several months, and it’s not safe to gather until then. And so I wait, though waiting so be hell. 

And oh, how I miss live theatre! I miss rehearsals, and blocking, and greenroom laughter, and dressing room talks, and making discoveries in a scene, and the energy that crackles between the audience and performers. I’ve found myself longing for my old Playmill summer-stock days lately. What a dream to sing and dance and act, 13 times a week, for months on end, in such a beautiful place. If someone offered me the chance to safely do “Seven Brides” or “Joseph” at the Playmill again, I would do it in a heartbeat. But doing live theatre, without masks or distancing, simply isn’t safe right now. We need to wait on vaccination. And so I wait, though waiting so be hell. 

There are a few other tangible things I can’t do anything but wait for. My tax refund. Another possible stimulus payment (we’re waiting, Congress!). I’m waiting for spring, when we can plant things and continue our yardwork projects. We’re doing some re-organizing at AOTC and I want it to be finalized so I can get going on whatever my job ends up being. 

And there are other, more intangible things that only time will give me. Healing from recent heartbreaks. Processing old traumas. Breaking old patterns and building new ones. I feel like those are in progress, which helps lift some of my anxiety about this time of waiting, but because that progress isn’t quite tangible, it can be hard to notice. 

On Sunday night, I drove around West Valley and Taylorsville and sang the entire soundtrack to “Reefer Madness” because I felt like I was going to lose my mind if I was in my house for one more minute. It did help…I may have to do it dozens more times with other soundtracks until something in my life is certain again. 

But in the mean time, I wait, though waiting so be hell.

Short Imagined Monologue: Open Mic Night

POV: You’re at an open mic night, where one average guy from your office is doing a stand up routine for maybe the fourth time in his life. 

(I’m aware that in this imagined mid-pandemic situation, no one should be at an open mic night or a bar, so please feel free to picture everyone as masked and distanced and also feel free to ignore the inconsistencies of jokes about a pandemic alongside jokes about working alongside each other in an office.)  

Hey guys, I’m ___. Shout out to my co-workers for supporting me here tonight. I put flyers up all over the office, and now that co-workers actually showed up, I’m wishing I’d prepared some jokes, ha ha. My boss is here. Hi, Sharon. I promise it wasn’t me who ate your leftovers in the breakroom, ha ha ha. Debbie, I’ll reply to your email in the morning, ha ha. 

The problem with having your co-workers come to see you at an open mic night is that you’ll have to see them again every day afterwards. And if you bomb, they’ll know. At least they’re a little drunk, so maybe it’ll be fine…Looking at you, Rob! Easy there, big fella.  

Let’s see…uh…2020, amiright? Thank god we made it through that year. And thank god it’s now 2021, and everything is totally different! Ha ha. 

That was supposed to be ironic. 

Anyways. Let’s see…um…

It has been a rough year. We’ve got the COVID thing going on. I swear if COVID was a font, it would be comic sans. No one really likes it, it’s really annoying, and we’ve all been told to avoid it, but it keeps showing up everywhere, amiright? And it seems to show up most often with old people, too. Both COVID and comic sans have that in common, ha ha ha. 

No offense, Julie—your company emails are great, and I don’t mind your font choices, ha ha. But may I suggest a simple Helvetica now and then? Maybe a solid Garamond? Mix a sans serif with a script font for that classy look, ha ha ha ha. 

A little typeface humor for you there. 

Okay, what else, what else…

So…okay…um…so the vaccine! They first gave the vaccine to an English guy named William Shakespeare. A couple hundred years too late, amiright?! * ba-dum-chhhhhh * But seriously, the guy’s name is William Shakespeare. He must get shit all the time. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” “To be or not to be.” “I liked your early stuff better!” What a pain. 

Speaking of pain, I bumped into my coffee table the other day and got a big bruise, but the worst part about the whole thing is that after I bumped into it, I apologized to the coffee table. I’ve been stuck in my house so long that I’ve started to think of furniture as my roommates. That coffee table has just as much of a right to the living room as I do, ha ha. The coffee table doesn’t pay a dime of rent, but it’s usually pretty easy to get along with, ha ha ha ha.  

Okay, um…let me see…one minute left…one minute left…

It’s too bad I can’t be this good at keeping track of time at the office, amiright, guys? I am lucky I still have a job during these unprecedented times. At least I hope I still do, right, Sharon? Ha ha. I don’t think you can fire me for my stand up. I’ll have to talk to Tina in HR, ha ha ha. 

Um…lemme think…I recently got my stimulus check. It was nice to have a little extra money. I was able to use half of it to pay about a week’s worth of rent, and then I used the rest to pay off 0.3% of my student loans. I think it made a big difference. I really felt a financial burden lift. Maybe someday I’ll be able to afford healthcare. Thanks, Congress! Ha ha ha. 

Oh, man, Congress. So this attack on the Capitol, right? Pretty intense. I mean, these guys looked ridiculous back when they were carrying tiki torches, but this was next level. Most of the photos from that day look like bad publicity shots for a Village People album. Some of those guys did look pretty angry, though. They were maybe one pitchfork away from getting their asses kicked by a bunch of enchanted furniture. 

I tell ya. It’d all be so much funnier if it wasn’t real. 

Okay, that’s it for me. I’m ___, have a great night everyone! 

Looking forward

(photo credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/dpetrus/)

I have a tendency to look backwards in time. To be fair, this is partly because the past has already been written. I can go back and look at old journal entries and photos and news stories and remember what happened. The future contains all these question marks. And if 2020 has taught me anything, it’s that there are more question marks than I ever thought. 

I do think there’s value in looking backwards now and then. You can remind yourself of things you learned, or see patterns you didn’t notice at the time. And I’m a sucker for nostalgia in general. 

But in this strange time of suspended animation, I find that looking into the past is a little bit painful sometimes. Much of my nostalgia is tinged with faint heartbreak nowadays. I don’t think it will always be that way, but when I find myself looking backwards, it’s with an ache of longing for things that are impossible right now. 

So I’ve decided to look forward to those “impossible” things instead. 

I may not be able to do many of these things for months, or even a year. But here’s what I’m looking forward to in the future. 

I’m looking forward to sitting in an IHOP with my laptop open, writing a blog or a poem or a script. I’ll order a second hot chocolate, and now and then I’ll notice the song that’s playing and smile. I’ll try to avoid getting syrup on my keyboard and will somehow fail, and it will be completely worth it. 

I’m looking forward to having friends over, and laying my head on someone’s shoulder and laying my legs over someone else’s lap. We’ll see each other’s entire faces, and we’ll bump into each other as we go to get another drink or snack from the kitchen. We’ll squeeze a hand or shoulder affectionately as we pass by one another, or mid-conversation. 

I’m looking forward to sitting in an airport, after hurriedly gathering my coat and shoes and laptop from the TSA bins that get re-stacked in that tense chaos. I’ll get a chocolate croissant and some fruit from Starbucks and then go sit by my gate with a book. On the plane, I’ll drink a ginger ale and do part of a crossword puzzle and then fall asleep, and be a little groggy and hungry when I land wherever I’m going. 

I’m looking forward to going to a movie theatre and paying way too much money for a giant bucket of popcorn and a gallon of soda. I’ll consume at least half of it during the 28 minutes of trailers before the movie starts. After the credits, I’ll walk into the parking lot and look up at the sky and the world will seem a little bright after the darkness of the theatre. 

I’m looking forward to standing in line for the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, avoiding the diamonds in the floor and hoping one of us gets to sit in the driver’s seat. I’m looking forward to the brackish smell of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and churros and lemonade, and my feet being absurdly sore from walking around the parks all day. 

I’m looking forward to sleeping on friends’ couches. To driving a few hours to someone’s house, then talking late into the night, and then being woken up by friends’ children in the morning, wanting to play. 

I’m looking forward to visiting someplace I’ve never been to before. I’ll take the afternoon or evening and wander on my own, with no plan—just exploring whatever I come across. Maybe I’ll walk along a beach in the moonlight, or stumble upon a gallery or historical site, or people-watch at a park. 

I’m looking forward to going to concerts. To being packed into a huge stadium with a stressful amount of people and blissfully yelling lyrics along with whoever’s onstage, or packed into some small venue somewhere where the music is loud enough to make the cartilage in your nose vibrate. 

I’m looking forward to visiting family. To holding the people dear to me, and eating food together, and talking for an hour or two afterwards. I’ll try to be extra helpful with the chores, to make up for all my teenage years spent at rehearsal instead of sweeping the kitchen.   

I don’t think life will ever completely go back to “the way it was.” I kind of hope it doesn’t. I don’t see how it could. But I think all of these experiences that I’ve been thinking about—travel, time with loved ones, communal art—will all be a little sweeter after this time. 

I look forward to finding out. 

Hold, please

You may have noticed some radio silence on the blog lately--Beckah and I haven't been doing our Sister Blog Challenge. But that's because life got kind of insane...it's been very little for months and months and now it's suddenly filled with full-time jobs and directing gigs and filmed theatre and small theatre marketing and online classes and Inktober and NaNoWriMo planning and yoga and tax season. 

So we'll be back. It'll just be a minute. 

Breathe

“I need another short breather,” I say. 

 

Patrick stops a few steps ahead of me. “No worries,” he says. “We’re in no rush.” 

We’re standing in the shade, halfway through the first ¼ mile of this hike, which has a 600-foot elevation gain. I lean forward and put my hands on my knees as my lungs struggle to gulp enough air. 

“Don’t let me forget my inhaler ever again,” I say. 

 I’ve only had my inhaler for a few months, so I never remember to bring it anywhere. I got it after I realized that my lungs were consistently tight after going on walks in spring. My lungs often felt tight in spring in general. But this time, my lungs felt tight in early spring when I was going on daily walks in an effort to stave off the madness of quarantine. (The albuterol prescription also helped alleviate my anxiety about having COVID-19. If the inhaler helped, it meant I was negative for the disease?) 

“Okay,” I say, once my lungs stop burning. “I’m ready.” We walk slowly, setting a deliberate pace. I glance around at the aspens, the rocks, the wildflowers. I take a sip of water. My head has begun to ache. Not enough oxygen. Not enough hydration. 

I put one foot in front of the other. I’ll probably be a little sore tomorrow. If I had marched yesterday, I would be sore today too. But yesterday, we stayed in the car, honking the horn, blasting Childish Gambino’s “This Is America,” participating in a drive-by protest of police brutality. 

I wish there was a phrase other than “drive-by.” 

My muscles and bones and lungs and heart carry me up the mountain. They’re carrying a lot for me nowadays. 

How it felt to dance in the blinding heat, a few hundred of us in the streets, dance-dancing for the revolution, blocks away from the District Attorney’s office. How it felt to lay on the hot pavement in front of the governor’s mansion, face-down, gravel pressing into my knees, for eight minutes and forty-six seconds. The burn in my feet and knees as we walked up the long hill to the Capitol building. I forgot my inhaler that day, too. 

Patrick and I pace ourselves, a slow and steady climb to the lake. When we get there, the light glints off the water, and the grass is wet and cool at its edges. The sky is blue blue blue, the leaves on the aspens twirling in the breeze. 

It feels good to be outside. I temporarily took Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter off my phone yesterday. I’ve recently found myself caught in an endless cycle of bad mental health, which I try to alleviate with social media, but social media makes it worse. So I’m doing a “fast” for a few days, even though I’m always judgmental when other people do that. Just have some f***ing self-control, I always think. Or, If you think social media sucks that much, I think you just have crappy friends. 

But I also apparently lack self-control. And it’s not that social media sucks, or that I have crappy friends. It’s that I mostly have passionate, empathetic, and compassionate friends who are constantly fighting for justice and equity and it’s beautiful and also somehow exhausting, and then I have a few friends who keep doing theatre and having social gatherings without masks and it is NOT beautiful and it is definitely exhausting. (The pandemic is not over, my friends. You are endangering everyone around you and prolonging hardship for yourself and your entire community, my friends.) 

And I’m exhausted by strangers stopping me to discuss how “not all police are bad” because they see the sign on my car. I’m exhausted by people telling me that Black Lives Matter is a terrorist organization. I’m exhausted by editing my resume for every remote job posting that I find on ZipRecruiter. I’m exhausted by not being able to breathe when I walk up a mountain. I’m exhausted by calling the DA’s office every day to ask that the life sentence charges be dropped against protestors. I’m exhausted by the steady and relentless heat of this corner of the planet, and by the wildfires that blur the skies for days on end, and by my dwindling savings account. 

So I’m taking a break. I’m taking a break, knowing that my whiteness is part of what allows me to take a break. But I'll be back to do the good work eventually. I just need a few moments. 

A few moments to just breathe.

For the Strength Of Youth I Wish I'd Had

Growing up in the LDS Church, I had a small booklet that guided me through my teenage years. "The Strength of Youth" helped me define my standards in every aspect of my life, with more detail added in subsequent editions. 

But my views have changed quite a bit since those days. I'm grateful for the guidance this book gave me, but they also led me to be judgmental, both of myself and others. They perpetuated harmful ideas about race, class, gender, and "worthiness." In my adult years, there have been times when I wish I'd had some different version of these standards--something to give me guidance without making things so black and white. I know teenage brains don't always handle nuance as well, but I'm pretty sure most of them can do better than we give them credit for. 

So I decided to write my own version of "For the Strength of Youth." The kind I wish I'd had, and the kind I wish was available to youth today. Many of you may be scandalized that I'm taking something written by Church leaders and re-writing it, and I understand if your feelings are hurt by that. But it was just such a convenient format to encapsulate these ideas. 

Some of the language has remained, some has been adjusted. I've tried to keep the same general tone, for simplicity. 

You can read the full current "For the Strength of Youth" standards from the LDS Church here, but here are the sections: 

Agency and Accountability 

Dating 

Dress and Appearance

Education (changed to "Education and Learning")

Entertainment and Media 

Family (removed) 

Friends (changed to "Compassion and Empathy")

Gratitude (removed) 

Honesty & Integrity (removed) 

Language (IMPORTANT NOTE: SPECIFIC OFFENSIVE WORDS ARE WRITTEN IN THIS SECTION TO GIVE TEENAGERS THE KNOWLEDGE THEY NEED) 

Music and Dancing (removed) 

Physical and Emotional Health 

Repentance (removed) 

Sabbath Day Observance (removed) 

Service (removed) 

Sexual Purity (changed to "Sexuality and Gender")

Tithes and Offerings (removed) 

Work and Self-Reliance (changed to "Financial Responsibility")

ADDED: Good Citizenship

Go Forward with Faith (changed to "Go Forward with Hope and Courage"

Agency and Accountability

Freedom of thought, speech, and action is one of the most precious aspects of being a human being. Do not let others coerce you into thinking, feeling, or being anything other than what you wish. Develop and use critical thinking skills.

Note that while you are free to choose your course of action, you are not always free to choose the consequences. Sometimes your words or actions may hurt others. When that happens, acknowledge their pain, offer an apology, and make restitution.

Do not infringe upon the right of others to think, speak, and act as they wish. If you disagree with them, speak out rather than silencing others.

Dating

A date is a planned activity that allows people to get to know each other. In cultures where dating is acceptable, it can help you learn and practice social skills, develop friendships, have fun, and eventually find a romantic companion if you wish.

Be kind and courteous when you ask for, accept, or decline a date. Never coerce anyone into a date. This is especially important for young men. Rejection is often painful, but “no” does not mean “try harder.” Learn to respect another person’s desires, especially those of young women. Young women, do not feel obligated to say yes to anything that makes you feel unsafe or uncomfortable. You may decline any dates, dances, and/or conversations that you wish to.

Be honest in your interactions with others, and do not play “hard to get.” This only reinforces the false idea that “no” means “try harder.”

Remember that dates don’t have to be expensive or elaborate. Find ways to enjoy time together in situations that are safe, both physically and emotionally.

Dress and Appearance

Your body is a powerful tool to help you accomplish things during your life on earth.

Some may have you think that the way you dress affects the thoughts and feelings of those around you, and that you are responsible for helping them maintain "pure thoughts" by keeping certain parts of your body covered. This is not true. You cannot control the thoughts and feelings of those around you. Furthermore, if the way someone is dressed affects your thoughts and feelings, those thoughts and feelings are your own responsibility. This is true regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

In many cultures, a great deal of emphasis is placed on appearance, whether it be weight, skin tone, height, or other features. But your body’s primary function is not to be looked at. Rather, your body’s primary function is to experience life on earth. Celebrate the positive things your body can do, instead of what others may think of how it looks.

Avoid making disparaging remarks about appearance, whether your own or someone else’s. If others make disparaging remarks about your own appearance, try to have patience and compassion and remember that their opinion does not change your inherent worth.

Education and Learning

Education is an empowering force to better prepare you for greater service in the world. It will help you better provide for yourself, your family, and those in need. But more importantly, it will help you be wise and thoughtful in your every day life.

If you are able to obtain a formal education, make college a goal. If college is not a good fit or an attainable option, strive to find ways to educate yourself on your own. Seek out as many different perspectives as you can, and study even those you disagree with.

Maintain an enthusiasm for learning throughout your life. Find joy in continuing to learn and in expanding your interests. 

Do not worry too much about whether or not your formal education will help you be “successful” or “rich.” Be mindful of what your life may look like in various careers, but pursue the things that ignite your passion.  

Entertainment and Media

We live in a marvelous time of media—video games, television, film, theatre, dance, music, books, magazines, social media, podcasts, websites, and more. There is much that will help you gain greater empathy and understanding, and/or that will allow you a respite from your troubles.

Use wise judgement in choosing what media you consume. Pay attention to the messages surrounding sexuality, violence, culture, and the human experience. When there is violence, how do the characters experience the consequences? When there is sexuality, how does it inform the characters or plot? How does the media you consume break or perpetuate harmful stereotypes? It takes practice to learn how to answer these questions, but if you are uncertain, talk it out with others. If you feel that your empathy is lessened because of the media you are consuming, shift your use.

When using social media, be compassionate to others, even when you disagree with them. Never say anything on the internet that you wouldn’t be willing to say in person.

You may have been told to avoid pornography at all costs, and that viewing it is addictive. This is not necessarily true, but be aware that pornography is not an accurate representation of human sexuality.

Think of a high speed car chase in a movie. Because you have likely ridden in or driven a car, you know that the car chase you’re witnessing onscreen is the high-adrenaline version of driving. Pornography is like that high speed car chase. It may normalize things that are violent or unrealistic. If you are curious about sexuality, ask a trusted adult for resources.

Also be aware that there is a great deal of abuse within the pornography industry. Be as ethical as you can be in your choices of what to consume. 

Compassion and Empathy

In order to participate in society, you must learn to practice compassion for those around you. Work to be patient, to give others the benefit of the doubt, and to nurture empathy within yourself. These things will help you have more meaningful connections and help you be an influence for good in the world.

These traits are also deeply important in your relationships with friends and family. This does not mean that you need to remain in situations that are harmful, or allow others to take advantage of you. Boundaries allow you to show compassion for yourself and others equally. 

Language

How you communicate should reflect who you are as a person. Use your words to uplift, encourage, articulate, and question. Do not use your words to bully, insult, demean, harass, or threaten others, whether in person or in writing. Even in teasing, sometimes using unkind words can have painful effects.

Never use words that are sexist, racist, homophobic, or ableist, or that perpetuate discrimination of any kind. For the purposes of education, examples of these kinds of words include: nigger (if you are not Black), wetback, chink, lame, fag/faggot, retard/retarded, kike, gay (when used to describe something disliked).

If someone asks you to refrain from using certain words around them, respect their request. Always use the correct names and pronouns for those around you. 

Physical and Emotional Health

Caring for your body will help you enjoy a fulfilling life.

Eat nutritious food, exercise regularly, and get regular sleep. Others may attempt to convince you that if you are above a certain weight, you are unhealthy. But know that weight is only one very small part of overall health, and that you are valuable and worthy and can be healthy no matter what your shape, size, or weight.

In your teenage years, it’s important to be sparing and mindful in your use of alcohol, cannabis, and other drugs. You may be curious, but these substances can having lasting effects on brain development. It’s best to wait until you are older to consume or experiment with these things. (Do not ever “huff” glue or other household chemicals, as these practices can cause immediate death, even if you’ve never tried this practice before.)

Your brain and nervous system are also important parts of your body, and should also receive care. Yoga, mindfulness, and cognitive-behavioral therapy can all help you maintain a healthy nervous system and process your emotions. You can learn these things from classes, apps, books, or YouTube channels. 

Seek professional help for prolonged/consistent feelings of sadness or anxiety, distressing thoughts, and/or unresolved trauma.

You deserve wholeness and wellness, in both body and mind.

Sexuality and Gender

Sexuality is an important part of being human. Sexual dreams, arousal, and masturbation are some of the ways that humans experience sexuality before they share their sexuality with another person, and they continue throughout one's lifetime. 

How, where, when, why, and with whom you share your sexuality with others is completely up to you. However, in all sexual experiences with others, make sure you have the “three C’s”: Consent, Communication, and Contraception.

Consent is agreement to participate in any sexual activity and/or intimate touch. Consent must be given freely and enthusiastically, and can be withdrawn at any time. It may feel awkward to ask permission or check in, but it is absolutely vital, especially if you aren’t as practiced at reading body language or other social cues. Never do anything violent (such as slapping or choking) as part of your sexuality until and unless you have learned about proper consent and after-care.

Communication also takes practice, but being clear about expectations, desires, triggers, preferences, and more will help you to have meaningful experiences. You are allowed to communicate if you do or don’t like something, and you are allowed to ask for something you want.

Unless you are trying to become pregnant, make sure you use contraception to protect against unwanted pregnancies and infections. Condoms are often the cheapest and most effective options if there is a penis involved. Clinics like Planned Parenthood often have free resources with detailed information about contraception, and often carry free condoms.

Know that there is nothing you could do or have done to you that would make you “dirty,” “shameful,” or unworthy in any way. Women are often made to feel that their worth is dependent on how they experience or share their sexuality. To you young women: You are not a bad girl, or a good girl. You are simply a girl.

If you have experienced sexual assault, violence, or harassment (anything that happened without your consent), there is help for you. Reach out to a trusted adult, close friend, or hotline.

Sexual orientation is who you are most attracted to. You may be gay/lesbian (attracted to your own gender), straight (attracted to the binary opposite gender), bisexual (attracted to both binary genders), pansexual (attracted to people regardless of their gender), asexual (not attracted to anyone), or still figuring it out. People can even change throughout their lifetimes! None of these are superior or more normal than any other. 

Gender identity has to do with your own gender. Many people are “cisgender,” which means that they identify with the gender they were assigned at birth, based on their genitals. Many others are “transgender,” meaning that they identify more closely with the opposite gender from the one they were assigned, or that they identify with both or neither. How you dress or speak or look can sometimes show the world things about your gender, but they don’t have to.

Regardless of your sexual orientation or gender identity, you are valued and loved. You have much to contribute to the world. Find connections with friends and loved ones who celebrate and respect you no matter what.

If you have more questions about sexuality, check out the following resources:

Unitarian Our Whole Lives Sexuality curriculum 

Planned Parenthood 

Financial Responsibility

No matter what your financial circumstances, be honest and diligent in your financial activities. Find a good budgeting system that works for you, and practice saving if possible. If you have extra money that you do not need for yourself or don't wish to save, consider how you could use those funds to improve the lives of those around you, whether through donations to non-profits, gifts to friends, or supporting small local businesses.

Try to spend your money ethically when possible. You can “vote with your dollar” to show support for companies who prioritize fairness, equity, and sustainability.

Good Citizenship

If you live in a country where you are able to vote, register and use this powerful tool to be an influence for good in your community. Take time to be informed about the issues, both local and global, and find ways that you can contribute to the growth of humanity. Work for equity and fair treatment of all people.

Make an effort to live sustainably. You have a responsibility to help take care of this planet, and to use its resources wisely. Research and implement small steps to make a difference.

Go Forward with Hope and Courage

Each generation has an opportunity to learn from the previous generation, and then to go out and make the world better. Sometimes this is easy, and other times, it may be very challenging. But you are equipped with unique talents and interests, strengths and abilities, and you can be confident that you have something beautiful to contribute to the world.