Things I Have Loved About My 20s

I made a decision as a teenager to just enjoy my age, no matter what it was. I never wanted to be someone who pretended she was younger or older than she was...who turned "39" at every birthday after 40. I want to just embrace whatever age I am.

And now I'm approaching 30. I've got roughly a week and a half left of being 29, and then it will be September 8th, and I'll be leaving my twenties behind forever. And I find I don't even really have to try to embrace my age. I really enjoyed my twenties. I think I'll enjoy my thirties, too.

Of course, there are things about my twenties that I think I'll miss. Everything was a lot more dramatic throughout my twenties, it seems. Every decision was life-altering! Every love was a great love! Every friendship was an eternal friendship! Life was a non-stop adventure! As a Latter-day Saint, my adventures were probably pretty "vanilla." But I still had some good times, some of which are probably somewhat universal. Things like:

Staying up all night talking to someone, sleeping for a few hours after the sun rises, and then going to work/class despite the fact that you're barely awake.

Making plans with friends to visit a natural hot springs and then ending up in a casino on an Indian Reservation, in your bathing suits, during a blizzard. (No? Just me? Oh...)

Streaking. Flashing. Skinny-dipping. Almost anything involving nudity. I feel like it becomes less acceptable as you get older. Maybe it becomes more fun, though. I'll keep you posted. (I am, after all, naked, but not stupid...)

Making out with someone and then thinking, "Wait. Maybe that was stupid." (And usually being right.)

Eating really poorly, and totally getting away with it. I'm now almost 15 pounds heavier than I was when Jacob and I got married. My 24-year-old metabolism was working a lot better than my current one is.

Making mixed CDs and listening to them while taking long walks alone at night. I did this ALL THE TIME when I was at BYU-Idaho. I miss it sometimes, but I don't live in as safe a neighborhood nowadays. And I don't have quite the same need to go on those long walks now...I have less I need to figure out and ruminate on.

Having roommates. Sharing the bathroom, berating each other for not doing the dishes, making blanket forts, watching movies. And sharing clothes! Man, I miss having like 3 additional closets worth of clothes to choose from.

Not behaving like a responsible adult in stores--toy stores, grocery stores. This could mean both running around and being loud and obnoxious in general...it could also mean spending $40 on Nerf gun supplies. 

Being able to go out dancing, and having much more stamina than you will have later in life. 

Accepting bizarre circumstances without really questioning them. In my twenties, I made friends by wandering into their apartments at some point in the evening. I made friends by smearing chocolate on someone's face during a party.  

I feel like ages 20 - 29 is characterized by the thought, "Wait. How did I get here?" (Both literally and metaphorically.) I remember thinking that thought every now and then during college. It was rarely anything extraordinary, but it was sometimes odd enough that I'd think, "Wait. How did I end up at a grocery store at 11:57 at night with the saxophonist of this jazz combo, with a package of toilet paper and a bottle of sparkling cider in my arms?" Or, "Wait. How did I end up at a bonfire in the sand dunes with no shoes, along with this female drummer and some guy from Brazil named Luis?" Or, "Wait. How did I end up wandering through a graveyard after riding her on the back of this guy's motorcycle?" (All true stories, by the way.)

And there were also times when the question "How did I get here?" went a little deeper. Times when I thought, "How did I end up being kicked out of student housing and on academic probation?" Or "How did I get to be alone like this?" But they weren't all negative. There were times after Our Town rehearsals my freshman year, when I would sneak back into the theatre and stand on the empty stage, looking out at all the seats and thinking, "How did I get here? What wonderful thing could I have possibly done to be this lucky? That I get to do this?" Or when I would sit among laughing friends at the Dairy Queen after a Comic Frenzy show and think, "How did I get so many amazing people to be in my life? How could one person be so blessed, to be surrounded by such wonderful friends?"

And I still think those things now and then. As I move out of my twenties and into my thirties, I know there's still a lot of adventure, and a lot of good times, and a lot of bad times, and a lot of strange times ahead. But I feel like I've slowly been moving from turmoil to contentment.

So here's to my fourth decade on earth. I think it will be a good one.

#IStandWithPlannedParenthood

Anyone who follows me on Instagram probably saw this post from Tuesday night:

Here is the promised blog entry.

So for those who don't know, here's what's going on. I won't get into all the details--I encourage you to research on your own. But the reader's digest version is this: A conservative pro-life group called Center for Medical Progress recently went undercover and shot a bunch of surveillance type videos of Planned Parenthood executives discussing the sale of fetal tissue for medical research. They edited and released the videos, and everyone freaked out and then the governor of Utah decided that Planned Parenthood should stop receiving federal funds.

So on Tuesday, activists gathered on the front steps of the state capitol to show their support for Planned Parenthood with a press conference, a rally, speakers, signs and banners, and letters to the governor. And here's why I went and stood with Planned Parenthood too.

1. Because the Center for Medical Progress is less trustworthy than Planned Parenthood. 

Maybe I'm a little biased here. But I've done a lot of research, and here's what I've found.

After a lot of investigation, it seems that the Center for Medical Progress did some deceptive editing of their videos, which included everything from possibly fabricating specific statements, to using photographs of stillborn children without their parents' knowledge or consent.

Five states have completed investigations into Planned Parenthood's practices and have found no evidence of wrongdoing.

Furthermore, even if one or two executives of Planned Parenthood seem cavalier, they do not represent the organization as a whole.

And finally, you know...a "sting" like this one seems an awful lot like entrapment. Which, to me, seems just as worthy of ethical examination as abortion.*

2. Because fetal tissue research has improved the lives of millions. 

The idea of aborted fetal tissue being used for medical research might make you feel a little squeamish. That's okay. The idea of an IV makes me feel like I'm going to vomit.** But that feeling alone isn't enough to justify withholding federal funds.

Fetal tissue research has provided huge strides in developing treatment for AIDS, spinal cord injuries, molecular degeneration, and cancer. It has been key to developing vaccines for polio, rubella, varicella (chicken pox), Hepatitis A, ebola, and other diseases.

The process of obtaining fetal tissue through abortions is filled with checks and balances. A woman must finalize her decision to abort before tissue donation is discussed. The fetal tissue must be donated with the knowledge and consent of the patient. No financial profit can be made--any costs are associated with the storage and transportation of tissue. And, this is going to sound harsh or cold-hearted, but the reality is that fetal tissue donation makes good and positive and life-improving use of tissue that would otherwise simply be disposed of.

3. Because the issue of abortion is complicated. 

From an LDS perspective, abortion is actually kind of a complicated issue. The Church's official stance is that abortion isn't okay EXCEPT in cases of rape or incest or when the life of the mother is endangered. So...I see the Church's stance as sort of "limited pro-choice." In general, Church members are strongly discouraged from seeking abortions, but there are special cases in which it may be appropriate.

I don't think abortion will ever be a clear-cut issue as long as the point at which an embryo or a fetus becomes a "human being" is unclear. From an LDS perspective, the doctrine doesn't specify. The closest we have is a quote from Brigham Young, saying that the spirit enters the child's body when the mother feels it does. Which implies that it happens at a different time for every fetus. Which doesn't give any guidance as to when abortions should or shouldn't happen.

The sanctity of life is something I take very seriously. But that also includes the sanctity of a woman's life.

4. Because Planned Parenthood does amazing and important work. 

I am pro-choice. Please note that I am not necessarily pro-abortion. I do not think abortion should be used as a form of birth control. But Roe vs. Wade (the legalization of abortion in the US) was not the beginning of women getting abortions. It was the end of women dying from unregulated abortions. Abortion has existed since the beginning of recorded history. As long as unplanned or unwanted pregnancies exist, women will seek ways to abort. Providing safe and affordable and legal options keeps more women alive and healthy.

Here's what it truly comes down to. Know what causes abortions? (Hint: The answer is not access to abortions.) Unwanted and unplanned pregnancies. And know what causes unwanted and unplanned pregnancies? Lack of education. Lack of counseling. Lack of access to healthcare. Lack of access to birth control.

Abortion would be way less of an issue if we focused on comprehensive sex education, including consent, contraception, and the emotional factors of sex.

Abortion would be way less of an issue if we made contraception widely available and widely affordable. Telling people who can't afford it to "get a better job" or "get a better education" or "get better insurance" or "stop having sex" is ignoring the complexity of poverty and denying human beings reasonable and basic human desires.

Planned Parenthood provides all of the things that reduce unplanned and unwanted pregnancies. It is an organization that provides healthcare, counseling, advocacy, education, and outreach at little or no cost to the community members it serves. Medicaid, WIC, school health classes, and/or home environments cannot adequately replace this. Assuming that they can is a demonstration of privilege that not everyone has.

That's why I was there Tuesday night. That's why I sign petitions and write letters and blog. Because Planned Parenthood does so much good for so many people. To me, that's worth saving. And I'm glad that it's worth saving to at least 300 other Utahans, too.

* I'm not saying that entrapment is the same thing as abortion or the sale of fetal tissue. I'm just saying that both of them should be questioned, ethically speaking. 

** Again, I'm not saying IVs and aborted fetus tissue research are the same thing. I'm referring to the actual physical feeling of nausea that both might induce. 

Hearty August

The Utah State Charter School Board, after a lengthy battle, has decided to close Alianza Academy. Parents now have to scramble to try and enroll their kids elsewhere. Parents and staff all got the news at the same time--the email was sent out at 11 pm Wednesday night. Most of us found out on Thursday morning. As of Monday, August 22nd, I will be unemployed.

Thursday was both the second day of school, and the second to last day of school.

I witnessed every variation of every stage of grief. One teacher spent the day blasting music and handing out chocolate milk. Another teacher spent the morning sobbing. I've seen tears shed by parents, teachers, and students alike. I've allowed a mother of three young children to hold my hand and pray for me and for everyone at the school. I had one parent take all their frustration and anger out on me over the phone.

One of the hardest things is trying to explain to the kids WHY we're closing. How do you explain to a 9-year-old the complexities of educational organization? How do you explain enrollment requirements and per capita spending and politics and appeal processes? You can't. You just have to say, "The state of Utah decided to close our school."

It's strange...I felt so scattered on Thursday. Normally, I'm so clear-headed at work, but all day I found myself thinking, "Wait...what was I going to do?" I would open a drawer and couldn't remember what I was looking for. Even writing this felt scattered. I held back tears all day, came home for a good cry and found I didn't have it in me. I took a three-hour nap instead.

I feel like someone's taken a book away from me and closed it, long before I was finished reading.

It's bizarre to try to balance the logistics and emotions of all of this. I need to call Lifetouch and cancel our school pictures appointment. I need to hug this student who is sobbing in the hallway. I need to finish drafting this list of recommended charter schools. I need to counsel this parent on what comes next for their kids. And what do I do with all of these files? Do I start taking things down from the walls? What will happen to all the paper and staplers and colored pencils?

I've never had a close family member pass away. Not someone I've known deeply. So I have no idea if this is an apt comparison. But that's what the closing of Alianza feels like. Like the death of a loved one. And in many ways it is.

Alianza was something special. I knew it the first moment I stepped foot inside. Over half of our students came from low-income families. Many of them have learning disabilities. Many of them are minorities. Many of them struggle with behavior and academics. For so many students, Alianza was a last attempt at schooling. I fear that these students will fall through the cracks in other schools...they've got to just hold on to the confidence we've tried to give them.

They learned at their own pace. They did Shakespeare. They did music. They went on field trips to ballet performances and hands-on science museums. They did meditation. They engineered problem-solving inventions. They made films and took photos. They organized activities and made them happen. They created and choreographed modern dance numbers. And the oldest among them was only 14.

I have witnessed students go from volatile and hostile to soft-hearted and quick to smile. I have watched kids who hated reading and struggled through every word grow into avid readers, eager to find out what happens next, and working out definitions on their own. Students that would be eaten alive at any other middle school found that they could make friends easily at Alianza.

Alianza did so much for so many, but I think its strongest legacy is one of belonging. That's what Alianza gave students and teachers and staff and families. That's what Alianza gave me. Alianza Academy gave those who were part of it a sense of belonging. It was this family. Last school year, our campus had about 12 staff members and a little over 100 students. Every teacher knew every student's name and disposition. It's small for a school...small enough to feel like a family. Like any family, we had hard days and good days. We cried and laughed and got frustrated and were inspired by each other. We learned to read each other like family members do--when so-and-so needed space, and when so-and-so needed a candy bar.

I think that's why this is so hard. It's watching this family get broken up. This family that brought out the best in every one of its members, and that gave each of its members a place to belong.

So maybe that's the legacy that each of these family members can carry into the rest of the world. They can reach out and help others find belonging. On Thursday, one sweet parent said to me, "I'm thinking of a garden. Right now, all you can see is the dirt, but with time, it will be full of fruits and vegetables and flowers. Remember that this change can lead you to better things."

That's what I keep trying to hold on to. The reminder that sometimes a big shift like this can open your life up to something else amazing. That, in the words of Aunt Eller, the sweet and tender in life come as you're hearty through the tough times.

So Alianza, thank you for everything. Thank you for helping me grow into a better, more mindful, more patient, and more caring person. Thank you for introducing me to every student, every teacher, every parent. You are all extraordinary star stuff.

all photos via Deseret News

"You got to be hearty." --Aunt Eller

It's been an interesting week.

I actually wrote the first draft of this blog entry on the back of Thursday's sides, while waiting in between takes on the set of "Stepsister." The battery on my phone was dying, so that was out, and they were shooting 15 feet away from the talent holding area, so chatting was a no-go.

That day was my second day on set--the first was Monday. And lemme tell ya, that one day helped me understand why actors can get a reputation for being prima donnas. I didn't have a trailer, but I did have a private room (with a massage chair?!) with my name on the door. I ordered breakfast from catering and someone wearing an earpiece brought it to me in the makeup trailer. People kept asking me if I needed anything. Between takes, another person wearing an earpiece would hand me a water bottle with a straw...they would wipe the condensation off the bottle beforehand. And I was just this tiny part in this low-budget film. And I get that really, everything they do, they do for the movie, and not for me. But it felt bizarre.

I tried to be really polite and easy-going on set, in part because that's what good human beings do, and in part to remind myself to not take any of it for granted...that I wasn't entitled to any of it. Between filming on that set and doing a show at the Hale (where there are designated people to put on and take off my wig and a kitchen full of snacks), I have felt unreasonably spoiled.

Which, now that I think about it, has been a huge blessing. Because the last week or so felt kind of insane. I got new headshots. We had tech week. I got sick. I was filming for two days. I was working at Alianza, which is in the midst of preparing an appeal if we get put on the chopping block by the state of Utah, which we are in line to do. I had a video audition. "Oklahoma" opened on Wednesday, and Alianza starts classes a week later.

I realized the other day that I cried every single day the past week. Just from the emotional strain of it all. But in the words of Aunt Eller, "Ya cain't deserve the sweet n' tender in life less'n you're tough."

And my life IS filled with the sweet and tender. I GET TO DO WHAT I LOVE. Half of the things causing me stress last week were things that I have been hoping to do for my entire life. And among all the stress and strain, there have been some beautiful moments, too.

Friends holding me on a couch in the greenroom at the Hale, while I tried not to cry, feeling their arms around me as I confessed the things that were hurting me. Laughing with joy backstage and in the audience while fellow actors make astounding discoveries. An incomparable director hugging me and giving me compliments on my work that I could hardly believe were meant for me. Making new friends, and strengthening friendships with old ones. Gathering with co-workers at Alianza, even while we are settling down into the trenches to save our school.

Oh, and this came in the mail:

I'm eligible to join the Screen Actors Guild. (The union for screen actors.) I'm not going to join quite yet, because A) I ain't got the $3000 initiation fees and B) Utah is a "right to work" state, which means non-SAG actors can still get lots and lots of work, even on SAG projects. But it's still this amazing milestone, and I'm so excited to have reached it.

And "Oklahoma" is open! We made it! And we don't suck! And I finished this little project that I've been working on the entire rehearsal process--a little "making of video."



I was more nervous on opening night of "Oklahoma" than I have been for a very very long time. But it's a beautiful show, and everyone in it is wonderful, and I'm so glad to be a part of it.

If this blog is quiet for a while, it's because I'm trying to help open a charter school for a new school year/doing a show/auditioning for stuff. But I've got some sweet and tender in life to go along with the tough parts.

On the communion of art

We are "deep into the rabbit hole" of rehearsals for Oklahoma right now, and it's so much on my mind lately that I can't help but write about it. (NOTE: If you're not familiar with the script, this will contain a few "spoiler alerts," but everything I talk about here is common knowledge if you know the show.)

If you had told me that playing Aunt Eller would include some of the most challenging acting of my career, I would have raised my eyebrows at you and then dismissed the prediction. But in the hands of a good director, Oklahoma's deep truths demand the best damn acting of your life. And it's beautiful and exciting and terrifying and exhausting and wonderful.

The show's been around for 60 years, so a lot of people are familiar with it. But for those who aren't, here's a reader's digest summary of the main idea: Laurey is pursued by Curly, a cowboy, and Jud, the hired hand on the ranch where she lives with her Aunt Eller. Jud is an interesting character, and he can be played as a psychopath, a child-like "simpleton," or a misogynistic drunk...the script leaves a lot open, and there are lots of ways to interpret this character. In our production, he is much more sympathetic--a man made awful because of how he's been treated...a Shylock who will execute the villainy he has been taught. Aunt Eller is the only person who sees him as a human being, treats him well, and cares about him. I'm blessed to be able to work with a close friend from Playmill 2013, Squire, who is playing Jud, and he's a phenomenal actor.

And because he's a phenomenal actor, it makes certain moments in the play heartbreaking and so so so difficult to act. Last night, we rehearsed the "auction" scene, where Jud shows up and bids everything he has in the world for the chance to be with Laurey. The scene itself is powerful, but after we rehearsed it once, we were re-setting to run it again, and Squire handed me two small broken pieces of a fake coin. It was just something he handed me while we were all tidying up and resetting, but because of the scene we had just rehearsed, I looked at those little broken coins and felt like crying. WE WEREN'T EVEN REHEARSING IN THAT MOMENT.

(If you're not familiar with the show and don't want even more spoiler alerts, stop reading now.)

And Jud's tragedy doesn't end with the auction scene. It's only a few scenes later that he falls on his own knife in a fight with Curly.

I keep thinking of an article I read a few years ago in The Guardian, called "Being an actor? I'll bet you think 'I could do that.'" There's a line in it where the author says, "How does it feel to rehearse a scene in which I am being interrogated by the police as a suspected pederast? Well, on a good day, when it all comes together and everyone is firing on all cylinders, it feels like I was interrogated by the police as a suspected pederast. And then I get on the bus and I practice lines in my head and play out scenes in my mind, grimacing, and as I notice that people around me are staring at me, I realise that I am in floods of tears. That is the job."

So how does it feel to rehearse a scene where someone you care about, drunk and angry and hurt, fight someone else you care about, and then fall on his own knife? How does it feel to rehearse a scene where you're crouching beside someone you care about, holding your hand over the wound in their stomach, brushing the hair away from their face and looking into their eyes and telling them it will be okay and hoping to God you're not lying? IT FEELS LIKE YOU'RE CROUCHING BESIDE SOMEONE YOU CARE ABOUT, HOLDING YOUR HAND OVER THE WOUND IN THEIR STOMACH, BRUSHING THE HAIR AWAY FROM THEIR FACE AND LOOKING INTO THEIR EYES AND TELLING THEM IT WILL BE OKAY AND HOPING TO GOD YOU'RE NOT LYING.

And that's not easy to do.

There are all kinds of philosophies of acting. To me, it boils down to this "feel it or don't" kind of spectrum:

Way over on one side, you've got the school of acting that says it doesn't matter if you "feel it," just ACT it. Just PRETEND. Don't get into some deep psychological pit and demand that you feel everything. 

And way over on the other side is the sort of "method" way of doing things...to FEEL everything, and as you do, the audience/camera will see it and feel it too.

My own acting philosophy is always growing and changing, and I think the acting style depends on the project. But in general, I usually fall somewhere around here:

For this particular project, I'm a little closer to the "feel it" side of the spectrum than usual...just because this director prefers that kind of honesty for this project, and because lately I've been trying to be "braver" in my acting and move towards that feel it side in my work anyway. I tend to "hide" behind the kind of techniques people use to pretend...a quirky voice, or a way of standing, or a certain gesture. I felt for a while like my work wasn't honest and therefore not effective. Of course, it's not an actor's job to "feel it"...their job is to make the audience feel it. But for me, I feel I can do that best when I feel things myself.

In an acting class a little while ago, the teacher pointed out that while acting is therapeutic, it is NOT therapy. When you start to use acting in a production as a way to work through your own problems, you become selfish and indulgent. Acting can be very effective therapy, but a production is neither the time nor the place. I'm always afraid of becoming that indulgent actor--the one who goes "so deeply" into character that they cut themselves off from everyone else, onstage and off. But there are also times when the work feels bigger than I am.

There's a moment in the show, just a very brief moment, when Aunt Eller is alone onstage, and simply sits in the rocking chair and processes everything that has happened. In rehearsal last night, there was a moment during that scene when I began to feel overwhelmed. It was terrifying, and I couldn't quite figure out why it was happening.

After rehearsal, the director came up to me and gave me a smile and a thumbs up and asked me "How did that feel?" I said, "Good. Scary." He asked, "Feeling like...'stuff is coming up, stuff is coming up'?" "YES," I replied. Because that was simply the most accurate description. I think the "stuff" I was starting to experience was my own set of fears and sorrows and shame. AND I DIDN'T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO SEE THEM. Because they're ugly. Because they're messy. Because they will show how ugly and messy I am.

The actress Rosalind Russell once said that "Acting is standing naked and turning around very slowly." Early in the rehearsal process, there was a night where a few of us were chatting with the director and this quote came up. He said, "I always tell people, if you're not willing to do that, you've got to get out and find something else to do with your life."

There is a danger in that kind of exposure. The human psyche is fragile, and should be cared for with as much tenderness and possible. But at the same time, if you choose to and are willing to do it, that kind of exposure--showing your fears and your sorrows, metaphorically "standing naked and turning around very slowly," can be one of the most powerful and beautiful experiences available to humanity. Because when it's done truly and honestly and bravely, we can connect as human beings in a way unique to theatre and film. Actors may hold out handfuls of messy, ugly gunk, certain that every other person in the room will look at it and say, "You're disgusting. You are worthless. You have failed." But far more often, every other person in the room looks down at their own handfuls of messy, ugly gunk and think, "I am not alone. I have that too. I know what that is. And if you can hold it without being destroyed, I can, too."

That's why I keep doing this. That's why I go to rehearsals night after night, why I spend hours memorizing lines, why I buy fake eyelashes and character shoes, why I stand under the lights. For that communion. For that moment when human beings see the ugliness in each other and themselves and realize that they can be better.

If ever I actually feel truly unsafe, if ever I'm in a place where my psyche is truly in danger, I will step away until I'm whole enough again to continue. Too many actors have laid their own wholeness down on the altar of this work--Judy Garland, Heath Ledger, Marilyn Monroe, Philip Seymour Hoffman. I do not want to get to a point where I have to escape into something else to make this work do-able. But I am willing to feel a little scared, or exhausted, or sad, if it helps someone else see something beautiful, or realize something important. That's what all art is about, I think. And it's beautiful.

The Art Assignment: Stacked Books

Almost two months until my birthday, and I'm almost done with my "9 Things To Do While 29." One of those goals is to complete three "Art Assignments." The Art Assignment is an online PBS show hosted by Sarah Green, where she interviews different artists, gives some art history knowledge, and gives viewers an assignment to create a piece of art on their own. Each assignment has specific inspiration and instruction.

So here's my first one! This is called "Sorted Books." You can watch the video about the assignment here. The idea behind it is that you can get a glimpse into someone's life and personality by examining the books they have in their personal library. The artist, Nina Katchadourian, selects books and stacks them to form "found poems" or short sentences. You can see some of her brilliant work here. The instructions are simple:

1. Choose a person you know or would like to know better
2. Take a look at/through their library
3. Make 3 stacks of books to develop a portrait of the person
4. Upload it to your social media platform of choice using #theartassignment
5. Fame and glory (your work might be featured in a future episode)

I decided to work from Jacob and I's own library, but to only use books that Jacob has contributed--books he owned before we were married, or books he has purchased since then for himself. I used my iPhone to photograph the stacks I created, so they aren't exactly high quality, but they get the job done. I decided to photograph the books on our bed, since our bookshelves are in our bedroom, right across from where we sleep, and because the bed is the place we do the most reading--together and separately.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bible! 

The Given Day

The Way it Spozed To Be

The Ancestor's Tale

How We Are Hungry

Armageddon Summer

Paradise Lost

Where I'm Calling From

All Who Go Do Not Return

With Good Reason

Crucial Conversations

Who Am I? 

I Am A Strange Loop

I'll Seize the Day Tomorrow

I feel a little uncertain about whether or not this assignment really does give an accurate glimpse into the life of a person. It's such a selective glimpse, and such a constructed glimpse. It's difficult to distill someone's entire personality into three stacks of books. These stacks sort of represent certain aspects of Jacob, certain ideas he thinks about, but these stacks are mostly using Jacob's books to represent what occurs to me...the ideas and constructions that I see.

Still, it was a fun assignment, and I'm excited to do more!

Confessions: A Letter to Everyone In the World

Dear everyone in the world,

I apologize if sometimes I am awkward. I'm sorry if our attempt at talking came to a screeching halt, if I gave one-syllable answers, or if I can't easily say in person what I can say in writing. I do care about you, and want to make a connection. I'm just often a little bit at a loss as to how to make that happen.

The truth is that I have no idea how people make friends outside of the world of theatre. Or outside of a common activity. I'm friends with the teachers and staff at Alianza because I'm with them every day, helping to run a school. We have common experiences to talk about. But when I first meet someone, there aren't any of those common experiences yet. And I doubt that people would be interested in just discussing the "small talk" things that come to my mind in those moments--the convergence of Jupiter and Venus, the old English letter "thorn," or a collection of short stories retelling Biblical tales that I've been reading.

But I'm always afraid that there's not time for me to talk about things I really want to know about you. I don't want to make small talk. I want to know how you discovered the thing you're passionate about. I want to know if you get angry or sad when you're afraid. I want to know if you're closer to your mother or your father, and what books influenced you most as a child, and how you feel about Disneyland, and if you like spicy foods or not. I want to know what you are constantly telling yourself.

It's been fifteen years since middle school, but when I walk into a room of strangers who know each other, there are still moments when I feel like that bespectacled 8th-grader in a new town in Oregon, wondering where to place her lunch tray in the cafeteria. I forget how to sit, how to talk, how to be.

But here's what I keep reminding myself: The deepest and most beautiful friendships in my life have come from the moments when I had the courage to reach outward. Moments when I chose to stop doubting that people would love me, and instead, chose to reach out and love them. When I chose to ignore the voices saying "you are not good enough, you do not belong, no one is interested in your life." When I chose instead to tell someone else "you are good enough, you belong, I am interested in your life." When I did ask them those questions about how they discovered their passion and what books influenced them most.

And in those moments, I feel most like the truest version of myself. It's a strange paradox: that to find your truest self, you have to forget yourself, and reach outward.

So dear everyone in the world, I'm working on that. For every room full of strangers I've entered, with a little time, I've often left with at least one genuine friend. I remind myself of that when faced with the next room full of strangers. I remind myself that moments of feeling out of place will not last forever. I know that I will still have plenty of times when I feel awkward, and scared, and uncertain, and lost. But I'm learning to choose my way out of those moments, and to be my truest self--the self that's brave enough to reach out to the people I sense a connection with, and let them know how wonderful I think they are.

Because I really do think that so many people are wonderful.

photo via

Another Reason to Love Salt Lake City

I have just discovered my new favorite place. To write. To eat. To hang out.

There’s this little café on the corner of 900 East and 3300 South. It’s an old house, transformed into a little cafe called "The Greenhouse Effect Coffee & Crepes." It’s full of local art, and local artists. The crepes are divine, and there’s a “Take a Book, Leave a Book” shelf among the tables and chairs. The people here have dreadlocks and hemp jewelry. There was a group smoking hookah on the porch, and there are skateboarders out back. Right now there’s a guy tuning a guitar on the couch. Another guy is drawing at a table near me. A few other people are writing. I can hear someone playing hand drums outside. All the men have beards and all the women have gauges. People are BAREFOOT and TATTOOED and PROFANE and BEAUTIFUL. Many of them seem to know each other--like this is a regular place to come and go from.

It’s this tiny corner of Ashland, Oregon, of Haight-Ashbury, of Berkley. A hub of modern philosophers and mystics. Phrases I’ve overheard in the last ten minutes include:

“…but it’s Schrodinger’s cat all over again…”
“…it’s like this old school hip hop with rock…”
“…the layers of meta are so deep at this point…”
“…we had been partying, and I was really hungry, and all the Christmas potluck was gone except for the ginger snaps…”
“…I don’t care who fires the first f***ing missile, because whoever wins will be the world leader of the biggest cinder…”
“…the missing link for everyone’s psyche…”
“…there really is an Elizabethean collar for cats…”

I almost feel like I don’t belong—like I'm not actually hip enough to be here. Because I'm straight-edge and introverted and don't converse easily with strangers. But I am barefoot and wearing a peasant skirt and I do henna tattoos and I love the earth. But whether or not the people who come and go here are to be my tribe, I’m in love with this café. I’m going to come often to this café. I’m going to share this café with my husband and my sisters and my friends and my co-workers.

And I’m going to write a novel in this café.

Diligent Writer Me vs Current Me: A Dialogue

Diligent Writer Me: Pssst. Hey. Hey you!

Current Me: Leave me alone.

Diligent Writer Me: I just wanted to, you know, give you a friendly reminder that you've still got forty chapters or so to edit.

Current Me: I know. It's too many.

Diligent Writer Me: It's not too many! It's not like you have to re-write them completely! Just make a few changes.

Current Me: Lies. I have to re-write like, a fourth of them completely. I have to move those two climactic conversations to the end so that there's one actual climax, and then I have to re-write like, everything from the climax on, and also change almost everything Alice says because you decided I should revamp her entire character.

Diligent Writer Me: Okay, okay. So it's a lot of work. But I'm telling you, if you just do a little bit every day, you'll be done before you know it! I mean, you wrote the whole first draft in only one month.

Current Me: Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. It's just that there are so many other things to do right now.

Diligent Writer Me: ............Like what?

Current Me: Like...well, like watch House of Cards! And read these autocorrect fails on the internet. And also watch cat videos. And text this friend. And maybe eat some ice cream? And I bet if I were to refresh Facebook, there would be something else interesting there!

Diligent Writer Me: All right. I grant you, House of Cards is awesome. And autocorrect fails will never stop being hilarious. Same for cat videos. And texting friends can be a good thing. And ice cream is awesome. And while refreshing Facebook that often doesn't usually bring up something else interesting, it MIGHT. But hear me out on this--

Current Me: NO!

Diligent Writer Me: Do I need to start using all caps?

Current Me: Oh, what? Sorry, I can't hear you because of how much I'm LOLing at this cat trying to jump over a baby gate.

Diligent Writer Me: Fine. You asked for it. This is for your own good. LISTEN UP, CHAPMAN. YOU PUT "FINISH EDITING MY YA NOVEL AND SUBMIT IT FOR PUBLICATION" ON YOUR LIST OF 9 THINGS TO DO WHILE 29. YOU ARE TURNING 30 IN TWO AND A HALF MONTHS. YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME.

Current Me: Didn't you just tell me, like five sentences ago, that it won't take me long?

Diligent Writer Me: No, I said it wouldn't take long IF YOU DO A LITTLE BIT EVERY DAY. You're doing pretty darn good on your other goals. It'd be a shame to not meet this one. Because of cat videos.

Current Me: But--

Diligent Writer Me: BECAUSE OF CAT VIDEOS.

Current Me: Ugh. Fine. Whatever. I'll edit. And write.

Diligent Writer Me: Atta girl.

Wandering Wombs: A Brief "Hystery" of Women's Medicine

WARNING: Depending on where you work, this may be NSFW. If you are uncomfortable reading about the history of female sexuality, skip this one. Even though it's enlightening and a little bit hilarious.

So I've been doing a lot of research on "hysteria" lately. And let me tell you, people were completely insane and woefully uninformed when it came to women's health. For like, MOST of human history.

Nowadays, we use the term "hysterical" to mean "crazy" or "experiencing large emotions." But until about 50 years ago, it was considered an actual medical condition exclusive to women.

And it goes all the way back to ancient Greece. Hippocrates (as in "the Hippocratic oath," yeah--that guy) believed that hysteria was caused by a wandering womb. (Hysteria comes from the word hystera, which means "uterus.") See, the basic idea was that lacking the warmth and lubrication of either pregnancy or "the male member," the uterus was prone to wander around the body, blocking important passages and causing disease and general mayhem. As Jacob pointed out, Hippocrates basically said, "I need to create a problem that my penis will solve." (If that ain't patriarchy, I don't know what is.)

By the 1800s, female hysteria was considered an epidemic, with an estimated 1 in 4 women suffering from it. Its symptoms included irritability, sexual desire, faintness, nervousness, shortness of breath, changes in appetite, and "a tendency to cause trouble," among other things.

But don't worry--doctors could get that pesky wandering uterus back into its proper place! Surgery and water hosing were used in drastic cases, but most women could find relief in a "pelvic massage," administered by a doctor.

Let's just call it what it is. (And I apologize if this is crude...) Women throughout the 1800s were going to their doctors on the regular for a hand job.

But take note! Sexual pleasure had nothing to do with it! No, doctors all knew that women experienced no sexual pleasure or desire--they simply submitted to their husbands in the name of duty and procreation. There was no such thing as a "female orgasm." Treatments for hysteria resulted in a "hysterical paroxysm," which was a release of tension caused by that wandering womb.

Jacob pointed out that it's strange that so many women were seeing doctors for the "treatment"--wouldn't it be simpler to just...take matters into their own hands?* Probably. But women were also taught that they didn't experience sexual desire or pleasure, so when they felt it, it was probably incredibly shameful. Masturbation was considered "self-abuse," with a host of dangers associated with it. I think many women really did believe in the medicine of the time--what else was there to believe? It's much safer and more acceptable to visit a doctor for the treatment of a medical condition.

Here's the rub, though.** By the late 1800s, doctors' hands were getting tired. Fatigue and cramps kept them from giving successful treatments. And so, in 1880, Dr Mortimer Granville patented the electromechanical vibrator.

That's right. The vibrator was invented because Victorian doctors were getting cramps from giving hand jobs to middle and upper class women.

"Personal massagers" became a huge hit, and they were sold everywhere from the corner market to the Sears & Roebuck catalogue. Regardless of what was actually going on, they were considered medical instruments, and there didn't seem to be any kind of shame or furtiveness attached to them. It seems bizarre now, but ads like these seemed pretty common:

At least, ads like this were common until the 1920s. Because what started appearing in the 1920s? Pornographic films. The use of "personal massagers" in film stripped them forever of their medical use, and from that point on, there was no escaping the sexual connotation. Vibrators disappeared from the mainstream advertising world until the sexual revolution of the 1970s. Nowadays, you don't often see ads for vibrators in mainstream magazines, but if you're interested in buying one, they aren't very hard to find.

And the disease "hysteria" was finally, FINALLY removed from the diagnostic world officially in 1980, with the publication of the DSM-III.

Please note that 1980 was only 5 years before I was born.

I mean, doctors had figured out long before this that the "wandering womb" theory was bunk and that women did experience sexual pleasure/desire. Throughout the early 1900s, "hysteria" came to also include what we now know as PTSD and mood disorders, which affected both men and women.

But here's what I want to point out. Here's why all of this matters. Aside from giving you an interesting thing to share at parties, I actually have something meaningful to say with this post.

I think that women today are still feeling the effects of thousands of years of being diagnosed instead of listened to. Women's legitimate emotional experiences are still being dismissed as the result of "hormones."

For so many generations, women were seen as emotional creatures incapable of making meaningful decisions. They were seen as needing either pregnancy, intercourse, or medical attention to keep their wombs in their proper place. In times throughout history when women were treated as property under the law, not given a voice in government, and subjugated to lives of domesticity, they responded with "irritability, nervousness, and the tendency to cause trouble." And when they responded this way, they were told that they had a medical condition.

I'm so grateful to live in a time and place where I have so much. I'm so grateful for the men and women who fought so that I could live the immensely privileged life I lead. But the work is not complete. We still have over 2000 years worth of bogus medicine to overcome. Somewhere buried in our collective unconscious is this persistent idea that women can be dismissed because they are emotional, because they are slaves to the hormones in their bodies.

The reality is that both men and women are emotional creatures who are capable of making meaningful decisions anyway. And it's time to acknowledge that.



*pun intented
**pun also intended

"New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings." - Lao Tzu

End of the year card from kindergarten. Oh my heart. 

School has only been out for 8 hours and I'm already unsure what to do with myself.

I spent the school day alternating between dancing and eating, so as to keep waves of sentiment from crashing over me. I've been counting down the days until summer vacation, and suddenly this morning, it occurred to me that I won't see these kids for MONTHS. They're all going to be HUGE in the fall. And some of them are graduating and going on to high school and I'm so proud of them but they won't be around to make me laugh and think and grow. WAAAAHHHHH!

Steve (the school's principal) was a wreck by 8:15 this morning, and I spent the entirety of 8th grade graduation pretending that I was a smiling robot, instead of on the verge of waterworks myself.

I think I'm too busy processing this ending to do much of anything else.

I mean, I've got all sorts of PLANS for the summer. Art Assignments, finishing the last edit of my YA novel, deep cleaning our apartment, going through our books (again), doing a bunch of organizing and prepping for next school year, rehearsing "Oklahoma!", visiting Rexburg, re-starting an exercise routine, finishing Personal Progress, etcetera etcetera etcetera. But I just can't bring myself to begin any of these projects at 8 pm on a Thursday evening after the last day of school.

Hell, I can't even bring myself to put away the groceries. I did buy them, though. So that's something.

Anyway, now that I'm alone with my nostalgia, I've discovered that I can't keep it at bay. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch a movie and paint my toenails, because what else can you do on a day like this?

See ya in the fall, Alianza gang.

Alianza Staff on the last day of school, June 2014