You Ever Have One of Those Days?

You ever have one of those days, where everything feels like a big bowl of cold oatmeal? Where nothing you think of, nothing you hope to do, stirs any excitement in you? Where everything you create or think about creating sounds mediocre at best? Where it seems like everyone but you is succeeding? Where everyone but you has great ideas, and knows how to perfectly execute them?

I'm having one of those days today.

I know, logically, there are ups and downs in the creative process. My left brain is busy at work this morning talking my tender and easily-hurt right brain off the ledge. They then come to a standstill and stare, unblinkingly, at the blinking cursor on the white page.

Stare. Stare. Stare.

My right brain is really putting up a fight this morning, throwing all the old standards at me, you know the ones:

"You're a hack."

"You have the suggestion of talent, but lack real skill in anything."

"You have fallen so far behind the pack, you might as well just give up."

The good news is, I have enough self-awareness to know that these are the same old arguments that come up every time I'm feeling blocked or out of sorts. I recognize the Beast of Self Doubt for what he is - a flim flam man, a shyster, playing to my insecurities in moments of weakness. Fighting him begins with awareness, of knowing that he sings the same songs every time, badly and in a too-loud voice.

Just writing this is helping to silence him, a little bit. But he'll be back. He always comes back.

How do you deal with your inner critic? How do you nurture your childlike, creative being and keep the dogs at bay? What are the tools you use to survive another day and get back on the creative wagon? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. I can always use some good defensive strategies for this ongoing battle.

Free the Artist, Not the Art

Show of hands - how many of you out there are willing to pay for art? How many of you believe that an artist should be paid for her output, whether it be a musical performance, an essay, a graphic design, or a painting of your dog?

Alright, another show of hands - how many of you have gotten these things for free? Have you attended a free concert in the park, or gotten free tickets to a show, or shared a music download with someone for free, or asked a friend for a favor to create a little logo for your blog?

I've certainly been on the receiving end of free art. But I've also been a giver of free art. For far, far too long. I daresay our culture has given us a sense that art should be given for free.

As I struggle to embrace the idea that I deserve to be paid for what I create, I'm surrounded by messages that it has little value. That art is a hobby, not a vocation.

If art is a hobby, why did I spend over $100,000 for my education? Why did I earn an advanced degree? Why do I continue honing my craft in endless classes? So that I could get a job as an administrative assistant and pursue art on the side? Fuck that.

I'm so tired of working for free. I'm tired of being expected to work for free, even from my own peers. I'm sick that our culture allows us to perpetuate this myth that it costs nothing to produce art, and that it is easy - anybody could do it at an expert level. How many plays have I been in where I haven't gotten a dime? Or if I did get the union stipend of $15 per performance, I was expected to give it back to the theater, just so they would survive? How is my time of no value?

As artists, we're encouraged to work for free, in the beginning. It's a way to establish contacts and gain some experience. But I'm almost 40 - when does that stop? When will I actually be able to start paying on my student loans? Is it only when I give up what it is I trained to do? What I'm good at, and what makes my heart happy? The thing I feel I was put on this earth to do?

I've been told, time and again, that I undervalue myself. But how do I find value in myself if other people don't think there is value in what I offer?

I'm making a promise to myself today. If you are an artist that is struggling as I am, I hope you will join me in this. I refuse to keep working for less than what I am worth. I refuse to "give up" because society thinks that is the responsible thing to do. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the work I am meant for, and I will no longer undervalue myself. If someone doesn't want to pay for what I have to offer, then I will move on and look for someone who does. They are out there, somewhere. I won't find them if I continue to settle for less.

I am taking back my life today.

Seeing Art with New Eyes

As I delve more deeply into this creative recovery of mine, I keep receiving the message of how art and creativity can be extraordinary tools of self-healing. Last night that idea was driven home at the Artworks for Healing gala, a fundraising art auction for A Window Between Worlds, a charity organization based in Venice, CA, whose tagline is "art transforming trauma."

I volunteered my time for the event, as did a couple dozen other interesting and open-hearted people (mostly women, but a few men here and there). AWBW is the beneficiary of our annual production of The Vagina Monologues, and now that we'll be celebrating our fifth year in April, many of the women and men that work and volunteer for the organization have become familiar.

For the art sale portion of the evening, over 70 LA based artists donated a piece to be sold, each for the same price of $320. Some of the artists are quite prominent, and their pieces are worth a great deal more than the selling price (some upwards of $10,000). The premise is that each piece is displayed anonymously, and guests are invited to purchase the piece which speaks to them the most. Only after the purchase is complete is the name of the artist revealed.

Before the VIP reception began, I had a few moments to peruse the gallery wall and admire each piece before it whispered into the ear of its new owner. I don't know if it's because of the work I've been doing with The Artist's Way, but I feel as though I looked at the pieces with a new set of eyes.

I stood in front of each piece, and lingered just long enough until something about it reached out to me, whether it was the subject matter, the medium, the colors, the texture, the implied story behind it, the skill of the creator, or any number of other qualities. I found myself most drawn to two particular pieces. One was a small, rustic painting of three eggs, conceived in a thickly textured palette of earthy yellows and browns. Birds and eggs are particularly evocative subjects for me, in fact I still own a small painting of an egg done for me by the mother of a roommate back in college and gifted to me during the Easter holiday of my senior year. There's something about that simple egg that I find endlessly interesting. I think eggs represent a beginning to me, most obviously as they are embryonic, but what they become has not yet been fully determined. The egg carries potential, and the suggestion of positive possibility. The sky just might be the limit. How fitting that I received it just as I was finishing my education and being loosed upon the world. Sadly, I never found out the artist of the trio of eggs at the event, as the painting was purchased at some point during the evening, carefully clothed in bubble wrap for it's journey home, as if those delicate eggs were, in fact, real.

The other piece was a long, skinny portrait in an ornately gilded frame. The face was a portion of the Mona Lisa, but in the place where her enigmatic eye should be there was an iridescent beetle. I have an enormous fig tree in my backyard which produces well over 100 pounds of the Eden-esque fruit every summer. The beetle over the Mona Lisa's eye looked just like a fig beetle, which descend on that unwieldy tree by the hundreds during the hottest days of August and September. Many people are afraid of the fig beetles - they're big, they're loud, and they clumsily fly right into you, bouncing soundly to the ground below. They are harmless, however, and their only prey are the plump purple pouches of the sweet flesh on the tree. I have come to love the fig beetles; they represent life at its most abundant, feeding and thriving off nature's ascent into overdrive.

The piece was strongly reminiscent of Magritte, my favorite of the surrealists. It was simple in its execution, and certainly provoked a visceral reaction from those who gazed upon it it's unseeing eye.

"Bug Eyes", as it was aptly named, was not purchased by the end of the evening, so before leaving I lifted it from it's moorings on the gallery wall to find out the name of the artist. At that exact moment, a man appeared behind me, identifying himself as the artist. Steven Salzburg is his name, and he's had quite a career which has included working with and designing album covers for the likes of Elton John, Dire Straits, Phil Collins and more. I had a lively conversation with him about how the piece was created and whether or not a fig beetle was intended. It is such a unique pleasure to speak with an artist about their creative process, and I treated myself to several of those discussions throughout the evening, as many of the artists were on hand for the event.

Most of my life, I've breezed through museums, seeking out those pieces with considerable fame and merely glancing at those that lined the path to the masters. But I'm becoming more and more interested in spending time with each piece, discovering through quiet, almost meditative moments what message it is sending to me. I think a trip to LACMA or an art gallery is in order soon.

How do you look at art? How do you determine what you like and what you don't like? Are you more attracted to color, texture and line or subject matter? Do you think art has the potential to heal? Art is such a personal experience, I'd love to hear your thoughts about how art affects you.

My Life Essentials for Happiness: Then and Now

I recently allowed myself a little trip down Memory Lane, vis-a-vis some writing I did about ten years ago.

Good God, was that ever eye-opening.

Writing has not, until the last two years, been a regular thing in my life. I have wanted to write, but hated the act of sitting down to write. It has only been through discipline - and a regular writing gig - that I have finally made peace with the more frustrating parts of writing and have made it a part of my routine. It is becoming habit. And I'm glad of this, because I look forward to reading what I'm writing now in the coming years. It's an excellent way to see how things have changed, and how they've stayed the same. It's the road map of your life, showing you where you've been so you have a better idea of where you are and where you may be going.

There is nothing more telling than reading what you have written, especially of moments long forgotten. Reliving the experience of being a recently divorced, single-and-not-loving-it, twenty-something, struggling artist in NYC was both unpleasant and enlightening. It was unpleasant to live most of that stuff. It's unpleasant to be reminded of it. But thank God I've gotten to the point where it is enlightening.

I made a list on May 6th, 2004, of the ten things I needed in my life to be happy. I was four months into a six month national theater tour, living out of a suitcase and spending every night in a different city, usually in a crappy motel room shared with three other people. I became used to a life of depravation, and to my surprise discovered that I was happier than I had been in a long time. In my attempt to define what, exactly, was making me so happy, I came up with this list:

Ten Essentials for Life Happiness

1. My own bed (I had been sharing a bed with another actor - totally platonic - for four months and missed having the bed all to myself.)
2. A good book, a real page turner
3. Some great tunes for singing along
4. Delicious food and drink at least once a week (Mexican food and Chai Lattes)
5. Clean clothes
6. Companionship/good conversation
7. A little time alone every day
8. Nasal spray and aspirin
9. An opportunity to be creative
10. A hot shower

What surprised me most when reading this, ten years later, is that very little has changed. With perhaps the exception of #1 (now that I happily share a bed with Hubs), those all pretty much hit the nail on the head, even now. My creative soul has stayed true to itself, all these years, and no matter what choices I make, what I try to do to evade those things I really want in order to behave in a way that everyone else thinks is "responsible", that simple list is what I need to be happy. I might add a little piece of earth with which to garden, and the food choices now lean more towards Indian food and great wine, but the companionship, the presence of art and music, the opportunity to be alone, my basic needs met - these are really all I need to be happy. And the damn nasal spray and aspirin - my sinuses still bother me and I haven't been able to really kick that habit in a way that sticks.

What do you need to be happy? What are the basics that you can pare your life down to in order to feel content and fulfilled on a daily basis? What can you get rid of that isn't serving you, or is weighing you down needlessly with additional responsibility?

Don't Feed the Trolls: Some Thoughts on Social Media Arguments

Yesterday morning I was greeted with a Facebook notification, alerting me that I had been tagged in a post. I sauntered over to said post, and read the article that my friend had shared. It was a highly incendiary article, written by a white male for the National Review, that calls into question the "war on women." He posits that the battle ended long ago, and that the women won. He cited some statistics that backed up his claims that women are more educated than men, that there are more women in the workforce than men, and that single women out-earn single men. In a nutshell, he thinks women should stop bellyaching. If you'd like to read it, you can find it here.

I have this particular Facebook friend, and I suspect you all have at least one of them, that enjoys posting about highly controversial topics, presumably just to see what kind of shit storm ensues. I've gone back and forth about eliminating this friend from my list, but ultimately have chosen not to. While this friend's views are often wildly different than my own, I find value in knowing how someone so different than me thinks about the world. Arguments are generally solid, and I find that sometimes it does give me pause to consider another point of view.

But yesterday I knew I was being baited.

I'm a feminist, and I do support several charities that work to end violence against women and girls throughout the world. For the past four years I've been involved with a charity production of "The Vagina Monologues" in downtown LA and during the show season post endlessly about it. Hell, I even make anatomically correct vagina cupcakes to sell as a fundraiser. I knew I was tagged in this particular post, in the hopes that I would willingly jump into the fray.

I opted not to participate.

While I have opinions about the article, I am of the firm belief that you cannot ever win an argument on social media. Nick Bilton wrote a great article for the New York Times where he ruminates on how engaging in discussions about highly controversial topics on Facebook or Twitter or other social media outlets is a fool's errand. I tend to agree. 

Here it is, about 24 hours after the argument began, and I see that the post has garnered over 250 comments. And while there are some cogent thoughts presented on both sides of the table, the discussion has devolved into name-calling, hate-speaking, and rape jokes most would consider to be in poor taste, especially if taken out of context. 

In my opinion, arguments on social media cannot be won, and becoming involved in them is a waste of time and energy. There will always be trolls out there, ready to engage in a war of words. It's just not a war that I think is worth fighting. While I think that information about controversial topics has a place on social media, I tend to let the information speak for itself. People can choose to read or not read the articles I share, and I do the same with articles that others share. I digest them and let them inform my worldview. But I don't want to engage with the digital mob. At least I try very hard not to.

What are your thoughts about social media arguments? Do you think they have a place in our virtual world? Do you actively engage in them, or shy away from them as I do?

A Season of Beginning

Fall is descending upon the garden here in Southern California. It doesn't look like the fall of my youth, with the crisp, ripe air, the crimson, flaming trees, or the crackling logs on the fire. There are no frosty mornings or quiet, introspective, rainy days. No woolen sweaters or hot mugs of apple cider. You would sweat to death here.

But fall is here nonetheless. I can tell by how leggy the salvia has gotten, by how the mint, once a mad dictator claiming all neighboring lands as its own, has become dry and brittle and easily breaks like a tortured hostage. The squash vines have grasped their last fence post, their plump fruits ready to be plucked from their dirty brown hands. The hollyhocks have collapsed, unable to bear the weight of their beauty any longer, and the tiger lilies, once ferocious, have crawled back into their dens for the season.

It's time to cut back in the garden. Time to prune back the perennials and pull out the basil. It's time to weed the beds and cover them with a blanket of protective compost so they can have a cozy winter's nap.

I think fall is the perfect time to cut back in my life as well. Take a cue from nature and trim back the excess growth that doesn't serve me, only sucks away energy that could be put to better use, making my healthy parts stronger. It's time to shed the old habits that don't serve a creative purpose, and to let in some light and some air.

Fall is also a time of planting in Southern California. There is no better time that right now to put new plants in the ground. While visible growth comes to a standstill in the ensuing months, there is a festival of activity happening in places the eyes can't see. Our warm, nourishing soil is prompting roots to grow, and once tender seedlings firmly establish themselves over the winter holidays. Come spring, they have a strong foundation on which to grow, and burst into life, wowing us with their color, their shape, their fragrance, their taste, and all their innumerable glories.

Now is the time for me to plant my ideas, to nourish them and let them establish themselves inside me in the coming months. Before long, those ideas will have taken root, and can burst forth and dazzle, seemingly effortlessly.

If we take the time to do important fall chores - to cut back, to clean up, to plant, and to nourish - we will have created the foundation on which to be resplendent.

If you need me, I'll be in the garden, preparing for the beginning.

You Name It, I Fear It

A particular theme keeps surfacing as I continue on this journey of creative self healing: fear. Fear seems to motivate, or at the very least, color many of my choices. A close relative of the Worry Monster that I've written about before, fear seems to be the bigger, more aggressive, gun-toting, hate-speaking brother. The one who takes your lunch money and threatens that you better not tell anyone - or else!

Fear keeps me from pursuing my passions full throttle. Fear of failure is, of course, a primary concern. What if I try the thing that is closest to my heart and fills me up like nothing else, and I completely suck at it? What if people make fun of my unskilled attempts? What if I spend years toiling away and never find success? What if I am nothing more than a dilettante? What if I'm exposed for the hack I really am?

Then there's the lesser-known fear of success. What if I'm good at this, and suddenly there's tons of pressure to keep up the success? What if I have to be totally "on" all of the time? What if I alienate my friends and family? What if we have to move? What if I have to change? God forbid.

Of course, lets not forget about all the mundane, daily fears. What if that persistent muscle pain in my leg is really a blood clot? What if the guy across the street decides to upgrade his verbal threats into actual physical threats - and act on them? What if my car breaks down in heavy traffic on the 405 again? What if I don't ever take off these 20 extra pounds for good?

Why has evolution taken so long? I understand why our ancient ancestors developed a sense of fear - it kept them alive. Now we just seem to fear the things that exist only in our own heads, situations that could happen but most likely won't.

I wish I could tell you all that I've conquered my fears. I haven't. But I'm starting to address them in a more constructive way, in an attempt to take away their power. Elizabeth Gilbert has a great essay about a fear, a letter written to a friend who was fearful about sending her book into the world. In a nutshell, she responds by telling her friend that her fear is boring. All of our fears are boring. We all have the same fears, and they keep repeating themselves. There is nothing original about my fear, or your fear. When we begin to realize that our fear can't come up with anything original, we can more easily put it aside.

What do you fear? What keeps you from pursuing your passions and making your dreams a reality? How do you handle your fear and take away its power?

The Titanic. Original photo by David Hollingworth (Creative Commons)

How to Deal with the Worry Monster

I've always been a worrier. It's such a big part of my identity, I'm not sure I'd recognize myself if I didn't worry anymore. Who is that carefree woman in the mirror? I've never seen her before, I don't think she's from around here.

When I was young, I worried about the kinds of things young people often worry about. Are my grades good enough? Will I get into the right college? Will I ever find a boyfriend? Am I making enough money to survive?

Now that I'm older, the worries have become more profound. How much longer will my parents be around? Are we making the right decisions for our family? Is that mole cancerous? Is that semi going to tip over and crush me while I'm driving on the 405? Should I be worried about this lump? Does that confrontational guy living across the street have a gun, and is he going to use it someday? The worry monster just gets bigger as time goes on. It has a steady diet of potential calamities on which to dine.

It has become essential to my well-being that I learn how to manage all this worry. I can easily let my worry spiral out of control, until it consumes my mind and turns my stomach into an aching crater full of acid. I can't live like that, so I've made it a conscious practice to deal with it head on as much as possible. It ain't easy. I've remained steadfast in my conviction that my worry originates in my mind, that it is not a chemical imbalance, and I'm not interested in managing it with medication. I think that course is certainly right for some people, but I don't think it's right for me. So I've had to find other ways.

Meditation

I talked about starting a regular meditation practice for years, but never really found a way to begin. My mind is constantly chattering like a 14-year-old girl, and trying to sit quietly with it for more than five minutes can make me terribly irritable. But as the worry has gotten bigger, my need to quiet my mind has become non-negotiable. I made it my New Year's resolution to meditate regularly, and it has finally stuck. While my mind often prattles on during these meditation sessions, it has allowed me to disengage with the emotional reaction to the thought, and that has been essential to mitigating all this worry. If I can see the worry for what it is - a road block to my well-being - than it is easier to consciously turn it off.

Finding the Flow

"The best moments in our lives are not the passive, receptive, relaxing times... The best moments usually occur if a person's body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile." - Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

What does that mean? In a nutshell, it means finding activities in which you experience flow. Some people call it the "zone." Basically, it's engaging with an activity that is so engrossing and enjoyable that you lose sense of the passage of time and become completely immersed in what you are doing. You are fully present. For me, that's gardening. When I am out in the garden, I'm fully present and engaged with what I'm doing. I'm not feeding the Worry Monster. The more you experience flow, the greater your overall happiness, so the theory goes. It seems to be working for me, so I'm going to keep digging up the dirt, planting seeds, and watching them grow.

Mindful Choices

Life is full of so many choices. Every day, we are presented with hundreds of choices, from what to wear to work that day to what we're going to eat for dinner. When I was younger, I often didn't put much thought into the decisions I was making about how I spent my time or who I was choosing to spend it with. I'm much more careful and mindful about those decisions now. I am more discerning about my friendships and who I want to have in my life. I take time to nurture the relationships that are worth keeping, and allow the ones that are not beneficial to my well-being to fall away. I am trying to do that with all aspects of my life, although some are harder than others. I really want to be mindful about not eating unhealthy foods, but that pizza is soooo delicious. At the very least, I will sit down and enjoy the experience of eating the pizza, savoring the flavors and texture, instead of eating it on the run or while performing another task. I have less guilt when I do something mindfully. Since guilt often leads to worry about making poor decisions and where they will lead me, making mindful choices helps to lessen my guilt and subsequent worry.

Worry will probably always be a part of my life, but that doesn't mean I have to let it control me. These practices are helping to take the power away from the Worry Monster a little at a time and are allowing me to be a more relaxed and confident person. It takes a conscious effort every day, but it's worth it.

Do you deal with the heaviness of worry? How does it affect you, and how do you try to deal with it?

I Want To Be a 90-Year-Old Fashion Icon

Do you know Iris Apfel? I didn't until literally just now. Well, I've known her through photos, but I never knew her name. This woman is marvelous. She is exactly who I want to be when I am 90.

Found at http://www.theenglishroom.biz/2013/06/15/film-news-iris-apfel-documentary/

 Isn't she marvelous? Those glasses! That make-up! Those bracelets! All that poof and pattern and panache! I love it!

Learn more about her in her own words at Into the Gloss. Or here at the New York Times.

Look at her house, featured in Architectural Digest!

THIS OUTFIT!

THESE PANTS! WHERE CAN I GET THESE PANTS? I WANT THEM NOW!

EXACTLY.

The Rewards of Being a Childfree Stepmom

Today - September 16th - is National Stepfamily Day. Did you know there was an actual day to bring awareness to and celebrate stepfamilies? Me neither - and I'm part of a stepfamily!

I suspect one big reason why we don't celebrate National Stepfamily Day is because, for many stepfamilies, there is little to celebrate. It makes sense, if you think about. Stepfamilies are generally formed because of divorce, and divorce is one of the most unpleasant things on earth, so why would we want to celebrate something that is a result of divorce?

Well - I want to celebrate!

I'm a childfree stepmom, which means that I have chosen to have no biological children. Being childfree has it's own set of challenges, the most basic being a lack of understanding. I read a marvelous article on nymag.com yesterday - 25 Famous Women on Childlessness. If you want to get a good idea of how I feel about not having children, I definitely recommend checking it out. They hit the nail on the head.

So - in honor of National Stepfamily Day, I've decided today is a great day to focus on the positive aspects of being a childfree stepmom. There are things I love about having someone else's children (and not my own) in my life, and I think it's about time I paid tribute to that.

Having the 'kid experience' without all the responsibility.

I choose to be childfree in part because I don't want the full time responsibility of raising a child. Having stepkids means I get to have kids in my life, but I'm not the primary parent who is making all the choices about their welfare. Instead, I get what I think of as the 'good stuff' - learning what makes them tick, hearing about their days and what's new at school, celebrating birthdays and holidays, shopping for the presents. What I don't have to do is discipline, drive them to school, pack their lunches, talk to their teachers, teach them to drive - the list goes on and on. I get to know them as people without all the responsibilities that the bio parents have. I think that's pretty cool, and it helps me build a unique relationship with them.

Having the time and space to pursue my own interests without guilt.

Parenting is hard, there is no doubt about that. Every day is a new challenge, from getting them to eat something healthy to dealing with their performance at school. But not being the biological parent means that generally the onus is off me to solve those problems. I only get involved when it's clear I need to be involved - I do believe too many cooks in the kitchen can be a problem in stepfamilies, especially when the bio parents have different parenting styles. The kids already have so many different voices to listen to and to please, they don't need me adding mine to the mix to make things even more confusing. So I stay out of most of those parenting issues. The flipside is that I have extra time to pursue my own interests. My identity is not wholly wrapped up in being a parent. I think part of my success as a stepmom is knowing when my husband needs personal time with the kids without me and not feeling excluded because of it. I simply see it as time that I can spend with my friends or taking a class or gardening or whatever I happen to be into that week.

Being in touch with what it's like to be a kid today.

As a childfree woman pushing 40, it would be easy to be disconnected to younger generations. But having a unique relationship with my stepkids means I get to see the world through their eyes. I have long discussions with my stepdaughter at the kitchen table. I ask lots of questions about her classes and her friends and her thoughts about life. I think it's so important just to give kids a chance to talk and be heard, and I like providing that for them. Being a good listener, and offering up advice when needed, gives me a perspective about them and about the world they are growing up in that I think I wouldn't have if I were a biological parent. I like knowing about what kids are into these days, and seeing how things have changed and how they've stayed the same.

It gives me a different perspective about my husband.

I would never have met my husband if he hadn't had kids. He would be off in some foreign country doing international aid work, most likely. Instead, because of his school age kids, he was here in Los Angeles when I moved here. When we first dated, the kids weren't there most of the time so I got to know him as an adult. Once our relationship got serious and I saw the kids more and more, I got to know him as a dad and to see a totally different side of him. I find it deeply moving how much he loves his kids and what he's willing to do for them and it has made our relationship that much more meaningful to me.

It keeps me on my toes with endless surprises.

I'm not always in the know about when I'm going to see the kids or the minutiae of what's going on in their lives. This certainly keeps me on my toes and teaches me to be flexible. There are also tremendously rewarding surprises, such as last Christmas when my husband and my stepdaughter went to Indiana with me to spend the holiday with my family. My stepkids don't normally give me presents on holidays (I don't expect them to), but this Christmas the two of them gave me something special - a necklace that had been given to them from their grandmother, my husband's mother. I was totally flabbergasted and genuinely moved by their thoughtfulness. 

It stretches my heart in ways I never thought possible.

Having kids around has altered my perspective of the world. When they are here at my house, their needs come first. When they are not here, I wonder what they are up to and think about how I can be a better stepmom the next time I see them. Having them in my life has taught me to open my heart and has challenged me to attain higher ideals. I want to be a good role model for them, and that means working on myself so I can be a better person for them. I've learned better how to deal with situations I have no control over and how to handle some pretty explosive emotions. I've learned that my heart has space in it for them. The heart really is a muscle - the more you work it, the stronger it becomes. 

Are you part of a stepfamily? What are some of the things you enjoy about your role? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And if you're looking for a great resource for stepmoms, check out StepMom Magazine (and yes - that's me on the cover!). This magazine has truly provided wisdom and advice when I needed it most, and it is always presented in a positive, problem-solving way.

To Cable Or Not To Cable?

That is the question, folks. We've been contemplating ditching our DirectTV in favor of no cable TV whatsoever for the last couple of months. That bill is getting unreasonably big, and we find we spend too much time sitting in front of the TV watching the same shows over and over and over ("Big Bang Theory" repeats, I'm looking at you). I think about all that wasted time and money and it seems like a no brainer. In fact, I posed the question to my Facebook friends and the overwhelming response was "get rid of cable, you'll never look back." And these are mostly entertainment industry folks.

But I'm still nervous about it. I do look forward to sitting down and kind of checking out in front of the TV after working all day. I look forward to our "appointment TV" with Survivor on Wednesday evenings, and watching the Green Bay Packers during football season has become a cherished family tradition. Sorry to all you Bears fans back home.

Okay, you guys, I have to come up with some reasons why getting rid of TV is a good thing for me and for my family or I'm never going to pull the trigger.  Here goes:

1. With our Apple TV and Netflix subscription, I can still watch alot of shows. I can add Amazon Prime and Hulu Plus if it gets to be limiting. Not to mention all the shows that stream for free online somewhere.
2. We can still watch Survivor and football through an antenna (though not all Green Bay games since we're not in that region) .
3. No more mindless entertainment. Every time I sit down to watch TV it will be with a purpose, with a show that has been chosen for just that moment, not whatever just happens to be on.
4. I can do more reading. I'm an avid reader, and between the mindless TV and the mindless Internet surfing I do on my iPhone, I haven't finished a book in quite awhile.
5. My 14 year old stepdaughter will have to find something else to do with her time instead of sitting in front of the TV.
6. We'll save over $1000 a year, which can be put towards a vacation instead.
7. I looked on our DVR, and there isn't one show listed that I recorded, except for shows on which I've appeared. It's mostly endless episodes of "House Hunters International" and a variety of cooking shows. I don't need to see any more episodes of people looking for homes abroad (especially now that I know it's all fake) and I have Pinterest and cookbooks for recipes.
8. We don't bundle our internet service with cable, so that isn't going to be affected.
9. I think TV may be robbing me of my creativity. If I pull the plug on cable, I will effectively restore at least a couple of hours a day to pursuing creative interests that I have put off for too long.

Am I missing anything? I'd love to hear your reasons for kicking the cable habit! Please share your thoughts in the comments section below.

10 Promises To My 80-Year-Old Self

I am getting older. It is inevitable. As you read this, you are getting older in tiny, incremental steps. You are older now than you were when you began reading this post. Each second that passes is one less second you have to live.

It's better than being dead, isn't it?

I don't want to view aging with dread. I want to embrace each age as it comes, and focus on the positive. I want to welcome old age with vigor and vitality. I want to sit at the table with it and have a long, lingering meal while we talk about what we did that day, and what we might do tomorrow if the feeling hits us. I want to be one of those awesome old ladies, who actively looks for reasons to be happy and who cultivates new interests and friendships right up until the very end. I don't want to succumb to despair, knowing that most of life is behind me. I want to be grateful for each day that I'm given.

With that in mind, I've decided to come up with a list of ten promises to my 80-year-old self. 

1. I promise to wear whatever the hell I want without apology. I want to be the old lady that is draped in tunics and flowing pants, arms filled with bracelets, neck wrapped in scarves I've picked up from my world travels, gigantic colorful glasses, and natural gray hair shorn into a pixie cut (who wants to deal with hair when their old?). It'll be like wearing pajamas all day except more awesome.
2. I promise to have as many cats as I damn well want. Who cares if anyone thinks I'm a cat lady when I'm 80? I'm a cat lady because cats are awesome!
3. I promise to make romantic love a priority. I will have a boyfriend, and we will laugh together, and dance together, and tell each other stories, and maybe even canoodle now and again. This is, of course, if present hubs isn't still alive. He's got some years on me, so chances are he won't be alive when I'm, say, 90. But if he is, well, yay him! I hope he still has his hearing and cognitive abilities and hasn't gotten grouchy, and that we are the best of friends.
4. I promise to cultivate a diverse range of friendships. I will have an active and vibrant group of friends of all ages who engage me and challenge me and help me feel young and alive.
5. I promise to look after folks my own age, and hope they do the same for me. I have no biological kids, so there won't necessarily be any family to look after me when I'm old. I'd like to  belong to a tight group of old folks who will look after each other's physical, emotional and mental well-being. Perhaps we'll even all live in a big house together!
6. I promise to keep myself in as good a physical shape as possible. I know that my mental and emotional health is closely tied to my physical health, and I will stay active, take walks, garden, and not use my advanced age as an excuse to keep it easy. I will challenge myself physically, and take care of myself when I am sick.
7. I promise to maintain a positive outlook on life. I may be old and closer to death than I've ever been, but I want to have a healthy, upbeat attitude towards life until the day I die.
8. I promise to keep that feeling of child-like wonder about the world, and to continue to discover what is beautiful about life. I want to always feel like a child on the inside, even if my shell looks like an old person. I want to stay engaged with the world, and make new discoveries, and revel in all the small, beautiful details, right up until the very end.
9. I promise to continue to cultivate new interests and to learn new things. It ain't over 'til it's over, so what's wrong with learning to play guitar at 80, or dance the cha cha? Maybe I'll finally have the patience to master French macarons!
10. I promise to look back on my life without regret, because all those choices and experiences have made me the person I am. I want to live a meaningful, mindful life, and even though it will have its inevitable tragedies, I want to look back on it with warmth and fondness.

What do you hope to be like at 80? What promises will you make to yourself?

Me as Millie in "Hot l Baltimore" (2001)
Production directed by Israel Hicks at Mason Gross School of the Arts

Artist's Prayer

Artist's Prayer

I open myself up to the beauty and goodness in the world

And to the beauty and goodness that exist inside me.

I embrace my creativity

And know that I am simply the channel through which it flows.

I surrender my old ideas of what I think I am meant to do

And let my intuition and my heart guide me to my purpose.

It is my nature to be creative.

My creativity is the way in which I serve the world.

I will not allow my feelings of inadequacy or low self-worth

Distract me from my path.

I nurture and protect my creativity

And encourage it to grow.

I am patient, kind and gentle with myself

And encourage patience, kindness and gentleness in others. 

I believe it is never too late for us to walk our true paths,

Never too late to banish fear,

Never too late for understanding,

Never too late to unfold to the world

And to embrace our life’s calling.

- Amy Clites

My Remembrance of 9/11 - Have We Forgotten?

Photo by Chris Schiffner

In writing that date, my heart is heavy. I always find this day very hard to take in. I was a graduate student at Rutgers in New Jersey the day the towers fell. I had gotten up early that day and gone to the gym for the first time that semester. It was our last year of acting school, and my classmates and I had become obsessed about getting in shape for showcase at the end of the year. A friend, Jessica, had met me there to show me some good exercises. She was fit, I was not. 

It was the first week of school, and we had our first on-camera class that morning so I spent extra time getting ready. I even ironed my clothes. As I got close to school, I had this nagging feeling that I had left the iron on, and I was worried that my cat would knock it over and start a fire. I was pretty well consumed with this thought as soon as it occurred to me.

I parked my car in the faculty lot behind the student center. I was a TA so I technically could park there, a relief since there was usually an empty spot, unlike the student lot, and I didn't want to be late. I hurriedly walked through campus to get to class on time. On my way, a random student I had never met stopped me and said, “A plane has just crashed into the Pentagon.” I was flabbergasted. What? What was going on? I didn't linger - I didn't want to be late for class. That was a cardinal sin in our program.

            

As I approached our building, several of my classmates were standing outside. Everyone looked especially nice that day as we were meeting a new teacher on going on camera. One of my classmates, Tammy Jo, was crying hysterically. The information from the events that morning started to come to me in disjointed bits and jabs.

            “Tammy Jo saw it! She was driving to school and saw it from the Turnpike!”

            “Should we go give blood?”

            “There were two planes, the World Trade Center is on fire!”

            “Are we having class? What should we do?”

What happened at the Pentagon? That seemed inconsequential now, considering how close we were to the World Trade Center. It was quickly determined that we were not having class that day.  In a truly selfish moment, I was so grateful. I could drive back home and see if I had left my iron on. I had.

            

Several classmates met back at the house down the street from school. It was the local theatre house, everyone who lived there was a student in the department, about eight or so. The number was never really definite, as boyfriends and girlfriends often stayed, too, myself included. I was dating one of my classmates who lived on the second floor.

            

We sat there that morning and watched the TV in stunned silence. Phone calls were made to check on loved ones in the city. More calls were made to folks back home to assure them we were okay. We saw the towers fall over and over again, the footage looped in case anyone in America hadn’t heard the news yet. How could anyone not have heard the news? The images of the jumpers were shown over and over and will remain seared in my memory of that day. It’s stomach-turning to think about what September 11th was like for them, the horror they faced that made jumping to their deaths below the best option. And the two who were holding hands - I still get choked up thinking about that. Did we ever find out who they were? I've since learned there were over 200 people who jumped to their deaths that day.

            

After a couple of hours of not knowing what to do, and not getting any new information, it was decided that the best thing we could do to help was to give blood. A small army of us coalesced and we headed down to Robert Wood Johnson Memorial Hospital in New Brunswick.

            

The hospital was mobbed and we were turned away. So many people had showed up to give blood that they were overwhelmed. I wouldn't find out until years later that I can’t give blood, anyway. I spent a semester in England in 1995. The Red Cross won’t allow anyone to give blood who spent more than three months in some countries, including England, between 1980 and 1996 because of Mad Cow Disease.

            

Not knowing what else to do, we all descended upon the Edison Diner, a favorite place to score a greasy dinner after rehearsal or a party. I was preoccupied, wondering if I was supposed to have my therapy appointment that afternoon. I had finally signed up for the free therapy they offered at school, to help me through my recent divorce. All my calls to the office went unanswered. I could only assume there would be no therapy that day. We didn’t have any classes for at least a week, as I recall. Most of our instructors commuted to Rutgers from Manhattan, and were trapped in the city.

            

A month later I went to Manhattan with my friends Kristofer and Paul, to interview headshot photographers. We made our way downtown to see for ourselves what had happened. The air still smelled of acrid smoke and – what else, it's hard to say. I’ve never smelled anything like that before, and I hope I don’t again. The site was not yet cleared, sections of charred walls remained, set askew and barely visible over the fences that cordoned off the area. It was a ghost town. Businesses were closed and there were few people walking around. Paul tried to shimmy up one of the temporary fences to get a better look. I didn’t need to see anymore. Our hair still smelled of that acrid smoke on our return to New Brunswick, like when you've been sitting in front of a campfire for too long. 

Those are my memories of 9/11 - faces, pictures, feelings and smells. What a fucked up day. It’s so big and hard to comprehend, the amount of suffering that happened. Suffering that rippled out through the country from Ground Zero that day. Have those waves finally settled? 

I'm watching CNN right now. It's 13 years later. I've so far seen no coverage of that day. Stories of Ferguson, Missouri, the Oscar Pistorius trial, and Obama's speech about ISIS are the top news.

Have we forgotten?