TRUTH AND SWEAT

There is an editorial in today’s New York Times that really touched me. It centered on the case of Benita Veliz, a 23 year-old college graduate. Here is the link--read the article and get back to me.

NYTimes Article

I don’t care what your opinion on “illegal immigration” is, but if you are able to look at this young woman from a pure, non-judgmental point of view, this is certainly someone that I would want in my corner.

In spite of the obstacles that she has undoubtedly faced and faces now, she moves forward. I am sure she has become discouraged along the way, but she has this knowing quality in her heart and soul that soothes the doubts and affirms, “Benita, keep going--this is what the universe intended.”

So, how do we do this? How do we do this when we “know” that we have this stuff in our heads that tells us “What are you thinking?” and “You can’t do this!!”

Oh, ye of little faith! Recognizing that, “Yes, in my past these things have occurred that have hindered me, but today is the day I take the leap. Today is the day that I acknowledge my past. Today is the day that I respect and forgive the decisions I have made, knowing that I did what I had to do AT THAT TIME.”

When we remove the debris that we so recklessly collect, when we move aside the hurts and sorrows and anger, we can do what Benita is doing. We can stretch ourselves, we can challenge the “No you cant’s” that are racing through our minds.

Last year, I realized that I was feeling less than “myself.” Yes, I was working, I was having quality family time, but I knew that I needed to stretch some other muscles. So I thought I would take an acting class at The Stella Adler Studio here in Manhattan--just a few blocks from my office. Perfect.

Now, I was in Debate and Forensics in high school--I did okay, won a few trophies, but I never really “acted.” The closest I got was an offer to sing a solo in my grade school Christmas Pageant. “Silver Bells” was the song--I chickened out at the last minute and my neighbor, Colette White, got the shot at stardom. Grrrrrrr. I hold no grudges.

So, armed with these near-misses at fame, I showed up in this well-worn and dated studio in March of last year. One of our first lessons, was to get to “our truth”. Acting, the instructor described, is not just having the words, but getting to the truth of the words, of the character’s intent. To do that, she said, we must SHOW truth to our audience.

Well, I thought, that doesn’t sound so tough. The assigned homework was to bring in 2 items and “use them truthfully” and the class would decide whether or not we achieved.

Here comes the confession. I did not really prepare in the way that I should have. The morning of class, I raced through my house and grabbed a camera and a needle and thread and a pair of shorts that had lost its button. I had a full roster of clients that morning and as such, did not practice my truth-showing exercise.

When it was my turn to go, I sensed trouble. I fully realized that I was not prepared but I forged on. I did my lame exercise with the camera, shooting away, praying that I would not be “found out.” The instructor looked at me cautiously and said, “Okay, um, what else do you have?” Shit--she knows. At this point, the sweat began to pour from my forehead, the back of my neck and my temples. It was a shower on 28th Street.

“Come on, Jeff--pull it together,” I mumbled to myself as the class looked on, probably hoping that my agony would soon end. I pulled out the needle and thread and the shorts and the button, and began to sew. I sewed for at least 2 or 3 minutes, all the while hoping that I would needle an artery to put me and the class out of this misery. I occasionally looked up in the direction of my instructor, with pleading eyes--let this end!!

“Okay, Jeff--good! Good! That is truth--wonderful!”

What? My head was spinning, I was drenched down to my socks, but, hell--I had shown truth. I mopped my head with the shorts, needle and thread still connected--that was also truth.

From that point on, I was on fire. I did not care that some of these people in this class thought of themselves as the next Sean Penn or Meryl Streep. I only focused on what I needed to do to advance my skills and learn. Comparing ourselves to others is merely another barrier to discovering what we need to learn about ourselves.

The final classes focused on us doing an actual scene. “Know the playwright’s truth, know the character’s truth, know your truth,” we were instructed.

Armed and dangerous, I practiced and practiced. I purchased a mini-recorder where I could listen to my speech in the car, noting inflections, pauses, changes in emotional intent.

The day came:

“The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path......”

Eugene O’ Neill and Benita Veliz--eat your heart out!

SNOW DAY

We had a huge snowstorm here in the Northeast a few weeks back. I had a snow day with Maya--we shoveled (well, I shoveled) and she tried to throw shovel-loads of snow at her Dad. We had a blast--showing her how to do snow-angels--did you ever do snow angels as a kid? It is an art--you find the purest patch of snow, stand erect and fall back, praying that you make the cleanest of imprints in the white fluff. And then just wave your arms and legs open and close. Simple magic. (Getting up is the challenge!)

Letʼs juxtapose this scene with the horrible news of those mass killings in Alabama and that town in Germany. We now know this guy in Alabama had a “list” of those who wronged him. And it was his mission that day to check this list off in the most depraved, cowardly manner. And he succeeded.

Now, I do not profess to be an expert in forensic psychology. Yes, I am sure I could draw some basic conclusions about these 2 animals, but the point here is that this guy in Alabama had a list and maybe the kid in Germany had one as well.

Who among us, has not had a “list” sometime in their life? Who has not felt wronged or hurt by someone we thought of as a friend, or someone who we felt, loved us? Or wronged by a boss or a colleague? But for heavenʼs sake--to carry out a killing spree for emotional justice??

For those who have knowingly or unknowingly been on my list throughout the years, I apologize. Yes, you may have hurt me, you may have wronged me, you may have emotionally injured me in some manner--BUT I am still breathing, I am still functioning, I am still thriving. Whatever your intent--whether it was done out of malice or not, whether it was out of frustration or not, whether it was the only way you knew how to respond or not, I forgive you.

Because... I played a part in all of this. I either did not express my feelings in the moment, did not put my interests first, did not believe in myself and my skills and my worth, or maybe I just played into a pattern of behavior that we had established. I do not know.

But what I do know, is that this list is burdensome. I want my life to be filled with more snow days. I deserve that.

THERE WON'T BE TRUMPETS

This is the title of one of my favorite songs from the Broadway musical, “Anyone Can Whistle.”

My soon-to-be-six year-old daughter, Maya, came home with a piece of artwork from school last week. It is on pale blue construction paper, with a big white cloud glued to it.

On the cloud are multi-colored hearts and written below the hearts she wrote: “I have a dream that 1 day there will be no war.”

Wow. I do not think I was dreaming that at 6--were you?

No, I think at 6, I was dreaming that I would outgrow my bedwetting. Or that the local crossing guard would stop calling me names. Or that I would be less bashful.

I think at 6 I was dreaming that my Dad would take more of an interest in me, that my Grandfather would be nicer, and that my newly born brother would make life a bit happier for me.

So now, some decades later, I do not need to worry about any of that stuff. The journey was taken, the conflicts eventually resolved. I hobbled through those early years,

making many wrong turns, and, occasionally, a few right ones.

Which leads me to Facebook.

Facebook has whooshed me back to certain landmark watershed moments from this amazing journey. Not always pleasant ones, I admit--I have been reminded through

those who I have friended and who have friended me that I have made mistakes, hurt some people along the way, done and said things that I would not do today.

Facebook, you have humbled me. And quieted me.

There wonʼt be trumpets. There is a quiet revolution that has been happening inside of me for quite some time. It is gaining strength, but it needs to stay quiet. For my sake. I will not come out as loudly as my daughter and declare to the world what I dream. This is for me. This is my time. My turn.

I have been loud in the past about my dreams. Some came true, others did not. And when they did not, I put on the brave face, masking my disappointment and distress. BUT--the sky did not fall, my life was in no danger, but I do feel as if I lost something.

So when I work with my clients I like to stress that change, real change, should be quiet, subtle, loving and cherished. And when it comes, look out--it is an incredible sensation.

So do not ask me what my dreams are. They are mine. I keep them tucked away in a peaceful place, where I can bring them out when I want.

You can have your trumpets.