40 Before 40

We spend a lot of time making lists of things we still want to do with our lives. You can find I don't even know how many articles about 30 Things to do Before You Turn 30, or 30 Books to Read Before you Turn 30, or 30 Countries to Visit Before you Turn 30 or whatever. You name it, there is a listicle telling what you need to do before that magical day when you turn 30.

Well, I'm about to leave my thirties for the next rather arbitrary adventure, and I'll be honest here, I've been having a bit of a rough go of it lately. Things were looking a bit grim and scary, and it was looking like I was going to kick off my fourth decade with nary a penny to my name, in desperate need of both a vacation and some new underwear. Thankfully, a lot of the things that were scary and grim sorted themselves out so I am okay for the time being (though always looking for opportunities for improvement). But I haven't quite gotten out of the funk of it. When I look at those lists of things I was supposed to have done by now, there is a lot I still have left to do.

So I think I need to look at it another way. Here is a list of 40 things I did before I turned 40, in no particular order, so I have it. So I know my life has not been wasted or misspent. So I know I have good stories to tell.

1. I played Hamlet.
2. I played King Lear.
3. I was in a play for two years straight (Floss!).
4. I starred in more than one movie.
5. I saw the Cubs win the World Series.
6. I caught Sam Mendes' attention with my very odd laugh.
7. I traveled to Australia by myself.
8. I traveled through Europe by myself.
9. I traveled through Europe with friends.
10. I saw the Grand Canyon and Mount Rushmore.
11. I fell in love.
12. I rode a camel.
13. I was sold for 80 camels while in Morocco.
14. I headlined the Elbo Room in Chicago playing songs I wrote with a band I put together.
15. I took second place in the Cabaret Division at the American Lindy Hop Championships with the Chicago Shag Team.
16. I got arrested for underage dancing.
17. I played my violin from memory in church when my pages were out of order.
18. I got cast in three plays within a month of moving to New York.
19. I moved to New York.
20. I made life-long friends.
21. I gave an epic best man speech at my best friend's wedding.
22. I met Frank Turner.
23. I spent a summer in Los Angeles.
24. I went to Comic Con. Twice.
25. I bought a car by myself.
26. I raised the sweetest of all possible sweet cats.
27. I built hats.
28. I got my first Shakespearean tattoo done by a lovely Polish man in Dublin, Ireland.
29. I made a dress out of paper clips and ribbon, and one out of playing cards.
30. I saw David Tennant play Richard II, saw David Bowie play Fashion, saw Moby, saw Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova (together and individually), saw Oingo Boingo, saw Tim Curry in Spamalot, saw Once in London.
31. I played all of the women in As You Like It (except Rosalind) at the same time.
32. I turned my year-long experiment with veganism into a 15-year (and counting) lifestyle change.
33. I broke someone's heart.
34. I got my heart broken.
35. I went into the ring at a capea. 
36. I voted for the first African American president of the United States. Twice.
37. I wrote and directed a musical for children.
38. I did a touring puppet show.
39. I faced my fears of speaking in public and singing in public and interacting with other humans so that I could become and actor and a musician whose videos and music have been seen and heard around the world.
40. I made people laugh.

Most of this stuff is not the kind of stuff that anyone else would look at and think anything of. It's not a resume that will land me in a hall of fame or win me awards. But I have done a lot with my life - this is by no means an exhaustive list. I'm not done with it, but I haven't been sitting around doing nothing. And considering that I started my life so scared of everything and so painfully shy, the fact that I am who I am now is pretty remarkable.

I'm not going to make a list of the next forty things I have to do before I turn 80. I'm going to see where my life takes me and hope for the best.

December 30 - Review

I feel like I should do a sort of Year In Review post, though it also feels a little silly to do so since I've posted every day this year so really, it's all here already. But here we go anyway. 

I was in about seven plays and one film. 

I completed season 1 of Just a Fling. 

I read probably ten-fifteen books. 

I moved 800 miles away from home. 

I got a new job. 

I made twenty or thirty new friends. 

I learned that I am stronger than even I thought I was. 

I learned that I am more capable than I thought I was. 

I learned that the people who are most important to you stay in your life, regardless of geography. 

I purged a lot of my stuff and learned that I really don't miss it. 

I learned how to play the ukulele. 

I got a second tattoo. 

I saw one of my favorite musicians play two shows in one day. 

I spent time in three countries on two continents. 

I learned how to live with other people. Kind of. 

I learned how to be more giving. 

I learned to not place so much importance on stuff and ownership. 

I identified some societal "norms" to which I no longer want to subscribe. 

I walked I don't even know how many miles and lost about eight pounds. 

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty good year. Big changes. Lots of growth. Yes, I was stressed out and cried a lot for a couple of months leading up to my move, but the net result has been very positive so far, and tears can be good for you every now and again. 

So I won't be documenting 2015 quite as thoroughly, but I'm excited to see what it has in store. I'm excited to get working on my goals, and I'm excited to see what unexpected challenges and opportunities might come my way. 

Now if only it was a smidge warmer outside so I wasn't so afraid to leave the comfort of a nice, warm bed. 

December 15 - Person

I don't know why I'm so frequently amazed by my own ability to be a person. All of the evidence would suggest that I'm actually quite capable so it shouldn't be that surprising. Yet somehow, I am still amazed that I can manage to do things like move halfway across the country and get my life set up as if I had been here all along. Millions of people do things like this every day. I'm one of them. And from the outside, it probably even looks like I know what I'm doing. 

When did that happen? When did I become this amazing, self-reliant, dependable, responsible person? I don't feel like I'm old enough or experienced enough or prepared enough to do some of the really basic, simple things that I do and have done, but I've done them, so I must be. When did that happen?

November 29 - Vanity

I do not, in general, consider myself a vain person. Granted, I do have recurring nightmares about all of my teeth falling out which some dream guides say is a vanity dream, but I don't think I'm terribly vain. I'm pretty low maintenance. I'll wear whatever the costume designer asks me to in shows. Whatever. 

My weakness, though, is eyeliner. See, while I am not the vain sort, I am the sort that remembers hurtful things that were said to me in the past for a ridiculously long time, and I am also the sort to whom a lot of hurtful things were said. Especially in junior high and high school. Teenage girls can be awful. One of the recurring comments made to me during those fragile, formative years was that I should smile more because otherwise, I look comatose. This was before I discovered makeup. It wasn't just one off-hand comment; I was told on several occasions by several different people that I have what the kids these days would call Resting Comatose Face. Their suggestion was that I smile more. Not being big on smiling then, I just walked around very self-conscious, knowing I looked half dead all the time. Such a lovely way to spend one's teens. 

But then, in college, one of my friends showed me how to wear everyday make up. Granted, what she showed me included things like concealer, which did nothing to conceal the mountain range I had on my face at the time, but it also included eyeliner and mascara. These two simple tools transformed my face and bam! All of a sudden, I was pretty. Nobody told me I looked comatose anymore. Simple as that. Eyeliner plus mascara equalled no more comments on my resting face status. So I wear eyeliner and mascara pretty much all the time now. They have become my comfortable place. 

People notice when I don't wear them, though. I've had people go so far as to ask me if I'm feeling all right if they see me without the eyeliner and mascara. Resting Comatose Face. Easily remedied with eyeliner and mascara. Poof!

Yesterday, I did not put on eyeliner or mascara. I was having a quiet day, wherein I did very little. I had not planned on leaving my apartment at all except to do laundry, but come evening, I wanted a snack so I ventured out. I went to the store without eyeliner or mascara on. I bought a soda and some chips and even chatted with the shopkeeper for a moment about how miserable it was that his heat wasn't working, but how nice that it hadn't snowed. And nobody looked at me funny or told me I look comatose. 

I'm not saying I'm a no-make-up convert now or anything. I like how I look when my eyes are highlighted - they are very pretty eyes. But it was good for me to step out of my comfort zone and find that even when stripped of the tiny bit of vanity that I have, I am still okay. 

November 12 - Alone

I saw the National Theatre's production of Coriolanus last night, or a screening thereof, to be precise. I had tried to see an actual performance of it when I was in London last winter, but it was completely sold out. After seeing the screening, I'm thinking maybe it's a good thing that I didn't see it in person because I may not have been able to speak for a couple of days afterward. It was very well done, and very intense.

In preparation for seeing the show, though, I read up on it in my Shakespeare books, and then read the text of the play so I would have an idea of what was going on and who was who. I don't always do that, but as this is a Shakespearean play with which I was not previously familiar, I thought it might be good to do so. My research told me that of all of Shakespeare's play, this one uses the word "alone" the most. At least, I think that is what I have read. And there is a very large through line of the title character doing things alone, and feeling that he is alone in lots of things. For those of you who don't know the story and are not opposed to spoilers, I'll fill you in a bit.

Caius Martius (sometimes spelled Caius Marcius) is a super-charged war fighting machine. The play takes place in Italy when the country wasn't really a country yet, but was a group of warring city states, Rome being one of them. Rome hadn't yet become the central seat of power, and wasn't the great Roman Empire we've all come to know and love, so there was a lot of political uproar going on, pretty much all the time, with lots of little wars and battles between these various city states. So at the start of the play, the Romans are pissed that corn is so expensive and they're ready to riot about it, until Menenius calms them down by telling them that really, the government gets the corn and distributes it to the people who then don't have to distribute it any further, so really, the government isn't all that bad. Then Martius shows up in a pissy mood, says some angry things to the peasants that essentially amount to, "You're peasants, so shut your yaps," and everyone gets all pissed off again. Good going, Martius. So they all decide that they need to fight the Volscians to get their corn, and several of them tromp off to do so. The wall around the Volscian camp is really tall, though, so only Martius is able to scale it and get inside to fight the Volscians. He single-handedly wins that battle, including a nice fight with his arch-rival Aufidus. Drenched in blood, Martius returns to Rome, where is given the battle garland (think: game ball) and everyone is happy. So happy, in fact, at his no-loss war record that they give him the title of Coriolanus. But that's not enough. I think it is Menenius, and maybe another mostly-good-dude-and-mostly-friend-of-Martius named Cominius, who decide that since Coriolanus is a good military guy, he'd also make a great politician. Because that's how that works. Coriolanus begrudgingly goes through the motions necessary to gain the people's voices so he can become consul (think: Senate hearings vetting a Supreme Court candidate, but with a toga) and is voted consul. No sooner has he left the room, though, than the two jealous tribunes (appointed to be the voices of the people) point out that Coriolanus had a stick up his butt the whole time and decide he should be overthrown and the votes that made him consul don't count. The people agree. Coriolanus shows up to do his consul type things, and all hell breaks loose as the people tell him he's not the consul. He throws a fit, says some things that he probably shouldn't, and everyone leaves in a snit. Menenius tells Coriolanus to apologize, which he begrudgingly agrees to do when his mother tells him it's okay to do so. Did I mention that Coriolanus has a bit of a Norman Bates obsession with his mom? But she's still alive. Think of her kind of as his puppetmaster. She wants him to be the greatest everything that ever was. She's kind of awesome and terrifying as a character. Anyway. Coriolanus goes back to the Senate ready to stay calm and apologize, but the two jealous tribunes are kind of prepped to either have the people kill him or banish him, and in their rage, they banish him. The mom is pissed. Coriolanus says some tearful goodbyes and leaves Rome, and leaves his mom, wife and son behind. He goes off to find, of all people, Aufidus, his arch-enemy, who he now wants to join up with so they can conquer Rome together since Rome was so horrible as to banish him. Aufidus says okay, and they build a fantastic war machine together. In the interim, Cominius comes to see Coriolanus/Martius, who refuses to see him. Menenius comes to see Coriolanus/Martius, who refuses to see him. And Rome starts to panic because now they know that Coriolanus/Martius is going to attack and in all likelihood, will devastate Rome. Finally, Coriolanus/Martius' mom, wife and son go to see him, and the mom makes a very impassioned speech about why he shouldn't destroy Rome, but should instead broker a peace between Rome and the Volscians. Puppetmaster wins and Coriolans/Martius says okay, he'll broker a peace. He sends his mom, wife and son back to Rome with the good news, at which point, Aufidus and his men promptly kill Coriolanus/Martius for being a traitor and the play ends.

This a very brief synopsis, mind you.

Getting back to the point I wanted to make before the synopsis, though, there is a lot in this play about doing things alone. Coriolanus fights the Volscians alone. He, alone, slaughters them. He, alone, has garnered all of these military victories. Alone, he is chosen to rule and represent Rome. Alone he asks for votes. Alone, he is cast out. Alone, he begs Aufidus for an alliance. Alone, he chooses to broker a peace. Alone, he dies. And in the way it was staged in this particular production, when Coriolanus is killed, his mother shows up on another part of the stage, with rose petals raining down on her, so you can see her face as she learns of her son's death. And the way it was played, she knew it was her fault he was killed. Had she not convinced him to broker that peace, he would still be alive. It was heartbreaking. Seriously, if you can find the production online somewhere, rent it or buy it or find some way to see it because it is very well done.

But as one who has spent so much of her life being ridiculously self-reliant, this might have been exactly the wrong show for me to see at this point in my emotional development. Coriolanus, arrogant as he is, is doing just fine in his solitude. He has a wife and a family and the best battle record of anyone in Rome. It is not until he starts to trust other people that things go haywire. He doesn't want to be consul, but he does it to please others. And then at the end, when he finally gives in and lets himself have a family, lets himself truly care about those who care about him, he is killed. This would seem to reinforce the idea that solitude isn't such a bad thing; it's other people who will screw you over the in the long run.

Yesterday, I wore the wrong shoes. My feet were killing me before I even got to work and I knew I wouldn't get home until after eleven o'clock at night. And as I was trying to figure out how to fix this problem, one of the women I work with offered to lend me a spare pair of sneakers she had under her desk for the day. I felt weird doing it, but then I remembered that a) my feet really hurt and b) people like being able to help other people, so I borrowed her shoes. And I found myself nearly bowled over by this simple act of kindness from someone I've only known for two months. It reminded me that self-reliance is great up to a certain point, but that help from others can be a glorious thing. And then I saw Coriolanus. You see my problem now?

So it's something I'm still working on. I do know that playing the character of Coriolanus' mom is in my future, or at least I hope it is. Though maybe I need to get past the place where I so strongly identify with Coriolanus' self-reliance first. Maybe I need to play him.

What? Stranger things have happened.

October 8 - Learning Curve

I've realized that I'm not good at not being good at things. I've also realized that making that statement makes me sound extraordinarily pretentious. I hope you guys know by now that I'm not overly pretentious and I am, in fact, terrible at tooting my own horn. But it is a very important realization for me to be able to admit that I am not good at not being good at things.

Part of this is that I learn very quickly. There are instances wherein I am an auditory learner, those in which I am a visual learner, and those in which I am a physical learner. I think that adaptability, when coupled with my intellect, allows me to learn most things really fast. I've also wondered from time to time if I have a partially eidetic memory, because I know that (specifically) when I'm memorizing lines for a play, I can see in my mind's eye where they land on the page and how long my line is and how big the space is before I speak again. That kind of thing. It is really helpful in memorization to be able to picture what you're memorizing, let me tell you, and it helps me learn my lines quickly. So I've wondered. But I do know that the end result is that I learn things very fast. It's just how I am.

The thing is, there are some things that I don't pick up as quickly or don't pick up at all. If I try something and don't get it right away, I do have a tendency to just plain stop doing it so I don't have to deal with not being good at it. But if it is something I'm passionate about, or a skill I know I will need later, there is this period of time where I have to deal with the fact that I'm not good at something. I know I will get better, but in the moment, I'm not good at something and I don't have a good mechanism for dealing with that.

For example, in my class last night, the teacher wanted to stretch my abilities and see if I could do something different than what I have been doing. I'm grateful that he threw me curveball because it is only through trying new things that I can learn and grow. But I left frustrated because I don't think I did very well with the curveball. I was not happy with the work that I did, even if the end result was what it should be. I didn't get it right away, and that frustrated me. And then I found myself frustrated with my frustration. It's a freakin' class, for crying out loud. If I'm going to fail or fall flat on my face or screw up and do something horribly, that's the place to do it. And it's not like I haven't done it before. In that specific class, too. But it bothered me. And the only reason I've been able to pinpoint for why it bothered me is that I am not good at not being good at things. It's totally my issue, stuff in my head. And I need to figure out a way to deal with it.

So I think I may just need to cut myself some slack. I am still in process, not a finished product. Things, in general, have been going so well for me, it should not be surprising that something didn't go perfectly. That I wasn't perfect. And it is okay that I wasn't perfect. It is more than okay that I wasn't perfect. I am learning. I am trying. I am growing. I think I just need to stay more open to the fact that I will not get everything exactly right on the first try and that is okay.

I'll get it right the second time.

July 27 - Green World Play

One of the common conflict set-ups in literature is the Green World story. Instead of a man-against-man, man-against-nature, or man-against-himself set up, the Green World story is one wherein the protagonist goes somewhere new, spends some time, and comes back to his original life a changed person. Think of The Wizard of Oz - Dorothy is unhappy and restless at home, she goes to this magical land, and learns that home really is a wonderful place. Yes, there are other conflict structures there, too (Dorothy vs. the Wicked Witch), but if you look at the overarching structure of the whole thing, it's a Green World story. I think they also got the name "Green World" because the other place protagonists would often end up wherein they would find themselves or the resolution to their conflict was somewhere green - a forest instead of the city, that kind of thing. 

I bring this up because this weekend felt a little bit like a Green World story to me. I was out in the suburbs shooting a film, up in almost Wisconsin. While not quite rural, it felt more rural than the area of Chicago where I live. There were bigger yards, more space between houses and buildings, and (of course), more green. I was working with people I'd not really worked with before, some of whom I met just a few minutes before we shot our scenes. But they were (are) all great people. Everyone pitching in to make sure the things that needed to happen, happened. And I think I can be proud of the work I did, too. My scenes were probably a little different than originally envisioned, but I think the net effect of my character will be appropriate. I think she will serve the function in the film that she is supposed to. She is very different from me, and different than other characters I've been playing lately, and it was fun to get to stretch some different muscles. And perhaps most importantly, I feel like I made friends with some great people and made some potentially important connections for my future career. If anyone involved in this production is reading this, thank you for that. 

And then today, I drove home to my regular life again. Back to worrying about the Big Scary. Back to my friends and family. But I oddly feel stronger for the experience. It was validation that I can make a good impression on and get along with all sorts of people. It was validation that I do good work. It was validation that I can spend 36-ish hours straight with other people and survive, even with taking a bit of an introvert break. It was validation that I'm moving in the right direction. 

So my own little Green World story in the course of a weekend. Wow, am I a theatre geek or what?

July 23 - Changing

When I was in college, I was in a short play about a man who buys five raffle tickets from five different women and ends up winning a donkey. To be honest, I don't remember the name of the play - we rehearsed for about a week and there was only one performance as part of (I believe) an Irish play festival. In any case, I played all five women. Since they come in one right after the other to sell him raffle tickets, we decided that my costume changes should happen on stage and be part of the show. Each change was accompanied by a different piece of music, and the woman playing the donkey would help me. For one of them, when I was changing out of a fat suit into a "geek" costume, the traditional stripper music was playing, so I used the coat rack my costumes were hanging on to, um, spice up the change. And for the actual performance, my grandmother was sitting in the front row. To sum up - I did a "stripper" routine on stage, changing from a fat suit to a "geek" costume, in front of my grandmother.

This is the thing about being a theatre person. You get to (have to) do things on stage that you would never do in your regular life. This, to me, is what is really fun about it.

I was thinking about this last night, too, as I was changing into my costume in the one, tiny dressing room available to the performers of all three pieces that were going up at the same time. In my piece alone, there are three men and three women (including me). So instantly, we have a unisex dressing room. This is not new to me - I think the last time I worked somewhere that had separate dressing rooms for men and women was in college. But clothes have to get changed, which means sometimes, you have to change in front of people, and sometimes those people are of the same gender as you and sometimes they are not. Last night, for example, I changed into my costume in front of a man I had only met the night before. And you know what? It was no big deal. We were chatting about things before I changed, we continued to chat while I changed, and the conversation continued after I was finished. There were no hoots or hollers. There were no disparaging looks or disdainful glances cast at my tummy or rear end. There was no sexual innuendo. We were both just actors preparing to go on stage and do a show together. No big deal.

The idea of changing clothes in front of other people being no big deal then sort of extrapolated itself into this brilliant body acceptance thing. Because I know that for some people, even some of my fellow actors, it still is a big deal. As a woman, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has worn a skirt so I can easily put my costume trousers on underneath it to prevent any potential flashing situations. I can see out of the corner of my eye sometimes how comfortable or uncomfortable other people are with this sort of odd situation - you need to change your clothes and there just happen to be fifteen other people in the room who also need to change their clothes and you'd all really like to just get changed so you can go home or go to the bar and have a post-show drink. And what I've learned is that while everyone is changing together, nobody is looking at anybody else. This is not the time or place for judgement. This is not the arena for body shaming. This is a group of people doing a job. Once we're in our costumes, there may be chat of "Oh my god, I look so old," or as my one cast mate put it last night, "You look like a drunk" (which I am supposed to). But what is brilliant about those comments is that each and every one of us is wearing the costume we are supposed to wear in order to put the story on stage that needs to be told. It's not about who has bigger boobs or tighter abs or flabby biceps. It is about exactly the right people looking exactly the right way to invite the audience into the world of the play in such a way that they feel like they've known these people living in this world forever.

This is what I love about theatre. A moment as mundane as dropping my pants in front of a man I met twenty-four hours earlier turned into a moment of "I look exactly the way I am supposed to right now." How awesome is that?

June 30 - Apology

I feel like I need to issue a formal apology to, well, just about everyone, both for things recently done and things that will be done in the very near future. I'm sorry I've been/am being a pain. No excuses, just an apology. I'm sorry I'm being a pain.

If you're curious to know why, I will you, though, that I think I finally know what "crippling fear" and "paralyzing self-doubt" feel like. They are aptly named, but not pleasant. At all. I know that they are brought on by decisions I have made and that they will go away eventually, but in the meantime, they are making it a little bit difficult to behave like my normal self. And they are even making me question who my normal self is. I also know that the quickest way to get rid of them would be to make the opposite decision than the one I have already made, but if I chose that route, I'm pretty sure the "crippling fear" and "paralyzing self-doubt" would be replaced by "crippling disappointment" and "paralyzing self-hatred." So I'm going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment, and it is manifesting as me being a pain.

So again, I apologize. I should not be venting my fears, frustrations, and doubts onto you; that is not fair of me. I hope we can get past this together.

June 24 - Mermaids

I mentioned the other day that I participated in the Coney Island Mermaid Parade, dressed as a TARDIS mermaid. It was a blast. I am sunburnt in a very odd pattern on my chest where makeup did and did not provide extra sunblock protection. And in emptying my suitcase today after my journey, there was as much sand and glitter as clothing in there.

One interesting thing for me, though, was the number of people who wanted to take my picture and pictures of my friends. It was what I imagine a step-and-repeat down a red carpet would be. We had to walk about two blocks from the train station to the registration area and it took us two hours to get there. We were stopped every five feet or so and swarmed by people with cameras - a lot of fancy DSLR cameras, a lot of iPhones, a lot of point-and-shoots. People wanted their children in a picture with us. People wanted to be in photos with us themselves. People wanted close-ups and interviews and long shots. I have never been so photographed in my life as I was during the Mermaid Parade. And there were some photographers who just followed us down the sidewalk, getting a new set of 10-12 photos every time another group stopped us. It was insane. And I will probably spend quite a bit of time in the coming weeks looking for photos that I like. 

So far, I have found myself very critical of my physique in the pictures. This is not surprising. On the day, I didn't care that I have a tummy. In retrospect, I wish it wasn't so prominent. But at the same time I am disappointed in my shape in these photos, I know the ones being posted on the internet are posted by people who think they are good photos of me. They loved my costume. Those who recognized me as a TARDIS cheered as I walked by. A few took fangirl shots for friends and family members who are Doctor Who fans. One woman, upon hearing the TARDIS sound eminating from the speaker on my back shouted, "I am such a fan of you!" Even those who didn't know what I was are posting what they think are beautiful photos of a woman painted blue. To the photographers, I was a beautiful artistic expression. The size of my stomach didn't factor in one iota. 

So why is it that when we look at photographs of a woman in a magazine, we have to focus on her abs or her thighs or her triceps and whether they are larger than our own? Why can't we look at an un-touched photograph of a woman and just see a beautiful artistic expression? Why can't we see photos of ourselves that way? Through the photographer's or observer's eyes instead of our own?

The Mermaid Parade is beautiful because there is nothing else like it in the world, but also because it is an opportunity to appreciate the wonder, beauty, and amazement that is humanity in all of it's glorious shapes, sizes, and colors. I am so glad I participated this year, and hope the lessons about loving my shape whatever shape it is carry over to my everyday life as well. 

June 23 - Fear

The fear of the unknown is rooted largely in, well, the unknown. I think as humans, we like to have an idea of what is coming next. It is why we have day planners, calendars in our cell phones, and psychics. We like to be able to prepare for what is ahead so we know we will be safe, secure, fed, and housed. It's human nature. 

There are a lot of unknowns in my life that I am trying to make less frightening through conversation and planning as best I can. Sometimes the fears are still a little overwhelming. I have to remember that not only am I smart and responsible and capable, but I am resourceful as well. When I have had to make last minute decisions or plans in the past, I have done so and everything has worked out just fine. I'm that kind of person. 

What I think is really odd, though, is how my mental picture of me changes when I don't know what is coming next. When I have a plan laid out, I feel confident and attractive. When I don't, it's like I forget what my own face looks like. As if I was walking around with as much chaos and confusion visible on my face as exists in my mind. I am therefore always startled when I look in a mirror and see...me. Looking the way I always have. Looking pretty, even. 

So for that reason, I'd like the unknowns to work themselves out. I'm tired of walking around feeling like a Picasso version of me. I'd like to get back to feeling like I'm wearing the right face again. I know it will happen soon and everything will be fine, may even be great. I'm just antsy for that to day to be today.

June 17 - Something New

So this project that I have been working on, that has been kicking my butt and making me feel utterly stupid, took a turn for the better. I find I get caught up in the mental picture of how something should look or how it should turn out and if the slightest thing deviates from that plan, I get frustrated. 

But I stopped to remind myself today that what I am making is not an exact replica, but an artistic homage. An artistic interpretation, if you will, so maybe deviating from the original plan is okay if the original plan has me questioning my worth as a human being. And once I made that decision and came to terms with it, I got excited again and was able to enjoy my project for what it is - fun. 

I think this is an important thing for me to remember in general. Things don't always work out the way you plan. Sometimes they look completely different and sometimes, different is better. 

June 12 - Beauty

I was thinking about our society's standards of beauty this morning and then a friend of mine sent me a link to this article which said kind of exactly what I was thinking about, so I thought that yes, I should write about this today. I know that what I am going to say here is nothing that hasn't been said before by me and by others (and probably said better by the others), but it is still a thing and I don't think it will change if we stop talking about it, so I'm going to keep talking about it until it does. So there.

Confession time: I often think about things I would say if I was being interviewed on a talk show. It's fun to imagine, and as an actor, not completely outside the realm of things I might have to think about one day. And depending on the day, these imaginary conversations I have with interviewers range in topic from what is going on in the world to why I'm vegan to my physical appearance and how it is outside of the Hollywood norm. You know, the stuff I talk about here on this blog. And most recently, I've been having these imaginary conversations about my appearance.

Because here is the thing: I will never be a size 2. I'm pretty sure it is not in my genetic make-up to allow me to be a size 2. Maybe twenty years ago had I starved myself and worked out all of the time, I could have been, but I am not now and I don't think anything short of major surgery will get me down to a size 2. In my personal life, as I'm walking down the street to and from work, or hanging out with my friends, I am perfectly fine with the fact that I am not now, nor will ever be, a size 2. I have a face that is really nice to look at, and am physically strong enough to do most things that I want to do. I am not unhealthy. And judging by the hoots and hollers and catcalls that I get (and sincere, honest friendships that I have, too), I feel pretty safe in saying people find me attractive. The catcallers for physical reasons; my friends for reasons beyond the physical. And while I am able to say now that I am a good looking woman, I am also able to say I am a ridiculously talented actor. I mean, really. Think about the different types of characters I have played. Think about how many directors have taken the time to let me know they wish they could have used me but there wasn't a part for me in that particular show. Think about how many roles I have been completely wrong for but was cast in anyway, or that have been changed in some significant manner, so that I could play them. I think all of these things say something about my abilities. As do the comments I have gotten from directors and fellow cast members that I inspire them to step up their game. These comments are insanely flattering and completely humbling, and I treasure them. And when you put all of these things together, the only logical conclusion to be drawn from them is that I am really good at what I do. If I wasn't, my career would look very different than it does.

But I just sent out a mailing to talent agents to try to find representation. And I am almost certain that a) I will not hear back from any of them, or b) I will hear back from at least one that recommends I lose 20-30 pounds before they will represent me. Why? Because I am not a size 2.

So I was imagining myself on a talk show, talking about a project I starred in and kicked ass in despite the size of my derriere, and the interviewer and I got talking about body image things. And I very smartly (I thought) brought up the variety that is allowed, or tolerated, or encouraged, in male movie stars. Chris Evans, Tom Hiddleston, Philip Seymour Hoffman, James Earl Jones, Benedict Cumberbatch, Collin Firth, Will Smith, Michael Cera, Simon Pegg, Denzel Washington, Samuel L. Jackson, Nick Frost, Morgan Freeman, Sylvester Stallone, Bryan Cranston, James Franco, Chris O'Dowd - they all have different body types, different facial shapes, different hair styles, and yet all of them have played leading men. Perhaps different kinds of leading men (did Phillip Seymour Hoffman ever play a romantic lead?), but leading men nonetheless. And most of them are, or were, the best in the business at one point or another. Most of those men have won major awards for their work, regardless of their trouser size, their jawline, or their height. When we look at the women currently making big bucks in Hollywood, they're told that they have to be a size 2 in order to get leading roles. The two notable exceptions are Melissa McCarthy and Lena Dunham. Possibly Christina Hendricks, too. For most women of larger-than-size-2-size, if they do get a lead in something, it is an indie film, they are not a romantic lead, and they don't get a whole lot of work afterward (Gabourey Sidibe) other than character work. The article linked above mentioned how similar Anna Kendrick, Isla Fisher, Kate Mara, and Ashley Greene all look, and it is true. We, as a society, seem to like only one sort of woman when it comes to "who someone could fall in love with," and anyone who looks different to her is background noise. At least as far as Hollywood is concerned. We can forgive any physical difference in our men, but not in our women.

Granted, I am making gross exaggerations. There are the Lucy Lius (who is still tiny) and the Salma Hayaks (who is still tiny) and the Kerry Washingtons (who is still tiny) representing different looks. I would venture to say, though, that there are more women in film who look like other women in film than women in film who look like the women you see walking down the street every day.

I'm ready for this to change. But as I read casting notice after casting notice that includes something about "must be petite" or "small build" or "skinny and very attractive, somewhat exotic looking," I see that this isn't going to be changing any time soon.

I wonder how much of it has to do with the fantasy aspect of storytelling. Men writing about straight characters always fantasize that the man, no matter what he looks like, will end up with the supermodel. Women writing about straight characters always fantasize that the woman will be so gorgeous she could have any man she wants. I wish we could all, collectively, stop thinking this way. I wish we noticed how many of the people we treasure most in our lives do not fit the "Hollywood ideal" and how little that matters in regard to how much or why we love them. Maybe by acknowledging this, we can change the way we tell stories to include women who look like women - our moms, our sisters, our daughters - instead of making every female character description "skinny, hooker with a heart of gold."

In the meantime, I have to hope that the fact that I am a ridiculously talented actor is enough to let me play some great role that gets me on a talk show so I can publicly talk about how our attitudes towards women's bodies need to change. Because like that article said, it's great that someone as non-traditionally Hollywood as Benedict Cumberbatch is such a popular actor now. Now we just need the same allowances extended to actresses, too.

May 10 - Experiment

I tried something today which was rather out of character for me, but an important step, I think, in embracing my new self-image of "cute little thing" - I wore shorts. Outside. In public. For about half an hour. 

Granted, now that I am home, I am wearing full trousers again, but I had to give it a shot. The last time I wore shorts in public was when I was in Las Vegas, so almost exactly a year ago, and it was nighttime in Vegas for a white party and I wore the shorts instead of wearing a dress so it felt more like a costume than a fashion statement. Prior to that...I'd have to dig through this blog to find the last time I wrote about how weird it is for me to wear shorts in public. 

I used to wear shorts a lot when I was younger. It didn't seem like such a big deal. But then the summer I spent in LA, it just became weird to wear them. I think in part because an actress I was sort of working with didn't wear them to make sure she wouldn't sunburn her legs. Or some such thing. Seemed like a good idea to me - save on sunscreen and avoid skin cancer by staying covered up. And then, when I did want to try wearing shorts again, I couldn't find any that we're flattering - they were all exactly the wrong length or style for my body shape. So I got frustrated and disappointed in shorts and just decided that I don't wear shorts. That's fine. 

But today, in part because of the long-overdue gorgeous weather and in part as part of my self-image re-shaping therapy, I decided I would do my morning errand on foot and I would wear shorts. The same shorts I wore in Vegas, white denim, paired with a green v-neck t-shirt and my Converse sneakers. 

It was weird stepping out into the bright sunlight looking like...everyone else. Honestly, I looked like a high school senior or something, except with less-cool headphones. The first human I saw was a rather good looking, well built man, and I thought, "Welp, there's no turning back now." Amazingly, he did not go blind at the sight of my porcelain legs, nor did he even really seem to take note of me at all. I passed a couple of women, older than me, on the sidewalk and they smiled but didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. I saw two young girls outside, one coloring, one trying out her pink and purple rollerblades on the uneven sidewalk. I wanted to give her a high five for being able to skate on that, and tell he she could grow up to be a badass derby girl if she wanted to be, but I didn't. She sat down as I passed, looked up at me and smiled. I smiled as warmly as I could back at her. I think we both knew she could take me in a derby bout. 

By the time I got to the first major intersection I had to cross, I was feeling pretty good. So good, I sort of danced to the Frank Turner song in my headphones while I waited for an opportunity to cross. Nobody was looking at me. Nobody thought this was the least bit odd. I crossed the street and kept going. It wasn't until I had nearly reached my destination, just shy of a mile from my apartment, that I encountered my first gawker - a dude on a skateboard. But by that point, I didn't care. 

I did my errand and headed home along a slightly busier road. More cars, more pedestrians. I noticed more people wearing shorts, more people wearing colors, and realized that as a person wearing shorts and a color, I was drawing absolutely no attention to myself. I looked normal. Until I had to wait at a major intersection for a moment to cross along with four men. Each of them, in turn, took note of me and then did something that could have been a subconscious tick to make themself look more attractive to me. One guy made a phone call to indicate popularity. One guy ate a breath mint to draw attention to his mouth and show he would taste good. One guy moved slightly to allow me space to cross the street, showing manners. It is entirely possible all of this was nothing, but in my own head, it was hysterical. 

Just about half-way home, as my skin was singing with glee for it's exposure to the brilliant spring air, a guy on the sidewalk gave me the full up and down look-over and smiled and nodded approvingly at me. I nearly burst out laughing. On the one hand, I did set out in my shorts to get some sort of public validation that there is nothing weird about me wearing shorts. But on the other hand, seriously? This was my own self-imposed therapy homework; I wasn't out trolling for men. Not to mention what a load of crap things like catcalls are anyway. They never work, they only show the cat-caller as an ignorant buffoon. But today, I felt so good, I got a giggle out of it - once I was out of earshot because I didn't want him to think I was flattered. 

I even stopped at the drug store before going home to pick up a couple of things and the older gentleman in front of me in line struck up a conversation. I chatted with him and the cashier about the gorgeous weather while I paid for my things and then I came home. 

Nobody exploded. Nobody went blind. Nobody shouted mean things about how a woman my size should wear shorts that short. I was out in public for about half an hour in shorts and nothing terrible happened. On the contrary, something wonderful happened. I felt good about myself, about my appearance. And my skin loved getting some fresh air and sunlight. My body loved getting some exercise. It was, all in all, an empowering experiment. 

And now I am back home wearing long trousers, back in my comfort zone, with plenty of things to think about. Happy spring, everybody!

May 7 - Little Things

I think I'm also going to stop referring to myself as a "bigger girl" and start thinking of myself as a "cute little thing." See what happens. 

April 28 - Others

Before I say anything, I want to say that I am truly blessed to have such an amazing group of friends and such a brilliant family. I am quite often surrounded by kind, loving, intelligent, funny, supportive people and I find myself completely humbled that I get to consider myself part of this group. I know exactly how lucky I am to know these people and to have them in my life and I will love them forever for that.

On the other hand, though, I do often times find myself surrounded by some really horrid people who are not very nice to me at all. It's part of life - you can't like everyone all of the time. And there are a million blogs and articles out there about how you should rid your life of those who make you miserable so you can achieve true happiness and how life is too short to put up with idiots and all that sort of thing, but this is not one of those blogs. Because while those are nice, happy sentiments, they are not always feasible. What if you have a co-worker who just plain rubs you wrong, but the country is in the middle of a recession and you can't afford to quit your job? What if you are twelve years old and your fifteen year old sister is a nightmare but you both have to keep living with your parents because you are, you know, minors? What if you really love your aunt, but her husband is a total douchecanoe and they very seldom do anything without one another? It is not always an option to just plain cut someone out of your life. Sometimes, no matter how much you want to, you just can't. Or at least, you can't right now. When the country gets out of a recession, you can find another job. When you and your sibling grow up, you don't have to live with them anymore. And you can spend the next twenty years praying your aunt gets a divorce. But in the meantime, there has to be a coping mechanism.

Going back to what I was saying the other day, about how much it hurt me to hear Frank Turner say he doesn't think very highly of himself, I wonder how much of my negativity toward myself is because I have spent so much time around people who are not nice to me. Probably a lot. But it's like the puppy being trained to not pee on the carpet - even after he's learned his lesson, he still cringes at the sound of a newspaper crinkling for fear it is destined to thwap him on the nose. So if I have spent enough time around people who don't respect my opinions, don't listen to my contributions, and don't seem to value me as a human being, it seems only natural that my response would be to start to think that most people don't respect my opinions, don't want to listen to me, and don't value me as a person, right? Makes sense. I'm not saying it is a good reaction, but perhaps an understandable one.

It is also a reaction I would like to change.

Because I think I am the sort of person who has good ideas and valuable contributions. I think I am the sort with well-thought-out opinions that deserve a voice. I think I am a valuable human being, and I think the amazing group of friends and brilliant family I talked about at the beginning of this post would agree with me on that.

So I think part of my coping mechanism for dealing with these people who do not value me is to stop valuing their opinions of me so much. I think that is the part that has been driving me so crazy - I know what I am worth and it bothers me that these other people don't seem to see it, so I try to make them, but they're not looking, so I just get hurt and disappointed. Many of these people have known me for a long time and if they haven't figured out my worth by now, nothing I do moving forward is going to change that. So perhaps I need to stop trying so hard to gain their approval.  What if, instead of seeking their approval, I asked myself, "What kind of person treats someone as amazing as I am, badly?" I don't like to be the sort who casts dispersions on others, but in this instance, I do think that it has more to do with them than it does with me. The sort of person who sees beauty and has to ruin it. The sort of person who sees intelligence and has to belittle it. The sort of person who sees a free spirit and has to cage it. They must be an unhappy or insecure lot, and I am sorry for that. I think I am also ready to stop sacrificing my happiness for their sake. And I think I am ready to stop giving these people my best when I only get their worst in return.

Because while it may not be feasible to cut them out of my life entirely, I can at least take control of how much of my life I devote to them. Hopefully, doing so will my our future interactions less painful for me.

Hopefully.

April 26 - Self-Image of Others

So I heard a radio interview the other day with Frank Turner, who I absolutely adore, and in the interview, he mentioned that he doesn't necessarily have a very high opinion of himself. I guess if you listen to his music, you can tell - he talks about cutting when he was younger and sings, "I'm not as awesome as this song may sound/I'm angry, underweight, and sketching out." So it shouldn't have been so surprising to me to hear him say that he doesn't think very highly of himself. But it was. From what I know of him, he is intelligent and funny and thoughtful and dedicated and passionate and loyal, all of which are qualities I value highly in other human beings. So it kind of bothered me to hear him say otherwise. 

I have also recently read all of Go Fug Yourself's recaps of Lindsay Lohan's reality show. Granted, I've not watched the actual show, only read the recaps, but they do mention that several times, she talks about how people keep telling her that she is considered for every role because she is the most talented actress currently working. I've not worked with her, but I think the last thing I saw her do that was decent was Mean Girls. Since then, it seems to have been a steady decline. And she has a reputation for lying, not taking responsibility for herself, being late, and being difficult to work with. Yet she still seems to think she is hot shit. 

I don't get it. I just don't get it. 

One thing these opposing tidbits made me think about was all of the people who have said nice things to me and about me when I have been down on myself. My friend who yelled at me for not playing music anymore because other people need to hear it. The directors who have emailed me after auditions, apologetic that they didn't have a role to offer me because I rocked and they do want to work with me someday. My mother who is pained by the fact that I would ever for a moment think I am not good enough. And I wonder if me saying bad things about myself hits them the same way Frank saying bad things about himself hit me. If so, to all of those people, I apologize. I don't mean to sully your image of someone you think of highly. 

But then I also wonder why quality people like Frank think little of themselves and those of perhaps a lesser quality like Lindsay think so highly of themselves. Is it position in life? Is it being surrounded by "yes men" all of the time? Is it necessary or normal for quality people to have low self-esteem? Is humility that attractive? 

I don't know. The simple answer is I don't know. I would like to tell Frank, though, that even though we've not met, I adore him and think he is exactly as awesome as that song may sound, if not moreso. And I would like to tell Lindsay that acting is a skill that will atrophy over time if not used or practiced and that perhaps if she dedicated herself to doing the things she claims to love doing, maybe she would get to do them more often. And I would like to say to any of you who hold me in high regard, thank you. I will do my best to be worthy of your respect, and to respect it by not bad-mouthing it. 

April 21 - Ego

If you've been reading this for any length of time, you've probably picked up on the fact that I have no ego. Or very little ego. But I will say this: there are some times, not often, but some times, when I am so freakin' cute I can barely stand it. Today is one of those days. It is the dress plus the hair plus the shoes plus the make up. I'm just adorable. It's weird to me to walk past a window and catch my reflection and see "adorable." And it also makes me hope that if I ever do get to meet Tom Hiddleston or David Tennant or Zachary Levi randomly walking down the street, it happens on a day like today when I am too freaking adorable for words. That would make for a pretty great day. 

April 16 - On Being Alone

We all know I've spent a ridiculous amount of my life single. And we all know I've done a lot of really cool stuff in my life. And we all know that a lot of the cool stuff I've done in my life, I've done by myself. Flying solo is kind of my thing.

I know flying solo can be scary for other people, though, so I thought I would take a little time today to talk about why doing things on your own is actually kind of awesome. And no, I'm not going to rehash other people's lists about how you can do things on your own schedule and you don't have to wait for your friends and other crap like that. Those are the easy, obvious reasons why hanging out by yourself is cool. Here are a few other ones.

There are People Everywhere
Wait a second, you're talking about how cool it is to be alone by mentioning other people? Yes. See, a lot of people are afraid of their own thoughts and afraid that they won't have someone to share things with and whatnot. But the thing is, there are people everywhere. And chances are if you're out doing something you enjoy, there are other people there who enjoy that very same thing. So if you're feeling lonely, or suffering from pressure of speech, there are other people you can talk to. Sit at the bar and talk to the bartender. Make a joke to the person standing behind you in line. Notice another person there alone and ask what brought them out. This doesn't mean you're hitting on them, or that you should hit on them, and you don't have to have a lovely evening chatting that results in life-long Facebook friends. It's just putting on your best extrovert face for ten minutes and actually telling the woman in the cute dress that you think her dress is adorable. You never know what might happen. Maybe something, maybe nothing. But just like you can buy a new toothbrush if you forget one while travelling, you can find someone to talk to if you really want to speak.

Nobody Cares That You're Alone
Okay, that might sound mean, but it's true, and once you embrace that fact, the world is your oyster. Which is actually a really odd phrase because oysters are small and can be consumed in one bite and isn't that phrase supposed to mean you can do whatever you want or all of life's possibilities are now open to you? Is it more to do with the oyster shell opening up? Other things have bigger shells. Is it a pearl hunt thing? I'm getting side-tracked. Sorry.

The first time I can remember that I went and did something by myself that other people normally do in pairs or in groups, I went to see Ed Wood on the night of the Homecoming dance my senior year of high school. Talk about taking on a lot all at once, right? I had to deal with the fact that a) I was not asked to Homecoming, b) my friends (who I found out later were having an anti-Homecoming party) did not think to ask me to join them, and c) I was going out somewhere public without a wingman in tow. I was nervous as hell. I worried that the ticket-taker would look at me funny when I bought just one ticket. I worried that the guy at the concession counter would look at me funny when I bought snacks. I was worried that I would mess up the seating arrangements in the theatre because sitting by myself, I had now thrown an odd number of patrons into a row of even-numbered seats. I worried that the other couples and groups in the theatre would snicker at me or pity me behind my back - "Poor girl has no friends." But when I got there and looked around, I noticed that absolutely nobody was paying attention to me. We live in a very self-involved society, so this should not have been the surprise that it was, but it is true. Absolutely nobody was paying attention to me. Not a single person. Not a couple. Not a group. Nobody cared that I was there by myself. Nobody got bent out of shape at having to sit in this row instead of that one. Nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to the snacks I ate. And then poof! None of it mattered anymore.

I think, especially at a young age, the way we conduct ourselves in public is largely contingent upon those we are hanging out with at any given time. For example, if you go to a movie with your friends and you laugh at something they don't think is funny, you might become embarrassed or feel bad about it, so you learn to not laugh moving forward in an attempt to avoid future embarrassments. After all, you want these people to continue to be your friends and people, especially young people, can be fickle about who they like and why. But, if you remove the pressure of having to behave in a certain way in front of people you already know, you can laugh at whatever makes you laugh. You can cry without anyone seeing the tears. And you still get to keep your friends because at the end of the day, they weren't there so they don't know about it. "But what about the other people in the theatre?" you may ask. We've already established that they're not paying attention to you, so why does it matter what they think? You will never see them again in your life, so there is no chance for future embarrassments. Or, if you do see them again, since they weren't paying that much attention to you in the first place, they will not remember you. Trust me on this.

Your Thoughts Become Yours
Yeah, this one sounds weird, right? But it is true. When I first started hanging out solo (and even now, to some extent, when I do something alone I've not done before), I spent a lot of my time wondering how other people were perceiving me. Were they judging my clothes? Did they feel bad for me because I didn't have a partner in crime with me? Were they laughing at me? I think a lot of people involved in solo activities tend to think this way, or they are afraid of what kinds of thoughts they will have when they don't have the distraction of another person around. I think these thoughts are the most prevalent ones that creep in - the "what do other people think of me?" thoughts. And then you start to answer them and that's when things can get scary and depressing.

However, if we look back at point one, a quick scan of the room will show that nobody is, in fact, paying attention to you. So they are not forming thoughts or opinions about you and your station in life based on the fact that you happen to be hanging out alone just now. So all of those questions are now answered. "Are they judging my clothes?" No. "Do they feel bad for me because I don't have a partner in crime?" No. "Are they laughing at me?" No. Done. So, now, what do you want to think about next?

And here is where things get fun. Without all of those pesky other people in your head, you can think about whatever you want to think about. You can make up stories about their lives. You can try to think of an easier way to play an E major chord on the ukulele. You can think about how to resolve the plot problem you've run into in your short story. You can think about what sort of fun, silly surprise you'd like to plan for your significant other the next time you see them. You can take the time to actually consider from all angles whether or not you are a bikini person or if a one-piece would make you more confident. You can figure out a diplomatic way to ask for a raise at work. You can think about anything and everything you've needed to think about but haven't had time for because you've been too busy interacting with other people. It's amazing and brilliant and liberating and rejuvenating. And then you get to giggle to yourself about how productive you're being while out shopping for underwear in a crowded mall.

You Get to Giggle More
So as you're running around now, not worried about what other people are thinking, enjoying the thoughts you're having that you've needed to have for a long time, the occasional smile will cross your lips before you can even think twice about it. You suddenly have a moment of, "Oh, crap, I'm smiling in public all by myself! People are going to think I'm crazy. Or they're going to think I'm smiling at them! I didn't mean to smile at that woman and her kid. I hope she knows I'm not a kidnapper or anything." This moment can start to spiral out of control, and it often does, until it gets around to it's illogical conclusion that you need to run to the center of the mall and shout as loudly as you can, "I don't want your kids! I was just enjoying the last train ride I took in Berlin!" And then the thought of actually doing that, and how people would react if you actually did that, and how funny it would be if someone else did that, and how completely out of context your train of thought has taken you hits you and you realize how ridiculous it is. So you giggle. In public. To yourself. Except now you know how potentially silly you look to other people, and how completely innocent you are in your silliness, so you get to giggle a little bit more. And the thought occurs to you that other people might think you're odd but by this point, it just feels so good to laugh that you really don't care. Because, going back to things mentioned in point number one, you're never going to see any of these people again so who cares? Giggle away, my friends. Giggle away.

You Become Intriguing
You are now the person who confidently does things alone, including smiling and laughing to herself in public. Tell me you don't enjoy the thought of other people trying to figure out what brilliant things are making you smile and laugh to yourself in public. Go ahead and try. You love it; you know you do.

And even if you don't, going back to point number one, they're really not wondering in the first place, so it doesn't matter.

You Get More Stories
This might be the best part of hanging out alone. I think we all have that fear that we will eventually run out of things to say to our friends or significant others. But if you spend time alone, confidently doing the things you want to do and not paying attention to people who aren't paying attention to you, you actually end up accumulating stories that you can share with people at a later date. Maybe you were dining alone and you overheard a conversation about the importance of mushrooms in the local ecosystem. Maybe you were out shopping and you saw a kid experience bubble stuff in the toy store for the first time. Maybe you were rocking out to your favorite song while driving in your car and the cute guy in the car next to you caught your eye and smiled. These are the most precious stories. Stories about life as it happens. And you get to be privy to these stories because for once, you were not concerned with the world's perception of you, you were just able to be entirely in the moment around you. These stories are yours, and you can share them with your loved ones for years to come.

Because the truth of the matter is, you are not alone. Everyone has someone to share things with - your parents, your friends, your spouse, your companion animal. Everyone has someone who cares about them, even if that person is not in the same physical location at a specific moment. There is always someone to tell your stories to after spending a day having adventures on your own. And if you ever doubt that, even for a second, remember that you can always come here and tell your stories to me, because I would love to hear them.

April 8 - Sexuality

This is, admittedly, a half-formed thought, so if it comes out really strange or makes no sense, that is why. 

I was thinking about sexuality today, kind of in the context of some of the badass women I've been seeing on TV and in movies lately. While there is a huge part of me that is like, "Yay strong women who can (literally) kick ass when they need to!" there is another part of me that wonders why they all have to do it in skimpy outfits and high heels. Think about the female super spies you see, or the Bond girls, or female comic book heroes. Sci-fi and comics, I think, are important in this aspect because a lot of cues for how we should act in the future are and have been first introduced in the alternative worlds created by fantasy writers. And while a lot of these women in these worlds are smart and strong and independent and brilliant and wonderful role models, there is still this overarching stench of sexuality on them. I get it, I do. From a very practical standpoint, a lot of these women were written by men, or by women who know their material has to appeal to men if it is going to sell, so of course they are sexy. But I think some of the time, it is passed off as these characters being comfortable and secure in their sexuality, them owning their own sexuality, which manifests in skimpy, sexy, form-fitting, semi-impractical costumes. This is the part with which I take issue. 

First of all, there is a lot about a woman that is sexy that has nothing to do with her cup size. I know that on occasion, when I've worn menswear (suit and tie type menswear), I've gotten comments about how sexy it is, or what a good look it is for me. Everything is covered, but it's a sexy look. I know other men who have said there is nothing sexier than a pregnant woman. By which I mean to illustrate not only that sexy is subjective, but that it means something different to everyone. So why do almost all of our female superheroes embrace their sexuality with form-fitting or revealing clothing? Couldn't one own her sexuality in sweats?

And the real problem that I see resulting from this has manifested best in our young Hollywood starlets who want to transition from girlhood to womanhood by embracing their own sexuality and walking around half naked. From where I'm sitting, that is not embracing one's own sexuality; that is subscribing to someone else's idea of what sexy is. Not to mention, they're running around "being sexy" all of the time for everyone, which makes it an act. What happens when one of these starlets finds someone with whom she actually wants to be honestly sexy and vulnerable? How do they know the difference? How does she?

So my half-formed thought was what if owning one's sexuality did not mean showing it to everyone, but making sure someone earns it or deserves it before sharing it? If my sexuality is mine, I should be able to dictate when I use it, when I share it, and who I share it with. And maybe it is just where I am in my life right now with all of the crap I've been thinking about lately, but I think I want to make sure someone earns the right to my sexuality before I share it with him. Is that crazy?

What is perhaps crazier is how we have programmed ourselves as women to think that our worth is dictated by the men in our lives, and that if we don't have this guy now, we'll never have anyone ever. I thought it when I was younger. If a man wanted to date me, I had better go because he chose me. If a guy wanted to make out, I should because he chose me. What I think I'm starting to realize now (and how sad that it has taken me this long) is that I do actually have a choice in the matter. I don't owe anyone else a glimpse of my sexuality, a glimpse of my soul, or a glimpse of my heart. These things are mine to be shared with those I choose, not to be broadcast all over the interweb, or to hang out of an unbuttoned mesh shirt. 

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to enjoy the fact that I am a sexy, attractive, brilliant, strong, independent woman while wearing a tie, a sweater vest, button down shirt, jeans, and Chucks. This is my sexuality and I'm gonna own it.