The List Lives On

For years, I have kept a mental list of the people I'd go to if I were building a production team--co-workers and bosses who made my work life easier, or more fun, and who were hands-down great at their jobs. "If I am ever in charge," I'd think, "these are the people I would have around me."
 
More often than not, I am not in charge. I am hired, not hiring, working with, not choosing. So the list grows, but only in my head.
 
Every so often, however, I see a job posting that so reminds me of one of my "list people" that I pass it along. While this won't mean I will be working with the people on my list, it means that someone out there might get to.
 
I used to think that the passing on of job leads was just my reaction to so many of us being out of work after ABC. A lot of time has passed since then, though, so it must be about a little something more. It's about sharing the talents of people I know. It's about saying "thank you" in some small way for their making my work life better over the years. It's about making sure the "good guys" get all the chances they deserve.
 
My "list" lives on. Whether or not it will ever be a hiring list for me is hard to say. For now, it will just be a reminder of where I've been, and a bit of a road map for how far we can all go.

What's New?

I went to a meeting today during which I was asked "What's new?" My response was pretty much a blank stare, followed by a desperate search for something--ANYTHING--to say. The other people, while perhaps not so desperately searching, were similarly blank.
 
The truth is, in lives as busy as ours, there are actually new things every day--every hour. Yet, when we are called upon to report what is new, all those "new" things seem either trivial or so embedded in our everyday life that they don't bear mentioning. What people are generally looking for are new jobs, new schools, marriages, births, deaths, and awards, and these "new" things just don't happen that often.
 
After surviving that moment of the blank stare, I returned home thinking a lot about that "What's new?" question. While the daily new things in our lives might not be worth including when someone asks us, they are worth our registering--even celebrating. Too often, we just let them blend in with the daily fabric of our lives, which is a tribute to our adaptability. We just don't always give ourselves the credit for handling the "new" or the time for processing it.
 
I suspect that far too many new things will happen for me to stop for each one. And I am fully prepared that my stare will be just as blank when I am asked the next time. It's a big question, and we are generally far more equipped to answer the small ones, like "What time is it?" or "What's for breakfast?" But even if we can't answer for the world, we can remember for ourselves.
 
So, what's new? Something every moment.

So Surprising?

Is it so surprising that you're tired--when, on too little sleep, you started your day traveling to one end of the city and ended it somewhere completely different?
 
Is it so surprising that you feel as though you are spinning plates on a pole--when you are constantly balancing the needs of children and employers and, oh, yourself, any one of which could come crashing down at any moment?
 
Is it so surprising that it seems nothing is ever completely done--when you and the world just keep adding things to do?
 
Is it so surprising that a cup of coffee doesn't necessarily fix the afternoon slump--when we all know the afternoon slump is the result of the sleep deprivation (see above), and the plate spinning (see above), and the adding things (yes, see above), and that, of course, the coffee won't hit till hours later, like bedtime?
 
Life really is logical--well, at least sometimes--but I guess it keeps things fun to be surprised--even if, much of the time, it's really not that surprising!

Residual

Today, I received a residual check from an episode of One Life to Live that I directed. Apparently, the episode re-ran on cable somewhere, and as its director, I was compensated for the rerun.
 
The check won't change my life--it is just about enough to buy a sandwich for lunch. Nonetheless, when I opened it, I had an odd rush of emotions. It was a reminder of what I went through to take the step from AD to Director--the learning and the waiting for the director assignment calendar and the hoping that a show split into parts would turn out to be mine. The marking scenes and working with actors and telling a story in my own way. The taking producer notes and negotiating shots with cameramen and re-blocking a scene to make it work better.
 
It was a reminder of places and people and ambitions and neuroses about ambitions. Of a format that was part of my being for a very long time.
 
And it was a reminder that, while what's going on now might be satisfying, there is always more than just now. There is what was, and there is what will be, far too much to live just in the "now."
 
It has been years since I directed the show that resulted in this residual check, but opening the envelope took me back as if it were yesterday. As if when I opened the envelope, a whole world came flooding out of it. I won't be using it to buy a sandwich. It will probably just go into the bank--in the ups and downs of a freelance world, a little perk from the past can come in handy.
 
For today, it was more than enough to be treated to all that the envelope brought back.

Happy Accidents

I had intended to go to a de-cluttering workshop today. After all, what apartment or brain can't use a little de-cluttering once in a while?
 
I never got there. Between kids and their homework and me and the housework, it just didn't quite work out. Instead, I ended up making sandwiches at a meals for the homeless program where many of my friends and their families volunteer. While my son was a peanut butter spreading maniac, I tried to keep up with the jelly, and was able to reconnect with friends as, together, we packed up several thousand sandwiches. Then we went home and, as always, attacked our cluttered apartment.
 
It would be easy to bemoan the fact that, as often happens, I missed something I wanted to do because it didn't fit in with the needs of everyone else. In this case, however, it turned out to be kind of a happy accident--in not fighting for something I thought I wanted to do, I ended up being part of something bigger (something that might not have given me instructions on how to de-clutter my home, but gave me a little perspective on whether de-cluttering pointers were what what I needed most).
 
Sometimes we need to do more than "go with the flow." Sometimes it's important to stand up for what we want.

But sometimes, a little happy accident ends up being just what we need.

Publishing

When I was in college, I wrote a play. Just a one-act, no work of genius, but produced in a small campus theater. Early in my soap career, I dabbled in writing scripts, and several years later, I wrote proposals for a few TV shows, one for kids, another for adults. And, over the last ten years, I have created chapters for both a book of essays and a children's educational series.
 
If you Google me, you will find none of these things. What you will find (in addition to assorted references to my twenty years in television) is this blog. While none of my other writing efforts made it to the outside world, a blog goes out each day, approved by no editor (except sometimes one of my children). It doesn't require pitches or an agent. It goes through minimal revisions. And it makes it to the outside world.
 
I'll admit, the process is a mixed bag. Along with the intense satisfaction of "publishing" every day comes the frustration of thinking of an idea or change right after I hit "publish." And yet, if there are things left out, there is always the next piece, or the next, at roughly 24-hour, not 24-month intervals. While a day's post may not be perfect, I can always move on to the next. And isn't that kind of what life is about--moving on from the "not so perfect," determined to make it just a little bit better next time?
 
So, for now, I remain a "publishing," yet unpublished author. I'm still getting it right, and I love having the chance every day to do that.

Walls, Doors, and Taxis

Some days you might find yourself climbing the walls when things just aren't how you'd like them to be. Other days, you refuse to let anyone put walls between you and what you want. There are days when you feel strong enough to scale any wall to accomplish anything you'd like. And sometimes, just sometimes, you have it in you to tear down the walls that are controlling you and others.
 
Thankfully, there are also doors. Doors out of where you are, or into someplace else. Doors to opportunity, and doors of escape. Doors that make you wonder what's behind, and doors that you know take you into the safety of your home. Doors that change your surroundings, change the balance, change your life.
 
And then, there are taxis--for when you just don't have the energy for breaking down the walls, and you can't even find the doors, and you know that you will climb a wall if you can't open the right door. Fast.
 
Not every day is the same--the walls that surround us and the doors that we allow ourselves, and our ability to navigate either one change regularly, and we just have to keep up.
 
Lucky for us, once in a while, a taxi pulls up just when we need it.