There was a cake in a cardboard box, and there was a room full of cake-interested people. But there were no plates. And before I knew it, I had disassembled the box, first at its seams, then into even smaller pieces. "Nothing," I said, "should get between people and cake."
This did not take place at a gathering of friends. It did not happen at a family party, or at a parents' event. It happened at the job I've had for all of about four weeks. As I write about it, I can't quite believe I said what I said, or did what I did. It just happened.
Is it me? Have I suddenly, or gradually, gotten past my sense of decorum and hierarchy? Maybe. Maybe the years of reinvention have left me feeling that underneath it all, I just have to be myself, no matter where that might leave me.
Is it the place or the people around me? Have I happened upon a group where I feel that I make sense, with people who appreciate me, or get me, or both?
Because I jumped in, almost without thinking, and without second guessing myself, we all had cake. And in that moment, I had a little something sweeter--a moment in time when I was just myself.
Monday, September 7, 2015
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Surprise, Surprise
Surprise, surprise--brownies made with applesauce don't taste or feel or anything the same as brownies made with oil.
Surprise, surprise--when you work nights, you're a little tired during the day.
Surprise, surprise--when you miss the dinner table conversation, you're almost sure to be playing catch-up at breakfast.
Surprise, surprise--an apartment doesn't get clean just because you want it to.
Surprise, surprise--time passes, whether you give it permission to or not.
Surprise, surprise--if you don't make the decisions, they just get made for you.
Surprise, surprise--most of the time, life doesn't happen quite the way you expected...
Surprise, surprise--when you work nights, you're a little tired during the day.
Surprise, surprise--when you miss the dinner table conversation, you're almost sure to be playing catch-up at breakfast.
Surprise, surprise--an apartment doesn't get clean just because you want it to.
Surprise, surprise--time passes, whether you give it permission to or not.
Surprise, surprise--if you don't make the decisions, they just get made for you.
Surprise, surprise--most of the time, life doesn't happen quite the way you expected...
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Labor Days
As I head toward a weekend of work, I can't help but think back to Labor Day weekends past, when there was certainly no work on the weekend, and no work on the holiday, because no self-respecting budget-conscious soap would pay holiday rates for an entire studio crew. So Labor Day weekend was part of time away, or simply time at home to prep for the start of school, or sometimes just like any other weekend.
But times change, and work changes. Unlike soaps, news doesn't just stop because a holiday is more expensive. And unlike the days when I knew where I'd be tomorrow, and next week, and next month, these days, as I have learned over the past few years, there's no telling where I will be, and no telling how that "where" will fit into some semblance of a life. So if there is work, I go. If there are new opportunities, I explore them. Because labor, and Labor Day, are not the same as they used to be. And some days, Labor Day or not, it's just about keeping up.
But times change, and work changes. Unlike soaps, news doesn't just stop because a holiday is more expensive. And unlike the days when I knew where I'd be tomorrow, and next week, and next month, these days, as I have learned over the past few years, there's no telling where I will be, and no telling how that "where" will fit into some semblance of a life. So if there is work, I go. If there are new opportunities, I explore them. Because labor, and Labor Day, are not the same as they used to be. And some days, Labor Day or not, it's just about keeping up.
Friday, September 4, 2015
"What I Did This Summer"
My kids are probably long past having to write a first day of school essay on their summer adventures, but nevertheless, the topic comes up--with friends, with teachers, and for me, with other parents. There will be people talking about sleepaway camps and exotic vacations. There will be discussion of new skills and great accomplishments. The ten-week period called summer will be examined, celebrated, and then finally mourned, as we immerse ourselves in the rigors of school and the cool breezes of fall.
What will be said about our summer, the mishmash of days and activities that came out of uncertainty and changing circumstances? What will be thought of the ten weeks of very active and often not very active days? What will we say when we look back upon these few months?
I have often thought that what we would remember would be aimless hours, indecision, the inability to do because of too much uncertainty to plan. What we didn't, or couldn't, do, rather than what we did.
But as I reflect on these ten weeks, I think about the laughter when we, left to make it up as we went along, found ourselves enjoying each other's company. I think about the sleeping late when we didn't have to run somewhere, and the times when we each "rose to the occasion" when someone else needed it. I realize that while there may be things we didn't do, there were a great many planned and unplanned things we DID do.
So, as I begin to write my own imaginary "what I did this summer" essay, I feel good about the faces, and the moments, that I see in my head. I feel at peace about the sentences that will be written and about the conclusions that will be drawn. And even if it's not the most entertaining story to present to the class, it will be a writing assignment to keep in my drawer, and in my memory, for a long time.
What will be said about our summer, the mishmash of days and activities that came out of uncertainty and changing circumstances? What will be thought of the ten weeks of very active and often not very active days? What will we say when we look back upon these few months?
I have often thought that what we would remember would be aimless hours, indecision, the inability to do because of too much uncertainty to plan. What we didn't, or couldn't, do, rather than what we did.
But as I reflect on these ten weeks, I think about the laughter when we, left to make it up as we went along, found ourselves enjoying each other's company. I think about the sleeping late when we didn't have to run somewhere, and the times when we each "rose to the occasion" when someone else needed it. I realize that while there may be things we didn't do, there were a great many planned and unplanned things we DID do.
So, as I begin to write my own imaginary "what I did this summer" essay, I feel good about the faces, and the moments, that I see in my head. I feel at peace about the sentences that will be written and about the conclusions that will be drawn. And even if it's not the most entertaining story to present to the class, it will be a writing assignment to keep in my drawer, and in my memory, for a long time.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
It's All--Or Is It?--In The Timing
I was determined to pace myself. Which, for a person used to springing out of the gate at 5am, is no easy feat. It started well--staying in bed until close to 8, sleeping off the night of work that ended well past midnight. I seemed to be "pacing myself" as my version of "cleaning up" was throwing away about three things an hour. I assumed I was "pacing myself" as I stayed inside with my kids, rather than running all over to do errands or grab some fresh air (an oxymoron anyway in New York City August). Yet, as midnight (at work again) approached, I became painfully aware that my version of "pacing myself" would have to change. That a sufficient version of "pacing myself" would require not just doing things slowly, but slowly adding some sleep along the way.
When I was a Booth PA at One Life to Live, I used to say that the timing of scenes (and we Booth PAs lived and died by our timings) could vary widely, based on things as simple as what the actors had eaten for lunch. We might try to predict the pace of a scene--emergency scenes going quickly, emotional ones going slowly--and we were expected to, but in the end, we could really only record what the pace actually was, and possibly take the heat for estimating incorrectly.
My version of guessing at pace is clearly not so different these days. I can only estimate what will be a reasonable pace for my set of scenes. My pace, and how it fits the show of our lives, will change, just like the actors' pace way back when, depending on what I've eaten and what I need to do, whether in my work life or in my personal life. For, you see, life, like soap opera, doesn't always run according to the stopwatch. So we'd better keep pacing ourselves, so that we make it to the next cliffhanger.
When I was a Booth PA at One Life to Live, I used to say that the timing of scenes (and we Booth PAs lived and died by our timings) could vary widely, based on things as simple as what the actors had eaten for lunch. We might try to predict the pace of a scene--emergency scenes going quickly, emotional ones going slowly--and we were expected to, but in the end, we could really only record what the pace actually was, and possibly take the heat for estimating incorrectly.
My version of guessing at pace is clearly not so different these days. I can only estimate what will be a reasonable pace for my set of scenes. My pace, and how it fits the show of our lives, will change, just like the actors' pace way back when, depending on what I've eaten and what I need to do, whether in my work life or in my personal life. For, you see, life, like soap opera, doesn't always run according to the stopwatch. So we'd better keep pacing ourselves, so that we make it to the next cliffhanger.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Small Baby, Big Stroller
As I made my way to a work shift that was to start just as the world seemed to be heading home, I found myself waiting for the bus next to a young mother who frantically tried to fold her stroller, baby in her arms, so that she could board the bus. While I couldn't manage to fold her stroller (has it been that long for me, or was I never good at that to begin with?), I carried the folded buggy on to the bus, and held it next to me while she held the baby in her arms. I wondered, would she get help if I had to get off before she did? Would any of these people heading home look up from their phones long enough even to realize that she needed help? And if they didn't, could you blame them, many of them carrying their own burdens, eager to get home to their own families?
As it turned out, she got off at the same stop as I did. Gingerly, I got the stroller down the bus aisle and off of the bus, bruising only a few knees. And as I hurried to make the train that would get me to work on time, I saw the mother working to unfold the stroller, baby in her arms, so that she could continue her journey.
As I finished my trip, I thought about how stressed I had been about my own journey, and how "babysitting" the stroller had allowed me to focus on something--and someone--else, just for a little while. The mother had to get somewhere with the small baby and the big stroller, and she believed that somehow, with or without help, she could do it. I suppose that we are all in that situation--we do what we have to do, and make the leap that we can handle it, either with help, or simply with sheer will. And every so often, there is someone to help us up the stairs, through the doors, along the journey. So that we can hold tight onto the sometimes very small things that are really important.
As it turned out, she got off at the same stop as I did. Gingerly, I got the stroller down the bus aisle and off of the bus, bruising only a few knees. And as I hurried to make the train that would get me to work on time, I saw the mother working to unfold the stroller, baby in her arms, so that she could continue her journey.
As I finished my trip, I thought about how stressed I had been about my own journey, and how "babysitting" the stroller had allowed me to focus on something--and someone--else, just for a little while. The mother had to get somewhere with the small baby and the big stroller, and she believed that somehow, with or without help, she could do it. I suppose that we are all in that situation--we do what we have to do, and make the leap that we can handle it, either with help, or simply with sheer will. And every so often, there is someone to help us up the stairs, through the doors, along the journey. So that we can hold tight onto the sometimes very small things that are really important.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
On The Right Track
I learned from my daughters that in the theater, a "track" is the path and set of actions that a particular character follows throughout the show. When an understudy jumps in, he or she generally follows that "track," so as not to upset the balance of the rest of the show.
Often, we think of tracks as something far more standard and defined, like train tracks that connect one city with another. If we want to get from one place to another, we simply follow the same track as anyone else making that journey. Right?
It turns out that the theater version of "track" is a whole lot closer to how life actually works. While all of the characters in a show may get to the curtain call at the end of the show, each character takes a different path to get there. Likewise, each of us follows a different life track, even if we all end up in some of the same places. Because of our separate tracks, we see things differently, experience the same moments differently, and arrive at our destination differently. It is only when we step off our own track, and onto someone else's, that we really understand the whole show, and the parts each one of us play.
I learned today that it is worth stepping off your own track and onto someone else's once in a while. It is worth seeing the "stage" from a different angle, and life from a different point of view. I may be back on my own track now--too much time on other tracks might cause collisions--but I am grateful for the little detour, and for the resulting big changes in my view.
Often, we think of tracks as something far more standard and defined, like train tracks that connect one city with another. If we want to get from one place to another, we simply follow the same track as anyone else making that journey. Right?
It turns out that the theater version of "track" is a whole lot closer to how life actually works. While all of the characters in a show may get to the curtain call at the end of the show, each character takes a different path to get there. Likewise, each of us follows a different life track, even if we all end up in some of the same places. Because of our separate tracks, we see things differently, experience the same moments differently, and arrive at our destination differently. It is only when we step off our own track, and onto someone else's, that we really understand the whole show, and the parts each one of us play.
I learned today that it is worth stepping off your own track and onto someone else's once in a while. It is worth seeing the "stage" from a different angle, and life from a different point of view. I may be back on my own track now--too much time on other tracks might cause collisions--but I am grateful for the little detour, and for the resulting big changes in my view.
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