Today I went with two of my kids to Governor's Island, an odd little spot across the water from Manhattan, reachable by a free ferry. The adventure, of course, is not free, since once there, you rent bicycles and have lunch. Nonetheless, it has been a place of fascination for my son ever since his camp had a field trip there last summer, and it is only open from May through September, so on this, the last day of September, we were off!
I could tell you about our biking and the quadricycle my daughter and I struggled to pedal (man, I really thought I was in shape before that!!), and how we got caught in the rain, but truthfully, that's not really why I decided to write a post called "Islands."
Over the last month, I'm sure I have talked at least once about the isolation of not working. Many hours spent alone, looking for job leads or doing the housework that now falls squarely on you, and a general feeling of battling the financial and emotional stress of the situation alone, an island in a rather unfriendly sea. Almost as hard, I have learned recently, is choosing not to be an island, in short, asking for help when you need it. Not being able to do what you want, the way that you used to, makes you feel embarrassed and powerless. But what I have realized in the moments when I chose not to go it alone, is that asking for help, hard as it may be (and I've certainly cried before, during, and after doing it), may be the most empowering thing you can do.
When I was working as an AD, if a problem arose, I'd go to the people who could help solve it. If we needed a last minute, unexpected prop, the prop department or the scenic designer. An actress or director spilled something on her pants--wardrobe. Someone wasn't feeling quite right--the cameraman who also happened to be a paramedic. The point is, when I was working, I was never an island. Why should I be one now? I still have the job of protecting and supporting my family. I still have the job of connecting to people so I can get work. And if asking for help here and there makes those things possible, it is no less important than getting a card with a turkey, not a pumpkin, for the One Life to Live Thanksgiving show.
There is no way any show I've worked on would have happened without many layers of support--a small city, I used to call it. Asking for help and working together was how it happened. I may be alone a lot of the time, but I am not alone in this process. So no more island for me--unless I'm sailing to it on a ferry with my kids.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Moving On
When soap life ended, one of my colleagues moved to North Carolina. Another applied to grad school in education and is now working toward being a teacher. Whether because they'd found different callings or they were simply looking toward the future, they moved on.
While I thought at the time that I was moving on too--networking through Women in Children's Media, attending Director's Guild events to expand both my knowledge and my connections, and learning some After Effects, I am beginning to think that "moving on" needs to mean a little more. For while in my head, I have believed that I can move on to other forms of television, the reality (no pun intended) is that "moving on" may mean something other than just shifting genres. My colleagues who moved on looked at their skills and their lives and made choices that depended not on the transferability of skills on a resume but on their innate skills or what they wanted for their lives, be it a desire to help others or a desire for a slower, simpler life. Underlying it all, they had the bravery to make the leap from the known to the relatively unknown. While I've thought I was moving on, I think perhaps I was moving in a circle, following only the path of the items on my resume, networking too close to home, trapped in the patterns I've worked within for so many years.
So from today, the circle gets bigger. Editing starts to mean storytelling, storytelling means putting together pieces to entertain or educate. Directing means working with people, encouraging their strengths and making them a team. Producing means covering the bases to get the job done, and writing means using the words to put out any number of messages. Bottom line, no video necessary, no need to see my work on TV. My skills go farther than that. I'm moving on.
While I thought at the time that I was moving on too--networking through Women in Children's Media, attending Director's Guild events to expand both my knowledge and my connections, and learning some After Effects, I am beginning to think that "moving on" needs to mean a little more. For while in my head, I have believed that I can move on to other forms of television, the reality (no pun intended) is that "moving on" may mean something other than just shifting genres. My colleagues who moved on looked at their skills and their lives and made choices that depended not on the transferability of skills on a resume but on their innate skills or what they wanted for their lives, be it a desire to help others or a desire for a slower, simpler life. Underlying it all, they had the bravery to make the leap from the known to the relatively unknown. While I've thought I was moving on, I think perhaps I was moving in a circle, following only the path of the items on my resume, networking too close to home, trapped in the patterns I've worked within for so many years.
So from today, the circle gets bigger. Editing starts to mean storytelling, storytelling means putting together pieces to entertain or educate. Directing means working with people, encouraging their strengths and making them a team. Producing means covering the bases to get the job done, and writing means using the words to put out any number of messages. Bottom line, no video necessary, no need to see my work on TV. My skills go farther than that. I'm moving on.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Monthiversary
It was one month ago today that I started publishing this blog, and I thank all of you who have been reading every day (or even every few days--hey, I worked on a soap, I know viewers skip days). Feel free--no, I mean, FEEL FREE--to share the link with your friends. Maybe they'll also find something they can relate to.
When I started the blog, I didn't plan how long it would go. I just started, knowing that because of the soap reference, it would be daily, and then I set it in motion, which is, I guess, how many soap operas started.
My own career in soaps--television, for that matter--started much the same way. A lucky break gave my first job, and things were set in motion. I never thought when I started as a production secretary, "Oh, I'll be a producer or a director, or a writer." I just started. I worked hard. I made mistakes and learned from them. I laughed when I could. And when opportunities arose, I jumped in. And before I knew it, 23 years of promotions and firing and coming back and memories and good friends had happened.
I don't imagine that this blog will last for 23 years. Hey, it doesn't even earn me the $234 per week I was making when I started as a production secretary. But as I learned then, you can never be totally sure where something will lead once you set it in motion. I never thought I'd get to direct on a soap or believed I'd have actual Emmys in my apartment. I never, never dreamed I'd work with Bill Cosby or that doing so would come out of being fired from a job I loved. And yet, all these things happened from what was set in motion that day when I started at One Life to Live, typing (on a typewriter, not a computer) production schedules, buying groceries, and delivering scripts. So I guess you never know what will come from this blog. Thanks for sharing the ride so far with me. I'll try to keep it a really bumpy, really interesting one.
When I started the blog, I didn't plan how long it would go. I just started, knowing that because of the soap reference, it would be daily, and then I set it in motion, which is, I guess, how many soap operas started.
My own career in soaps--television, for that matter--started much the same way. A lucky break gave my first job, and things were set in motion. I never thought when I started as a production secretary, "Oh, I'll be a producer or a director, or a writer." I just started. I worked hard. I made mistakes and learned from them. I laughed when I could. And when opportunities arose, I jumped in. And before I knew it, 23 years of promotions and firing and coming back and memories and good friends had happened.
I don't imagine that this blog will last for 23 years. Hey, it doesn't even earn me the $234 per week I was making when I started as a production secretary. But as I learned then, you can never be totally sure where something will lead once you set it in motion. I never thought I'd get to direct on a soap or believed I'd have actual Emmys in my apartment. I never, never dreamed I'd work with Bill Cosby or that doing so would come out of being fired from a job I loved. And yet, all these things happened from what was set in motion that day when I started at One Life to Live, typing (on a typewriter, not a computer) production schedules, buying groceries, and delivering scripts. So I guess you never know what will come from this blog. Thanks for sharing the ride so far with me. I'll try to keep it a really bumpy, really interesting one.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
I'll Sit in the Dark
I often spend a large part of my day at home in the dark. Not dark-dark--it is daytime, so some sunlight comes in, but I often turn on few if any actual lights. My husband finds this incredibly funny--the first thing he does upon walking in is turn on lights. I just find that the dark focuses me (though I will admit, there are isolated days when all it really does is make me want to go back to bed).
Why the dark? When I was working in TV studios and edit rooms, I was certainly no stranger to the dark. The studio was always dark (not dark, as in nothing happening, dark as in no light!), except for the set where we were shooting, the control room was lit only by a wall of monitors and some spotlights illuminating our scripts, and the edit rooms were often just me and the light of the computer screen. So despite the fact that I have for years avoided driving in the dark, I became quite accustomed to working in the dark, shutting out all except the work at hand. Old habits die hard, I guess.
I've read all sorts of things about working from home--dressing the part, setting aside a work space and work hours so that the time you save on commuting doesn't get completely consumed by your dealing with all sorts of household chores during the time when you're working. So, since our apartment doesn't really allow for a separate work space, and I can't really justify wearing "Dry Clean Only" clothes when my day is bookended by waiting at school bus stops, perhaps the dark is just my way of carving out a work space for myself. So let them laugh, and squint, as much as they want. I'm in the dark, and I'm getting my work done. And I like it that way.
Why the dark? When I was working in TV studios and edit rooms, I was certainly no stranger to the dark. The studio was always dark (not dark, as in nothing happening, dark as in no light!), except for the set where we were shooting, the control room was lit only by a wall of monitors and some spotlights illuminating our scripts, and the edit rooms were often just me and the light of the computer screen. So despite the fact that I have for years avoided driving in the dark, I became quite accustomed to working in the dark, shutting out all except the work at hand. Old habits die hard, I guess.
I've read all sorts of things about working from home--dressing the part, setting aside a work space and work hours so that the time you save on commuting doesn't get completely consumed by your dealing with all sorts of household chores during the time when you're working. So, since our apartment doesn't really allow for a separate work space, and I can't really justify wearing "Dry Clean Only" clothes when my day is bookended by waiting at school bus stops, perhaps the dark is just my way of carving out a work space for myself. So let them laugh, and squint, as much as they want. I'm in the dark, and I'm getting my work done. And I like it that way.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Dinner
Yes, there is some irony to my writing about a meal on a day when I've been fasting. Truthfully, I've been thinking about food since I woke up this morning and didn't have breakfast.
So what makes dinner blog-worthy? It is a baggage-filled meal in our home. While breakfast and lunch tend to be eat-what-you-want meals, we really do try to eat together, so unless we're ordering in, which we try not to do too much these days, the challenge is to find something, or a set of somethings, that will satisfy everyone. Well, actually the other challenge is to find something I can make without ruining. For which we have all (or at least most of) the ingredients in the house. And which will be reasonably healthy. See--baggage. Oh, and we've got one who won't eat anything that was ever cute, and another who avoids cheese, and a third who will try things as long as he can put unlimited ketchup on them and as long as he didn't eat six times between coming home from school and sitting down for dinner. And a big somebody who sometimes eats lunch at 12 and comes home starving and sometimes eats at 3 and would happily just have salad.
So, here I am, once again pondering dinner. When I was working, there was a time when we decided that our babysitter should give the kids dinner so that they were not always waiting to eat with us at 8pm. Problem was, even if they ate at 6, they wanted to eat again at 8. We gave that up pretty quickly. Now that I'm here most afternoons, timing is no longer the problem, but deciding what to have remains.
So--where was I going with this? Oh, yes, as full of baggage as dinner was even when I was working, it has become a central part of my existence now that I am home. It is part of how I "prove my worth" in our family unit now, and honestly, if I were cut out for proving my worth that way, I would have become a chef. So while I do it, and my husband and kids are not malnourished (or obese), I look forward to the day when my "worth" gets proven some other way and we go back to having some dinners made by my husband (who actually could have "proven his worth" as a chef).
For tonight, I'm just glad to be eating and writing. Another year of fasting done. Shana tova and bon appetit!
So what makes dinner blog-worthy? It is a baggage-filled meal in our home. While breakfast and lunch tend to be eat-what-you-want meals, we really do try to eat together, so unless we're ordering in, which we try not to do too much these days, the challenge is to find something, or a set of somethings, that will satisfy everyone. Well, actually the other challenge is to find something I can make without ruining. For which we have all (or at least most of) the ingredients in the house. And which will be reasonably healthy. See--baggage. Oh, and we've got one who won't eat anything that was ever cute, and another who avoids cheese, and a third who will try things as long as he can put unlimited ketchup on them and as long as he didn't eat six times between coming home from school and sitting down for dinner. And a big somebody who sometimes eats lunch at 12 and comes home starving and sometimes eats at 3 and would happily just have salad.
So, here I am, once again pondering dinner. When I was working, there was a time when we decided that our babysitter should give the kids dinner so that they were not always waiting to eat with us at 8pm. Problem was, even if they ate at 6, they wanted to eat again at 8. We gave that up pretty quickly. Now that I'm here most afternoons, timing is no longer the problem, but deciding what to have remains.
So--where was I going with this? Oh, yes, as full of baggage as dinner was even when I was working, it has become a central part of my existence now that I am home. It is part of how I "prove my worth" in our family unit now, and honestly, if I were cut out for proving my worth that way, I would have become a chef. So while I do it, and my husband and kids are not malnourished (or obese), I look forward to the day when my "worth" gets proven some other way and we go back to having some dinners made by my husband (who actually could have "proven his worth" as a chef).
For tonight, I'm just glad to be eating and writing. Another year of fasting done. Shana tova and bon appetit!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Yom Kippur
With Yom Kippur quickly approaching, I thought I would be writing about atonement or guilt, or at the very least, about fasting. But I find myself compelled by the "Yom" part. The part that means "day."
My days go very fast. The morning part, when my time at the gym, waking, feeding, and preparing lunch for 3 kids and getting them all off to school makes 5-8:30 go very fast. The midday part, when I try to accomplish as much working and looking for work as I can between 8:30 and 3, goes very, very fast. And the "kids are home" part, from 3:30-10:30 (yes, they stay up too late), when I retrieve and/or transport the kids and get them fed, homeworked, and bedded down, might seem long, but goes so fast, I'm collapsing into bed before I know it.
So for me, this Yom Kippur is about taking a day to slow down and think about the days. I know I am filling them--I could make long lists of what gets done--but am I filling them with things that will matter a month from now, a year from now, five years from now?
Well, let's see. Going to the gym--I think that will give me more energy not just today, but a month from now. And hopefully, a healthier body five years from now. Getting the kids on their way for the day will mean (I hope) smarter kids, and hopefully, starting (gulp) 4 years from now, good colleges. Working--particularly if it's on good projects for good people--generates powerful energy for me and for them. Looking for work, will, I hope, make a difference next month and five years from now in my family's future. And the interactions I have with my kids--whether it's my high schooler hanging out at the dinner table to talk about her day, or my middle schooler doing a crazy song and dance once she's eaten, or the heart-to-heart talks I have with my third grader right before he goes to bed--there is no question that those things will make memories that will last well beyond five years.
So as I take this Yom Kippur to evaluate my days, while I can say that I'd probably be better off spending a little less time yelling and a lot less time surfing the internet for the next big job lead, I can honestly say that most days are filled with pretty good stuff. And this Yom Kippur, or five years from now, I wouldn't have it any other way.
My days go very fast. The morning part, when my time at the gym, waking, feeding, and preparing lunch for 3 kids and getting them all off to school makes 5-8:30 go very fast. The midday part, when I try to accomplish as much working and looking for work as I can between 8:30 and 3, goes very, very fast. And the "kids are home" part, from 3:30-10:30 (yes, they stay up too late), when I retrieve and/or transport the kids and get them fed, homeworked, and bedded down, might seem long, but goes so fast, I'm collapsing into bed before I know it.
So for me, this Yom Kippur is about taking a day to slow down and think about the days. I know I am filling them--I could make long lists of what gets done--but am I filling them with things that will matter a month from now, a year from now, five years from now?
Well, let's see. Going to the gym--I think that will give me more energy not just today, but a month from now. And hopefully, a healthier body five years from now. Getting the kids on their way for the day will mean (I hope) smarter kids, and hopefully, starting (gulp) 4 years from now, good colleges. Working--particularly if it's on good projects for good people--generates powerful energy for me and for them. Looking for work, will, I hope, make a difference next month and five years from now in my family's future. And the interactions I have with my kids--whether it's my high schooler hanging out at the dinner table to talk about her day, or my middle schooler doing a crazy song and dance once she's eaten, or the heart-to-heart talks I have with my third grader right before he goes to bed--there is no question that those things will make memories that will last well beyond five years.
So as I take this Yom Kippur to evaluate my days, while I can say that I'd probably be better off spending a little less time yelling and a lot less time surfing the internet for the next big job lead, I can honestly say that most days are filled with pretty good stuff. And this Yom Kippur, or five years from now, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Not Perfect
While my kids were away for five weeks this summer, I spent many hours each day excavating in the room they share, trying to go through and thin out 14 years of accumulated books, toys, school papers, and assorted tchotchkes. I would like to say that their room now looks as though it was renovated by a decorator, but I can't. It's a whole lot better, but certainly not perfect.
I find myself saying those words a lot. When I can't drop my daughter at her friend's for a sleepover until 8pm--not perfect, but it's still a sleepover. When I tell my son he needs to ride his bike in the local park, not the one that would require schlepping the bike on two trains and a ferry--not perfect, but it's still biking. And when the pasta's somewhere between al dente and mush, so neither my husband (the al dente guy) nor my kids (the mush fans) is completely happy-- not perfect, but it's dinner.
I wonder sometimes, does my complete embracing of non-perfection mean I am settling for less than my best? And does it teach my children that whatever you can manage to do is enough?
On the contrary, I think I consider "not perfect" to be one of the best coping skills known to man (or mom). "Not perfect" means that the effort and intention count almost as much as the result. "Not perfect" means that it's okay to go to sleep even if not all the messes are clean. And "not perfect" means that there is no reason to beat yourself up every time things don't go quite right. Because, let's face it, lots of times, things don't go quite right.
So while I am home with my children, freelancing/unemployed (not perfect), perhaps the best thing I can teach them is that "not perfect," even if it's not the goal, can actually be pretty good.
I find myself saying those words a lot. When I can't drop my daughter at her friend's for a sleepover until 8pm--not perfect, but it's still a sleepover. When I tell my son he needs to ride his bike in the local park, not the one that would require schlepping the bike on two trains and a ferry--not perfect, but it's still biking. And when the pasta's somewhere between al dente and mush, so neither my husband (the al dente guy) nor my kids (the mush fans) is completely happy-- not perfect, but it's dinner.
I wonder sometimes, does my complete embracing of non-perfection mean I am settling for less than my best? And does it teach my children that whatever you can manage to do is enough?
On the contrary, I think I consider "not perfect" to be one of the best coping skills known to man (or mom). "Not perfect" means that the effort and intention count almost as much as the result. "Not perfect" means that it's okay to go to sleep even if not all the messes are clean. And "not perfect" means that there is no reason to beat yourself up every time things don't go quite right. Because, let's face it, lots of times, things don't go quite right.
So while I am home with my children, freelancing/unemployed (not perfect), perhaps the best thing I can teach them is that "not perfect," even if it's not the goal, can actually be pretty good.
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