The Aurora Shooting and the Interminable Questions

Another mass shooting in a small Colorado suburb. (I don't even know what part of that sentence is most sickening, "another" or "mass shooting.") The answerable gets asked, for facts soothe the shocked. What How Where When Who go first. After those have settled, the unanswerable haunting Why comes up. Articles vomit their theories; loose gun laws, social inadequacies, negligent parents, media influences, and the maddening mundaneness of the American suburb.

Can we really handle the answer though? How many times did we read Eric Harris' diaries and watch Seung-Hui Cho's homemade videos? How many books will we write, how many weird indie films will we make, how many more pieces to this puzzle do we need before we take responsibility?
Maybe they were insane or maybe they were just a magnified version of us: angry, in pain, and lonely. The disparity lies in their despair and not, I maintain, in their access to weapons, for we all have access to weapons but we do not all go on a shooting rampage.

We collectively ignore the misfits around us, and then we collectively believe that if we take away the means, we will erase the turbulent cause. Not that the argument is unfounded: if we banned cigarettes, we would likely have less cases of lung cancer; if we take guns away from our children, we will likely have less mass murders among our youth. I am absolutely in favor of gun control- if we can prevent the How, then why don't we?- But neither "solution" soothes the cause, and we simply cannot ignore that. Our angry young men will still be angry young men. Their desire to indiscriminately kill others still stirs within them, and what do we intend to do about that? Numb them with Prozac and do away with violent entertainment? Guarantee every child in an American suburb loving and attentive yet ambitious and successful parents who can pay for a college education that will give them a fulfilling career?

Theories and questions don't change the tragedy, the sadness, or the loss. But we must study it, we must ask questions, we must be moved to tears by this, we must scream at the top of our lungs, and we must not stop thinking about it for a moment, for the instant we move on with our lives, it will happen again.

A Heart's Gamble

Image from here.

Eyes smile at each other and touches linger. Flirtation plants its seed and desire waters it. Between would you like another drink and you're beautiful, we kiss. Boom boom double-boom, goes my heart, and in an instant smaller than a sigh, hope is born. 

Legs interlace, noses touch, hips kiss. Grr grr grrar, goes my body, and in between this is nice and yeah there, my armor falls to the floor. 

I am nervous, he touches my cheek and torsos piece into each other, a puzzle completed.

Vulnerable and hopeful, I rest on his chest and wait for his lips to find my forehead, his heart to find mine. 

But it doesn't. 

His body goes cold. I don't want to hurt you, I'm not ready for more than this, I don't want you to have expectations, his lips say instead. 

Boom. 

In a breath of space smaller than the sigh in which it was birthed, hope is killed. Desire vanishes, hearts hide.

I turn away and quickly touch my heart. Shh, little heart, it's okay. We'll be okay. We were too quick to trust. We know how this goes. Let's pack up and go now. 

I get up from the bed, and I feel a part of me stay there. That's the gamble; a part of us is always lost. Good bye, my sweet romantic girl. 

I pick up my armor from the floor and put it back on. It is heavier now.  I feel my edges sharpen, I am older. It will be harder to take off next time...

The Artist's Way

Child Artist- image from here

I am working through Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, a workbook for recovering and discovering our Artistic Self. It's a 12-week do-it-yourself program, with daily and weekly tasks. I recommend it to anyone and everyone. It's the second time I am working through it.

I was given a used copy of it by a friend a couple of years ago, and it sat on my shelf for two years, untouched. Then, in May of 2010, I found myself deeply sad and stuck. I had spent my first year out of school auditioning and getting rejected, and I had gone through two major heartbreaks in the span of just a few months. I was lonely, uninspired, and in a lot of pain. Then someone sent me an article written by Jenna Fisher, where she talked about going through these periods throughout her career as well, and mentioned how helpful The Artist's Way had been. I picked up my copy, dusted it off, and started reading it. I committed to it because I didn't know what else to do; I needed to shift something within.

Early in the book, Cameron explains that when we are in pain, we are present. The future becomes too challenging to imagine and the past is too painful to remember, so we focus on the present. And that is when we notice the details of life, which is a propeller for creativity. I found that to be true. I was diligent about doing the exercises, and it didn't take long for things to start shifting. Before I knew it, I had created my own show, Leading Ladies, and I had four other plays lined up to perform in. And I fell in love.

The Ladies of Leading Ladies

Things got better quickly, projects were coming my way, and I was happy. I was glowing, in fact, and many people noticed it. So I made the mistake that many people in recovery make: by week 8, I abandoned The Artist's Way. I thought I didn't need it anymore. I was healed. I knew how to nurture my artist and the universe was responding; why spend 30 minutes of my morning writing morning pages, why take an hour out of my week to go on an artist date, why spend 45 minutes on a task, why repeat affirmations to myself? I thought my time would be better spent living, loving, and creating.

I can see now that what happened after that was no coincidence. Slowly, things fell apart. Auditions led to nothing but rejections. I got a job I didn't enjoy. I met people who sucked my creative energy out of me, and I didn't know how to protect myself. I turned into a version of myself I can't stand; bitter, angry, self-loathing, and victimized. My relationship, too, went down a destructive path and I didn't know how to save it. I saw myself losing everything, and I felt powerless.

I have been crying for just about 6 months now, and I haven't acted in a play in 9 months. It was time for a shift. Two weeks ago, as I was organizing one of my closets, I came across my copy of The Artist's Way. I felt such a huge relief in holding it in my hands that I burst into tears. I knew I needed to attend to my artist. I needed to do the work again.

It's only the second week, and already things have changed. Projects have come my way, I have felt my creative juices flowing, and I can feel a huge space opening in my heart again. This time, I hope I'll know better than to abandon the process, and I won't take my progress for granted. It's actually quite simple: Do the work. Results will follow.

I highly recommend this workbook, even if you don't think of yourself as an artist. We are all creative beings, and we all need to attend to that part of ourselves. Creativity, like a muscle, needs to be nourished and given the opportunity to practice and build upon itself. As a teacher of mine in grad school used to say, energy flows where attention goes.

And... I don't know if other people can see it yet, but I looked in the mirror today, and guess what?

I'm glowing.

I think this is a good example of what I look like when I glow. photo by Shirin Tinati.

Guest Post: Gunshy

Today's guest post is written by Jeanne Joe, author of the blog Gypsy Joe, an amazing woman I've known and watched grow since grad school. She's a beautiful artist, a really talented actor, and a creative person in all areas of life, as you will see in her writing. With Jeanne Joe, you're in for a ride, and you will enjoy it. 

Gunshy

When reigning Artistic Director David Greenham invited me to spend my summer with Maine's Shakespeare Theater, I wasn't sure who was wooing who.  Clearly I was enamored immediately with the theater and desperate to be likable enough to warrant an invitation to join the company.  When I received an email for a phone interview my heart went pitterpat and I said okay, Joe, this is game time.  Put on the charm for this one.  Get a job out.  You can do it.

On the phone, I was so stinking charming I believe I even chatted with Dave (who is himself charming and hilarious, with bone-dry sarcasm and a lifetime of theater experience to pepper his conversation) about house additions and contracting companies - which I know next to nothing about.  And then he offered me a job, and our roles seemed to reverse.  He said humbly, courtingly, "Are you SURE you want to step out of your life for 10 weeks and come to Maine?"  I remember how smiley my voice was.  It drew my roommate out of the kitchen to make sure I was alright (normally my voice is not exactly smiley).  "David," I said, "I would love to step out of my life for 10 weeks."

Calamity isn't gunshy

It's one thing to talk big.  I can talk big about a lot of things.  I can talk big about dropping everything for 10 weeks and build myself up to be some kind of gun-slinging desperado.  I can talk big about being a gypsy, eating three plates of pasta in one sitting, heartbreaking, moving on, adulthood, professionalism, double entendres, flirting; but when the rubber meets the road I find myself shrinking a little from my bold words, worried by ghostly memories and flashbacks.  Last time I took a risk it didn't end so well...I know where this is going....I was kidding...no you're right I wasn't kidding..were you kidding?...damn.  Yup, this is happening.

Gunshy.  Listen to this song and you'll know what I mean:

I've stepped out of my life for 10 weeks and into...still my life.  As my father likes to say, "You always take yourself with you."  Usually I'm pretty good with the confidence and risk taking, but sometimes I feel less like a sexy beast and more like a hot mess.  Leaps of faith can be hard to make and wisdom is hard to come by.

How do you know what - and who - to let in?  As artists I know there's an eagerness to be open, to live dangerously and fully and impulsively and I am ALL ABOUT THAT - for about 3 weeks.  Then I start feeling feelings and I'm afraid to pull the trigger.  How does one do all that, and still have a home inside oneself to rest in - a home that goes with you wherever you lay your head?

say yes?

I remember in my second year of graduate school I had the "Say Yes to Everything and Everyone" phase, where I let so many people and things into my heart I could no longer hear my own voice in my head.  After about 6 months I was dizzy and heartsick, but not very sorry.  It took me about a year to be sorry.  Now, sometimes I miss the extreme peak experiences I had back then.  Life out of grad school is a little more about surviving, which sometimes isn't as fun...but I'm a little hesitant to toss myself to the winds.  There's an element of maturity that wants to control and monitor a person, a performance, a self.  My pendulum doesn't seem to know how to fall to center: I'm always a freakish uber-marionette or a wanton will o' the wisp.  Was my mother right?  Are all things really moderation?

Honestly, I kind of hope not.  Ultimately, what have I got to lose by taking a chance?  It's just one small human heart.  As Beatrice says in Much Ado About Nothing, "Poor fool (heart), it keeps to the windy side of care."

with the skeletons

Every day is starting again.  Some days that's exciting to me - when I know my lines, when I know how I feel, when I know what I want to do - or when I don't know what I want to do and can't wait to figure it out as I go.  Sometimes the idea of starting again makes me not want to wake up, preferring my dream people and dream lives.  Sometimes when I hear a foreign voice say, "Let me in," I am running to the door or the window or the skylight and throwing back the shutters, shivering in sun, damning the torpedoes and racing full speed ahead.  Other times when that voice comes along suddenly I'm hiding in the closet with the skeletons, afraid to meet those green eyes or blue eyes or brown eyes or whatever color pleases God eyes.  Afraid to be unprofessional.  Afraid to be professional.

it's just one small human heart

Gunshy. 

What if...what if this time...

Today, I'm a bit embarrassed to report, I'm hiding in the closet.  You can come in too though.  We can share my flashlight and listen to this beautiful song again and work up the nerve to open the door.