"... the world spins madly on..."

It took me a while to put this post together. I wanted to make sure it was perfect - beyond perfect actually. I felt that the circumstances deserved it.  Calling upon my personal writing heroes, I wrote and re-wrote this entry countless times in my head.  But it wasn't perfect.  And it won't be.

Dear friends of mine lost their youngest son in the recent school shooting in Newtown, CT.  He was only 6 years old.  In the immediate aftermath of that horrific event, I spent several days cycling through crying jags, then numbness, then rage and back again.  I prayed and prayed for my friends and their older son, also a student at Sandy Hook Elementary, who survived.  I sobbed for the people I love who were so cruelly affected, for the whole community of Newtown, for this entire country.  I seethed at the hold that the NRA has on our politicians.  I grieved for the collective well-being of a country in the grip of so much gun violence, and raged at the cowardice of our elected officials to stand up to the gun lobby.

Like many, many others, I felt profound disbelief, anger and dismay as the NRA recommended arming teachers and putting MORE guns into our schools and on our streets.  I was dumbfounded.  The idea is so egregiously preposterous that to any sane person reading this, I needn't list the reasons why.

I read all sorts of editorials, nodding my head in agreement with those who wrote that, contrary to what many in the right-wing were saying, this was EXACTLY the time to discuss gun violence in this country.  I yelled at my television upon hearing pundits go on about how a crazy person determined to do violence will obtain a gun regardless of regulations.  YES, I screamed, there will always be violence and we won't be able to prevent every madman from getting his or her hands on guns but shouldn't we - at the very least - make it more difficult for them to do so??!!

Today is December 31st.  As I sit here thinking about my new year's resolutions (establish a regular meditation schedule, establish a regular writing schedule, drink less Mountain Dew, keep fresh cut flowers in my home, be more patient with myself and others), I'm also thinking about my hopes for this country in 2013 and beyond.  I hope we become a country of greater empathy.  I hope we start to embrace vulnerability.  I hope we learn to value kindness and grace.  I hope we stop killing each other.

Meanwhile, the world spins on.

Thoughts. (And a book recommendation).

I have been thinking a great deal lately about being of service. How can I be of service in the world?  Yes, I can volunteer with various organizations. Yes, I can donate clothing and food.  I can be a good friend, daughter, citizen and hopefully someday soon, a good wife.  Supportive, patient, fun, honest – qualities vital to all relationships, no matter their definition.  I can be kind to strangers and rescue an animal from a shelter.  All of these and more are ways that I can be of service. 

What about on a larger scale?

I believe very deeply – to the core of my being – that theatre is useful. I would go even further to say that it is necessary.  Art, music, dance, theatre – these are all necessities.  But my relationship to the theatre has changed over the past few years.  On sabbatical from acting (I prefer the word “sabbatical” with its intimation of something temporary; the idea that I will never again act in a play is a thought so painful I cannot entertain it), I am putting my creative energies towards writing.  

Words are vital, living things.  They can illuminate, educate, soothe, and entertain.  Provoke, calm and confound.  They can be of service.  The books that have been a balm to me throughout my life are too great in number to list in this blog post.  I recently finished another one: HOW TO BE A WOMAN by Caitlin Moran.  This collection of essays is hilarious, thoughtful, bold and unafraid.  Reading this book showed me that I needn’t be ashamed of calling myself a feminist.  It made me laugh and think and feel compelled to put my own truths on paper.  It was of service to me in those ways.   

I can contribute my own words to the plethora that are already out there. Perhaps they will be read on a huge scale, perhaps only by a few dozen.  Those numbers don’t really matter though, do they? What matters is that I speak my truth. 

At this moment in time, my truth is that I have a day job that is so far from what I want my life to look like that it makes me sad and frustrated.  So I guess I can write about that. Perhaps that will be of service to someone stumbling upon this blog, by letting them know they are not alone – that, for many, creative pursuits must be squeezed into the small spaces found in our lives, even if we feel tired and lonely and afraid. 

I am tired and lonely and afraid. But I'm going to keep writing.