Waves of Emotion

Once upon a time,  I remember very clearly being certain of something: People don't actually feel things, they just think they do.  

Then I went to drama school.

Starting with the most basic acting exercises, my theory began to fall away -- and not in an elegant, graceful way -- in the way that an ancient wheel barrel might come apart if it was pushed down the side of a rocky cliff filled to the brim with farm fresh eggs. It was messy. And by the time I graduated, I was in pieces at the bottom of a mountain literally battered--like a chicken about to hit the fryer: egg on my face.

When I went to drama school, my goal was to learn how to hide. Bunko theory number 2: Actors hide their emotions under a character.  This is when the wheels started to come off my wagon.  In drama school I learned that actors (the interesting ones) feel their feelings - they make themselves vulnerable in order to reveal a universal truth of emotion, how we all feel inside. The idea that I would have to do this was positively terrifying.  At the very least, I needed my own defense mechanisms to hide behind.  The idea of stripping these away in order to play a character more open, softer, or weaker than me made me want to jump into a vat of hair spray and set fire to my skin.  But alas, I had already transferred schools too many times, and needed to finish my education in this program.  So on went the hair-spray, and off came my outer shell.

Gradually, all of my theories on emotion came undone. I felt things.  I felt them in my classwork, which was interesting; but far more interesting were the feelings I experienced outside the classroom. I felt guilt like a punch in the stomach when I played a prank on a neighbor sending her into a panic attack.  I felt anger like heat traveling from the depths of my gut to the tops of my ears when I found out I was cheated on.  And I felt the arresting, exploding feelings of love through the center of my chest and down to my finger tips, like a concentrated attack of pins & needles - quite a few times actually.  Ultimately, my training taught me to be more open, softer, and yet somehow stronger.

Now that I'm long outside of school, and frankly far from any actors, I find that many people are afraid of their emotions.  They avoid it, or try to, at any cost.  The thing is, feelings just are. They come and go like waves at the beach. If we hold on to the big ones, we'll drown.  If we try to deny them, the pressure created by doing so will break the levies and damage all those things we've built on the shores of our lives.  We have to allow time to take our feelings back out to sea in order to breathe again. Time is very good at this, but new waves continue to come--some gentle, some cold, some kind, some bold. If we surrender and allow the feelings to come and go, if we can find our footing and just stay still, they'll wash over us and retreat again, exactly as they're supposed to leaving only the salty residue of memories stuck our skins. Opening to feelings, allowing them, and then letting them go is the only way I know to survive life as an alive, awake individual.

The tides have risen and fallen a few times already in this summer of yes, and at each turn, someone inevitably says to me: "At least you can feel things."

I believe all people feel things, some just think they don't. 

Optimism

Without optimism, I believe I would not have survived the winter of 'no.'  The song Pompeii played on repeat through the cold months this year, and this question rang in my ears: "How am I gonna be an optimist about this?" Truly, in times of darkness, this question is futile. Blind, passionate optimism is the only real choice when you're under water. But when you rise to the surface, and finally find a bit of oxygen, radical optimism can be a bit more challenging  - now, the question changes: "What am I going to be an optimist about?" I'll recommend this as the refrain to the good folks of Bastille for the follow up album to Bad Blood.

Anything is possible. If we don't believe this fact, we're not really optimistic. Within the realm of anything, however, the options can be overwhelming. Surely, one can go by the four pillars of happiness: Health, Wealth, Love, and Perfect self-expression (Source: The Game of Life & How to Play It - highly recommend). But to direct one's focus into specificity is a monumental challenge unto itself, and essential to success in any venture.  For instance, let's take the first one - arguably the simplest: Health.  What does that mean? Free of disease? That seems like a low bar to set. Free of pain? Ok, sure. Physically fit? To what end? Is it about a certain weight? Running a certain distance? Completing a cardio-kickboxing class without screaming expletives at the instructor whilst kicking in the air for 90 seconds straight? Again, anything is possible, so what to choose...

More and more, I'm feeling like the answer to this question is rhetorical as well. What we choose is not nearly as important as the fact that we choose. Pick something. Anything. As Lady MacBeth says: "Screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail." Granted, she was talking about murdering a king with her husband-in-crime, but her point is valid and she is optimistic, specific, and ultimately successful. In other words, she's a great role model.

I never intended for the Summer of Yes to be about setting goals and screwing my courage to the sticking place.  I meant mostly for it to be about soaking up life in a way I could not earlier this year; but along my travels, I find myself asking why.   Why venture into other neighborhoods?  Why try all new things? Why meet new people? What am I looking for? What am I hoping to accomplish?   Mostly, I think I'm looking for inspiration.  I'm filtering through as much information as possible, hoping something will strike me and I'll hear the call of life in a positive way.  Last year I heard Life shouting to me at a deafening volume - changes needed to be made. It was terrifying, but ultimately this call lead to a more peaceful, happy place - maybe it's the optimist in me, but I don't believe life ever calls with such clarity to lead you to an unhappy place.

I saw a friend earlier this year who gave me this advice: Jump, and build your wings on the way down. This is a test of true optimism. In order to leap off into oblivion, take big risks, and trust you'll succeed, one needs a sort of un-wavering faith in life that those wings appear. Knowing this means you'll fly before you die.  The more bold moves I find myself making, the more I realize doubt is the only thing that can prevent those wings from showing up. So onward and upward with optimism. Time to fly.

Also, I would like a dragon. And this movie was awesome. Yes to cartoons. Always.

Yes to Social Media?

Telling the story of a life through social media is nearly impossible. The assumptions made about a person, the gaps filled between posts, are gigantic leaps of imagination.  No one is telling the whole truth in their accounts -- no one could. In a way, we're all producing our own little reality shows, watched by a couple hundred of our acquaintances every day. And in the same way producers cut 500 hours of footage down to 10, we are essentially compiling a highlight reel of our  days/weeks/lives.

I took a little hiatus (about 4 months I think) from Facebook this year, and was ultimately peer pressured into coming back by the most unlikely of sources: family.  People were "worried" about me because I no longer had a social media presence.  When did being on Facebook become a sign of mental health? After a divorce, doesn't it seem healthier to have a little privacy?  I wasn't hiding anything, just needed some time to reflect.   Meanwhile, I heard others judging how much social media presence my ex was maintaining.  This is a no-win.  Post too much? You're in denial of your problems.  No pictures of you? You're ashamed of yourself. Too many selfies? You're conceited.  No check-ins? You're a shut-in. And turn off Facebook altogether?  Clearly, you're in a bathtub with a razor blade. But we do it to ourselves.  We put our lives out there for public consumption and judgement (good or bad)--and that's what we get.

I've had a Facebook account since early 2004.  In fact, I remember laying on a friend's bed at 3rd North NYU dorm, throwing a tennis ball against a wall while she created my account.  "What do I need this for?" I asked.  "I already have Myspace and Friendster." I believe these were my exact words.  Since then, I've documented almost every day of my life to some extent via Facebook. I certainly didn't set out with this intention, but ten years later, there it is; the chronicle of my life.   My relationship with Twitter was never as intimate. I know this might seem shocking, but I'm far too verbose to be satisfied with 140 characters. I love Instagram, though.  A picture is, after all, worth at least 1000.

All this to say, we use social media to tell the story of a life...leaving huge gaping holes where the negative might be.  But, there's an inherent flaw in this method of story-telling: it lacks cohesion.  As a natural story teller and a compulsive truth-teller, I might be the only person worried about such things; but I found this quite peculiar when I returned to the book of Face, post-divorce.  After all, my ex wife and I placed a significant amount of energy in building a profile in the digital realm and the end result was striking.  Most folks were nothing short of shocked when they heard the news. Even dear friends were confused until I pointed out that seeing someone every 30 days at a party, and experiencing 90% of the friendship through the internet does not exact a clear portrait.

 Now I'm faced with some kind of conundrum: how to proceed with my narrative.  I have no interest in filling in the gap, explaining the incredibly personal parts of the recent past to a thousand people.  But just jumping back into my story on a new high-note really irks the story-teller in me. It feels strange to ask people to cheer for you in the good parts of your life and ignore the bad parts.

The ironic thing is, when one reveals a "bad" part of life, the level of support received can be life-affirming. Long "lost" friends reach out with a reassuring word, a private message that reminds you they're still in your corner--and that feels great. Ultimately, I've decided to say yes, at some capacity, to keeping my social media presence alive. Despite the level of self-consciousness it introduces into my life, it is also a vehicle for support, love, and the sharing of good feelings among old friends.

Out of Bounds... Part 1: Williamsburg

I know I'm going to get a lot of flack for this, but I have been a Manhattan snob for the past decade or so.  With the exception of the summer post-graduation when tried the BK thing, I've always been in the center of of the action, here in NYC proper.  But as part of the Summer of Yes, I've committed to spending more time with friends in their native (or adopted) homes outside the bounds of my little town.  First Stop: Brooklyn.

cool picture, stinky party - see Bossa Nova Civic Club

Door to door, from my apartment to my dear friends' place in Williamsburg, the commute is almost an hour.  Huzzah.  Clearly, I'll spend the night in the burg.  The good news is, they have not one, but two living rooms - ok, I see the bright side of BK. I have to admit, getting on the L-Train heading East is a little intimidating.  It's as though there should be a sign saying: "You must be this cool to ride the train." I would come just under that marker. Still, I feel like I'm heading out of town for the weekend.  Nice to escape with just a metro card and a few great friends.

Here are my highlights:

Forcella - Brooklyn loves pizza. And pizza loves Brooklyn right back.
Tutu's - Which is described to me as a great college dance-party, is exactly that.  I feel like I'm visiting friends in 2002 at Lehigh University.  We're in the basement of a Frat House - only instead of hearing some awful jam band, it's Rihanna and instead of aggressive 18 year olds, it's mellow BK kids.  I approve.
Bossa Nova Civic Club -  Un-showered hipsters swaying to mindless techno, crowding one corner of the dance floor -presumably because they all need to expel gas at the same time.  Bushwick Fart Party. Pass.
This N That - Finally, some gays.  This bar reminds me a lot of Nowhere Bar in the East Village. Same owners. Same vibe. Great dancing. Winner.
The Brooklyn Flea - Hooray for flea markets! I always have a good time browsing through curated crap.  Great way to lose a Saturday.  We had pie and hot dogs.  It was magic.
OddFellows - I remember seeing a piece about their Ginger & Caramelized Banana Walnut ice cream on the Food Network a year or so ago and thinking: "Gosh it's a shame that's so far away. I'll never taste that deliciousness." Well, considering I would have failed the Where will you be in 5 years? test several times over, this one thing doesn't feel so bad. I mean, it's so...good.
Berry Park - Ok, this is what I always pictured Williamsburg bars to be like.  Aggressive hipsters in horrible outfits. Loud, terrible, ironic music, people wearing sunglasses indoors.  Not my scene. The fried pickles were amazing though.
Brooklyn Winery - Maybe I'm an old lady, but an ice cold glass of steel barrel Chardonnay and a civilized cheese plate is much more my speed. Great date spot. I dig it.
Brooklyn Bowl - Nachos + Bowling + Rock Concert.  We had an incredible time here, tons of laughs, and pitchers of beer.  I'm now the proud owner of some socks that say Brooklyn on them. Am I official yet?

All in all, I found Williamsburg to be way less pretentious than I expected.  Bartenders were super friendly and I had a really relaxing (albeit action-packed) time. My only gripe is with how I fit in here...or don't.  In my regular attire, I could easily be mistaken for "Normcore" here. For those new to this term, it's a hipster movement where people dress "normal" in order to prove a point: that no one is special...or something. Honestly, I haven't spent the time to read up on my hipster movements lately.   I never expected my "look" to have a name other than normal...no quotations necessary.  But these are small problems easily combatted with a white v-neck and a pair of jeans. Until that gets fetishized into "Fonz-core," I think I'm safe in BK.  Ehhhh. 

It Begins...

They say this winter was the coldest in over a hundred years.  New Yorkers battled snowstorm after snowstorm, sub-freezing temperatures, and long periods of unrest under slate grey skies. It was difficult to find a spark of optimism or a promise of hope in the clouds, in the air, or even in our hearts most days.

In other words Ms. Nature was a real Mother.

Even under San Diego skies, I would have had a Dickensian winter. I faced the end of my marriage, my subsequent move, and several epic career shifts.  Forget Dickens, this winter was more likely written by Lemony Snicket.

When these things collide, we are presented with opportunities.  The way I saw it, my options were as follows:

1. Assume a fetal position and murmur nonsensical sing-song phrases whilst rocking back and forth, crying.

2. Return to the things I love: things I gave up because I got "busy," things that centered me, made me feel like myself again (writing is one of them). Get back out in the world, find my footing, and figure out what I must become.

3. Drink. Heavily.

Over achiever that I am, I'm proud to say I attacked all three options. The fetal position only lasted about an hour.  I got bored, called my best friend, and he was at my door in forty minutes. I buzzed him up in tears, then thought it would be funny if he walked in and found me with my head in the oven.   The realization that I had enough life inside of me to think of such a hilarious (albeit dark) prank was reassuring; finding a creative/comedic impulse in a moment of despair is extremely comforting to me.  It means I'm not too far gone.   I answered the door giggling through my tears. I believe my friend called it a "Saint Tickle-Me-Elmo's Fire" moment.  Playing Rob Lowe to my Demi Moore, he lit some sage and a cigarette, handed me the former, and opened a bottle of champagne.  We promptly set about expelling the ghosts of sadness and accomplishing option #3.

Well, it's June, and I made it through my winter of discontent. This is, in large part, thanks to the greatest group of humans who ever walked the earth: my friends. There are about a dozen people who showed up for me when I was a fraction of myself. They became the sum of all my parts, far greater than I was (or am) alone.  They put me back together. If Humpty Dumpty had this posse instead of  King's horses & men, he'd be sitting on walls all over the place.

As it always does, the sun has reignited, fine weather has returned, and Life, in it's infinite wisdom has shown the way, clear of obstacles, to happiness (Hint: it was behind door #2).  My goal for the next three months is to say yes to people, experiences, and adventures that feel good.

After a long winter of "Oh HELL no" it's time for The Summer of Yes.


Thanks for coming along,
Anne