Wake Me Up

The other night my batterry on my cell phone was taking its last breaths for the day as it blinked green. Odd since green is the color used to indicate abundance and the ability to move forward. On a Blackberry however, it means your battery may be too low for radio use. Having left my charger somewhere the night before, I paniced. My fiance was out of town so I couldn't use his iphone alarm as a back up. What if my phone completely died over night and I slept right through the 7th morning of my new job! What was I going to do? In an effort to conserve whatever battery I had left I called him from google phone. "Does my computer have an alarm clock in it?" I asked. Assuming it must considering it's a mac and they can do just about anything including spreadsheet creation, complicated mathmatical formulas and even take your photo. "I don't think so," he said not nearly as disappointed as I was. "Sleep with the shade open, the sun will wake you up." That was his only suggestion. He was right that it would...at 5am. I have no tolerance for light when I sleep. It has been one of the things I wish I could change about myself along with my metabolism and the fact that I didn't become a segment producer of the today show.

Finally we're about to get off the phone when he says, "why not just use the alarm clock?" Wow, the alarm clock. That thing that if I didn't look at it instinctivley when I am running late in the mornings would become completely obselete by digital, battery operated, multi-functional devices.

Our alarm clock saddly was gathering more dust than I'd like to admit and that's more a figurative description of its lack of use and a very practical description of my dislike, and as a result negligence, for dusting. I picked up this now doubly neglected foreign object and thought it would be easy to remember how to set the time for the alarm. Hold the button that says alarm down and keep it down while you set the time. No. This now made the current time 12:31am which thankfully I realized avoiding a daybreak disaster. But...how do I set this damn thing...help. After about 5 minutes, 5 minutes longer than it should have taken, I figured it out. I settled into bed pleased with both my survival skills and the fact that sometimes borderline hoarding behavior can come in handy and that we hadn't gotten rid of that old alarm clock that we never really use any more anyway.

I woke however less pleased...at 5:30am even though the blinds were drawn. I tossed around in bed for the remainder of the hour I had left before the world outside had to become a reality. And as the alarm beeped on time at 6:30am, I thought two things. Maybe my mom is right about the necessity of having a telephone land line and that it's probably time to invest in blackout shades.

The Taxman Cometh

"In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes." – Ben Franklin. As I’m gathering paper work for a meeting with my accountant on Friday and reading Paul Auster’s The Invention of Solitude, Mr. Franklin’s 18^th century wisdom is becoming clearer in my 21^st century reality.

There are things we’d like to think we’re sure of: our talents, the love someone has for us and the fact that our life is unfolding exactly as it should.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take much to shatter certainty. Just a few thoughts and a wild imagination and certainty becomes just as uncertain as certainty about anything really is.

We put our certainty in religion so that we have some sense of that which makes none at all. Imagine, our need to have explanations is so deep that we cling to fabrications we are willing to believe even when there’s no explanation for the fabrication itself. And don’t get me wrong, though I’m not particularly religious, the believing seeps into your unconscious becoming a part of your psyche whether you like it or not.

When I was 9, I told my dad that people created religion because it was nicer to believe in G-d than to believe we evolved from apes. A true man of science, I don’t recall him ever being more proud. I don’t know what I actually thought at the time. For that matter, I don’t know what I actually believe now. Certainly my father is not a believer. My mother on the other hand still tells me to go into a church and light a candle when I’m feeling down. Sometimes I actually do.

It was also clearly articulated at a story seminar I attended the last few days, that the only person you will ever truly know in this life is yourself. Some people take this truth in stride. For some reason it crushes me. I don’t care about knowing many people, just one…

A Bogart-Bergman connection. A deep unshakable knowing that the person you hold in your heart was meant for you. But, more importantly, that the person you hold in your heart feels the same way. Well…I’ve already admitted in the past to being a romantic, what can I say. Only that the realization of never really being able to know another human being does become more and more of an inescapable certainty the older you get.

But there are moments. Moments where you feel you might know something…someone. And that possibility keeps you going. There is nothing I hold more dear than that…the possibility. The possibility that makes death and taxes easier to bear.

Shhhhh

Shut Up! No not you…the voice in my head. You know the one. The one that tells you you’re not good enough, you’ll never succeed, you can’t do that, you’re too old and that you’re so far off from where you should be in your life. That same voice that just when you think it’s gone yells after you…why even bother….you’ll never make it. AND he probably doesn’t really love you anyway. That voice has a battery life longer than energizer and a playlist longer than The Beatles.

I must admit that, having a propensity for mental self-mutilation, at times I will give into these voices. Having a vivid imagination doesn’t make things any easier. So my mind runs crazy. Runs AND crazy being operative words in this case. It is unbelievable what the human mind is capable of. I have been left for dead at the roadside, developed terrible illnesses, ended up with more broken hearts than I’ve had relationships to break and possibly even turned one honest man into the most untrustworthy of characters.

On the other hand…I have also, won an academy award. Both for acting and writing. And thanks to Katheryn Bigelow, I’ve also just been nominated for best director. I also end up in the most perfect marriage that no reality could ever compete with while running my own business and raising 2 beautiful children (the weight came off rather quickly after both) and maybe I even complete a marathon.

Why I end up in my first set of circumstances more often than the second set is puzzling because it is a choice, albeit an unconscious choice but still. It’s my unconscious and it’s trying to get me to believe things that if it succeeded in doing, it would then proceed to tell me it also has a bridge it’d like to sell me.

So I am going to do an experiment. While catching the tail end of a PBS special with Dr. Wayne Dyer I wrote down the excuses we all make for not achieving what we want to achieve and the positive affirmations we should be making in their place. I am going to read these affirmations every morning when I wake up and every evening before going to bed and hopefully it will cause me to live in my second set of fantasies and in turn bring those fantasies to some reality…freality.

Maybe this is what my freality will look like: I end up in a loving and trusting relationship with a man I feel is in love with me and I with him more often than I feel like punching him in the face, have a child and take off at least most of the weight, continue writing and find that I am able to make ends meet and piece together a career that is creative and financially fulfilling and I am able to run 6 miles a day again the way I used to do…I could live with freality.

As far as not letting my ill-intentioned creative imagination take control, I’ve got my work cut out for me. It’s not in my nature; an excuse to which Wayne Dyer would answer “My essential nature is perfect and faultless, it is to this nature I return.” I’m not sure if that is actually an affirmation or a fantasy. But…I wouldn’t trade in the circuitous and obsessive musings of my mind for the comfort of complacency….well maybe I would. I’ve got to think about that some more.

"Is Nothing Sacred?"

I was best known for this phrase when working in an office filled with women and privy to some of the most intimate details of their personal (read sexual) lives. I’m no prude and of course I’ve dished out my fair share of details but there are certain bits of information that begged the response, is nothing sacred?

Perhaps it’s my conservative middle eastern upbringing, the one that prompts my mom to say, I’m glad you’re enjoying therapy, just keep it to yourself. We’re not meant to air out our dirty laundry in public. We must always put on a happy face, even when we’re not, let people think we’re doing better than we actually are, even when things really are great.

Clearly, with the proliferation of reality shows, many people are devoid of such personal perameters. And here’s the thing I really don’t get…haven’t reality shows been out long enough that we all know that if we do go on them we’re going to be editied in a way that would make even Mother Theresa seem like a jezebel?

Are people really so anxious to go on a show called The Marriage Ref and show the world how ridiculous they are just to talk to Madonna, not even in person, but, via satellite?

And let's take The Bachelor. I am amazed that year after year there are 20 something 20 somethings more than willing to literally compete against other women for a man they haven’t even met? And let's not forget the countless numbers of women willing who just didn't get the part. The part of reality star ready to be edited in unflattering ways and then sold for public consumption.

And while I can understand the lure of a show like American Idol; getting on the fast track to fame when you actually do have the talent deserving of it, I think such shows eat into the values that older generations learned to appreciate. Values that build that thing called character. What will become the future of positive personal attributes like moxie and pounding the pavement, dedicating a lifetime to an artistic pursuit, stick-to-it-iveness, and being in something for the long haul despite adversity?

I can just imagine all the future E True Hollywood stories. So and so started on American Idol. She didn’t win but was still offered a record deal and the rest is history. How can those types of stories compare with Madonna’s rise to fame, living in near poverty in NY’s East Village, handing out self recorded demos to anyone in or near the industry who would listen and eating only ramen noodles for a year. Whatever the actual details, we know that what she went through was a struggle and that not just her talent but her drive and dedication brought her there, not a competition on national television that would have cut defining, character shaping years from her life experience.

I won’t lie. I’m a bit guilty of it myself. Hoping that someone out there in publishing might read this and sweep me out of inexistence and into the personal essay writing spotlight.

Then again, I did just resolve to be more positive (and Shhh, I have put in my time)…it just might happen.

Everything In Moderation, Even Your Resolutions

It’s already March. How did that happen? As quickly as new years came and resolutions were made so did the time come for letting them go. I wonder how many people really stick to their resolutions. I’m sure the gyms were filled with people on Jan 2^nd resolved to finally, once and for all, get rid of those last 5 pounds. I’m sure there were more people in the gyms Jan 2^nd than there are today on March 2^nd.

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit….I assume that also goes for bad habits, like not focusing on your writing on a daily basis, not going to the gym and eating every type of junk food your heart desires. After 21 days of that, the 5 extra pounds you’ve been battling will surely have turned into 10 and the motivation to do anything about it will have been overcome by the power of indoor heating, on demand TV and the nice bottle of cabernet you had intended to save for the dinner you’ve been invited to Friday evening.

Let’s face it; it’s cold out there. I think all resolutions have more staying power when made by the warm invigorating and energizing force of natural heat and extended hours of sunlight that come with springtime.

And don’t count on a winter getaway to a warm Central American country like Costa Rica to jump-start any serious work resolutions either. In the 2 weeks I was enjoying the warmer weather in an area with one main road, only half of which was paved, I got absolutely no writing done or any other kind of work done for that matter. I think my body has some sort of inner seasonal time clock that overrides the trickery of geographic relocation. “It’s still winter where I live,” my motivational center screamed at me at even the thought of trying to compose a sentence that made any literal sense. It basically hung up a sign saying please check back with us in early spring, in the meantime, enjoy your vacation and try not to feel guilty about the work you know you should be doing. Have a blessed day.

That is why I have waited until now to make my resolutions. March 2^nd. So…. Right…. What am I going to really focus on this next year…10 months?

1) Getting healthy. Hopefully the Magnolia Bakery banana pudding I had last night for dessert serves as a see you only after I’ve lost the 5 pounds and even then only in moderation adios to all sweets. A thought here about the phrase in moderation. Whoever must have thought that up surely has enough self control to avoid said vice altogether and clearly is not in need of a phrase like “in moderation” to begin with. The rest of us who have no such control know that “in moderation” is a euphemism for boring and self-deprivation. While I do in theory agree with the concept of moderation, my endorphin centers seem to have a line item veto on the moderation front.

2) Writing every day. Yes. I will fight the good fight against a blank piece of paper every day. The emptiness that mocks my very existence, that mocks my creativity and feeds into my creative person’s worst enemy, the enemy of self -doubt and negative “That’s a stupid idea. You can’t really do that. Do you really think that’s good?” self talk. I will dare to make the first mark on the canvas that will eventually lead to another mark and then another with complete disregard for the outcome of what is written.

3) Trying to generally have a more positive outlook on just about everything.

Oscar Wilde said that "A New Year's resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other". Considering most people don’t ever stick to their resolutions I find that making more than 3 would be a mockery of the whole process altogether.

Then again, I’m making mine in March and I’ve already resolved to be positive.

I've Always Depended On The Kindness Of Strangers

People talk to me. I’ve been told I’ve got that way about me. The one that makes total strangers approach you in a coffee shop or book store, strike up a conversation and invariably end up sharing intimate details about their past and/or present troubles.

Some of these people have been certifiable; the one who began reading part of a screenplay I was writing on my computer over my shoulder and then began asking me industry questions….at least she told me she found what I was writing to be very interesting. A compliment is a compliment is a compliment….I’ll take it. Certifiable people are not by design unintelligent.

And then there are people like Stan. Stan and I happened to make our way up Broadway from the Columbus Circle area together. We met on the same corner and stepped out into a car speeding through the intersection. “I’ll protect you,” Stan said as he smiled my way. “You’re much too pretty not to be protected.” Coming out of someone else’s mouth, the words would have seemed exactly as they were intended, but from Stan, they were a genuine statement of his feeling, regardless of their intention and his lack of any bravado was comforting.

“So what do you do?” Stan inquired. Trying to deny the complete and utter lack of production on the writing front these last two weeks I answered, “I’m a writer.” Stan was impressed. “Everyone wants to do what you do.” “They can, I’m not quite making a living at it yet.” “But you are on your way,” Stan reassured me. Why the reassurance of total strangers seems more genuine than that of those closest to you I have no idea but it did make me feel better and he was right. I am on my way. I’ve just had a short I co-wrote produced and have offers to write two features. How could I not see this as progress or at least a reason to get out of bed in the morning? Still when faced with a terrible case of writer’s block, staying in bed is much more pleasurable.

Then Stan made me feel better in another way…”You’re probably all of 24, right?” Ha Ha! Oh Stan, I think I’m in love… I did only stop getting carded this past year but still....I’m well into my 30s and the closest I am to 24 is when I’m watching Kiefer Sutherland save Renee Walker from the Russian buyers of weapons grade plutonium. Stan was not only shocked when I told him how not 24 I was but then added, “You’re lucky. You’re going to look young and beautiful your whole life.” Oh Stan…if only I felt that way.

“What do you do?” I asked. “I want to do what you do.” Stan had been in finance and was smart enough to get out of the game before the apocalyptic events in our economy took him out. He was now working on a book about managing not only your personal finances but your life…Lucky for Stan, his finances were well enough in order that he could work on his creative endeavors with peace of mind and no pressure to make a living at it. I hope he’s a good writer, I should probably read that book.

As we approached our point of departure, I shared with Stan the name and location of the coffee shop where I like to do my writing when I’m on the Upper West Side and Stan shared the name of the chocolatier he was headed to only a block further north. I accompanied him into the store in the hopes of pre-valentines chocolate samples.

Apparently, love isn’t free and neither is chocolate. But the aroma of freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate worked wonders on the less than stellar mood I woke up in. And so did Stan. The exchange with a stranger regardless of motivation, was genuine, honest and simple and less complicated than with so many people we come in contact with on a daily basis. There is something to be said for the kindness of strangers, and his name was Stan. I guess that makes me Stella…or Blanche. I’m still figuring it out.

Hmmmm

It’s New Years Eve day. The end of another year. A bad year in most people’s estimation. If I look back to where I was a year ago, I am personally in a much better place. Last New Years Eve I was on the brink of a break up that spawned this whole essay writing business to begin with. How cool is that? This New Year’s Eve, I many be on the brink of another break up…Yeah that sucks. I’ve sort of bookended 2009. In a way, I may be in the exact same place but I know I’m not. I am enriched. I am enriched by the relationship I’m in regardless of its outcome; I can’t say that for the previous one. That already is progress. I’m enriched by the writing I’ve been doing, by trying to live a truly authentic life, one that is true to who I am at the core. It’s just hard to be mindful of the fact that though I’ve been making small steps, those steps are progress. It’s even harder to be mindful of the progress when desperation and depression seem to be much easier things to cling to, as the progress is so small that it is virtually unperceivable to an outsider.

Earlier today while sitting here at the café that has become my office, Ben the person on the laptop next to mine said “what’s so great about new years, I’m one year closer to my demise.” Ah, a fellow writer I thought to myself. I was wrong. Ben is a recruiter. He also had other thoughts to offer about New Years Eve, “There’s too much pressure to be happy on new years.” And then I started thinking about happiness in general. I mean what is happiness? I tend to think I’m generally happy about something and then happiness turns into complacency and complacency into dissatisfaction and dissatisfaction then into restlessness and restlessness into anxiety. An “is this really my life” anxiety when only moments ago I seemed happy.

The years just keep going by. There’s no way to prevent that from happening or to slow down their perceived speed of passing that seems to grow with each year. So all I can do is make a resolution. I am going to be happy with this moment. And then this moment will lead to another moment in which I will plan to also be happy. I’ll just be in the moment so I can’t distract myself with thoughts of my past mistakes or the potential mistakes I may make in the future. That should be easy right? I resolve to be in the moment and to go to the gym more. After all, I did just join my boyfriend’s gym.

Hmmmm have I learned nothing this year?