11 Days til 30: Detox Diet Day 1

At least it's a colorful diet!

All right. The original purpose of tracking this whole 30 days til 30 bit was to find some motivation. Get back on track with fitness and health and all of that good stuff. Edge away from any toxic-twenties-sludge. Find the most beautiful, fit, and organic way to slip into 30.

That's all fallen by the wayside.

Until today!

Today, I began this Three Day Holiday Detox Diet. I tried to do it last year, and sort of halfway did it three times... but never really stuck with the exact diet for three days. It's not a hard diet to maintain for three days, unless, of course, it's the holiday season, you're so busy that you have no time to cook, you have work stacked up, just remembering to eat is an achievement because you're also in a show --

Yeah, so, basically I have the same odds stacked against me this year that I did last year. But I'm gonna make it, darn it! I went to the grocery store today and bought everything I needed. And so far, so good: day one down, and I'm ready for day 2! I'm also ready for bed, because I'm exhausted from literally running around, dancing, and jumping up and down at rehearsal (ha HA! EXERCISE!!!), so I will do more reporting on this later...

12 Days til 30: So Now I'm Nervous That I'm Nervous

I hate flying.

I fly pretty frequently, given how much I hate it. But I really do hate it. I hate just about everything associated with flying: packing, long lines, strangers feeling you up, endless waiting, being on someone else's timetable, delays, uncomfortable chairs, the nausea and ear-popping of takeoff, turbulence, landing - and oh yeah, that whole bit on the plane where you're hurtling through the air at 30,000 feet.

I've always known that I'm a nervous flier. I take Dramamine to help with the motion sickness, and should probably take Paxil or Xanax to help with the rest of it (but I do not - though on international flights, I have vodka, motion sickness be damned). I get through it, but I don't like it. That's just how I am about flying.

Or I thought that's just how I am about flying. Turns out, maybe that's just how I am, period.

See, I was on a plane today, and in the midst of flying-nervousness underscored by a truly (comically, in fact) incompetent pair of flight attendants, my travel-mate and dear D made a comment in passing to me, about me, that made me sit up and go "Wha?!" The conversation went something like this:

I'm not even nervous here!
This is my default face!

• Flight attendant #1 (as we're taking off): Ladies and gentlemen, please return your tray tables and seats to their upright and locked position as we prepare for landing.
• Flight attendant #2 (whispered, harshly): TAKEOFF.
• Flight attendant #1: I mean, takeoff.
• Flight attendant #2: Sorry, there, folks, she's off her game today. We'll have you safely to Jacksonville in no time.*
• Me: I think the flight attendants are drunk.
• D: Yep.
• Me: Also, does it seem to quiet in here to you? I feel like the plane engine should be louder.
• D: We're not sitting near the engine.
• Me: It's a small plane! All of the seats are near the engine!
• D: The engine is fine.
• Me: I know. You're right. I'm sorry. I'm kind of a nervous flier.
• D (offhandedly): You're kind of a nervous person.
• Me (shocked!): WHAT?! 

At first I was indignant, but then I started compiling the evidence. I constantly worry about what people think. I'm terrified of letting people down. I hold off on making decisions in my personal life because I don't want to make the wrong one. I worry about things big and things small. I worry about deer running out in front of my car after dark (which is a perfectly legitimate fear). I worry that this whole 30 days til 30 thing is way too self-indulgent and I should be blogging about major world issues. Oh, and of course, I worry that any plane I set foot on to will burst into flame, crash into a mountain or spiral into the sea.

And now I'm worried that I'm a nervous person.

Hmmmmm. New goal for my 30s: be way, way more zen than I was in my 20s.


*We were headed to Jackson.

Blog Backlog

I have bits and pieces of blogs written for each of the last few days. I'll finish and post them as soon as I'm able. Between traveling, rehearsal, and now diving back into work... it might take a day or two, but I will get caught up before the weekend (MY LAST WEEKEND AS A TWENTY-SOMETHING) hits.

Incidentally, I wish I could say that I'm going to go out and do something crazy next weekend (MY LAST WEEKEND AS A TWENTY-SOMETHING). But I'm in tech for a show and traveling for work Sunday night, so honestly, I'll probably be insanely boring. You never know, though.

Random side note: I currently have 27 "followers" of this blog. Wonder if I can hit 30 on there before I hit 30 in years...?

Good night, all. More soon. Until then, enjoy this moment of "heh" (also posted as my Facebook status earlier today):

Airport keeps paging "passenger who left his belt and leaflets at checkpoint." All I can think is that when some poor missionary knocks on a door, reaches for tracts that aren't there, and then his pants drop... he's going to have some explaining to do.

12 Days til 30: Partridge In a Pear Tree

How could I not set this one to music?

The 12 Days Til 30
Set to the tune of "12 Nights of Christmas"
... the last verse.

Twelve deadlines danglin'
Eleven books a-waiting
Ten ideas brewing
Nine workouts calling
Eight lists a'scrawlin'
Seven meals a'cookin'
Six committees meeting
Fiiiiiiiive shows on staaaaaaaage!
Four calling friends
Three good laughs
Two bottles of wine
... and with just one day till 30, my guess is that I'll be - in shock that this is really me!

Okay, this was just really, really bad. But the point is to write every day, right? Even if you're stuck.

13 Days til 30: In Between

Did you ever see the movie 13 Going on 30? That's sort of how I feel today. Finding it hard to believe I'm as old as I am, because I still feel like a little girl. Ironically, when I was a little girl, I found it hard to believe how young I was, because I always felt so much older.

I don't just feel in-between as far as my age, though. I feel in-between ... everything. I no longer have the excuse of "just starting out," nor have I reached any significant success markers. Instead I'm somewhere in between, swimming around the middle of my life, my career, my relationships, my writing. In between -

Hold on. Wait a minute. Not at the beginning or the end? This is where all the important character development, conflict, crises, climax and insightful humor should be coming in! At some point I'll probably look back on this time and go, that was pretty awesome! Still so much potential, and finally enough experience to not sound hopelessly naive! 

Sacred excrement, Batman! Better get cracking.

14 Days til 30: Goats

Today, as is tradition, the family went to an apple orchard near our house for post-Thanksgiving donuts, hot cider and nostalgia. This year, the orchard had a new feature. It looked at first like a bridge to nowhere, but upon closer inspection, we learned that it was, in fact, a Goat Feeder.

A what now, you exclaim?! How does this contraption work, you wonder? Well, lucky for you, I had my camcorder handy. So I can show you:




You are so welcome.

Today brought not only humor, but also many memories. Of autumn and cider mills and hot donuts, yes. But also, thanks to the Goat Feeder - it brought memories of goats.

See, I don't like to talk about it much, but the truth is - we sort of used to have a little farm when I was growing up. We didn't just have the indoor pets - dogs, cats, guinea pigs. We also had outdoor... well... livestock. Chickens. Ducks. And, yes, goats. It's mostly the goats I don't like to talk about, because kids are mean, and thus I was referred to on more than one occasion as Heidi the Goat Girl, or, more frequently, just Goat Girl. Which sounds harmless. But when you're 14, with a little stick-shape, a mouth full of braces, and insecurities galore, the last thing you need is for "cool kids" to call you Goat Girl. But now, years later, I can look back and laugh.

And feel a little sad that we didn't have a Goat Feeder to go with the goats.

15 Days til 30: I Cried At The Muppet Movie

I cried at The Muppets. Not full-out bawling, but moments of throat-tightening, eyes-misting, heart-expanding emotion. More than one of those moments. A few warm tears. I cried.

That fact is not weird in and of itself. What's weird is that, truth be told (and don't all smack me at once or anything) - I was a little disappointed in The Muppets. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it. Honestly, it probably could not have possibly lived up to expectations. I'd really been looking forward to seeing the movie. I love the Muppets. I love Jason Segel and Amy Adams. I knew I'd be seeing it over Thanksgiving while I was up in Michigan visiting my family. It was going to be epic.

And it wasn't.

It was fun.

It had moments of nostalgia.

But it wasn't everything I'd built it up to be in my mind. Without including any spoilers - it was thin on plot, full of missed-joke opportunities, self-referential but sometimes redundantly. It wasn't what I'd imagined.

And yet I cried.

Because even though it wasn't as "epic" as I'd dreamed it would be, it was still The Muppets. It made me remember. It was familiar. It had a lot of heart. It was goofy. It couldn't live up to childhood memories, but it was its own experience. Without being flawless, it could still touch my heart. Sort of like visiting an old playground. Or coming home for Thanksgiving. It made me feel young, and it made me feel old.

I think that's why I cried. Because of the moments that felt familiar but so far away. Because of the idea of going back or moving on, taking next steps, and finding how something old fits into a new chapter. And because, like all the things we love best, it wasn't perfect - but it was enough.

16 Days til 30: Thankful

I'm in Michigan for Thanksgiving.

My grandmother, who has battled through health issue after health issue this past year, looks and sounds great.

My parents, who have been caretaking for my grandmother, are glowing to have their children all home.

My siblings and their partners are all here, sharing stories and news.

Friends and extended family fill the table, eating too much food, singing songs.

In 30 years, I have never missed Thanksgiving with my family.

There are no words for how thankful I am today.

19 Days til 30: Brewin'

"Step One"

Somehow, I made it almost thirty years without participating in any sort of home-brewing experience. Thanks to the Qs, I didn't make it all the way to thirty sans beer-makin' party. It was a close one, though!

The process actually kicked off a few weeks ago, prepping the concoction. Our brewmaster Nate Q led us in the process, eagerly assisted by Apprentice D. The most important lesson is "plan ahead": see, brewing takes time. So if you want to drink that same day, bring other beverages to imbibe on kickoff day. Luckily, though we hadn't brewed before, we neophytes still knew the basics, which is why we brought mimosa fixings for that morning. What we didn't know ahead of time was the second most important lesson learned during the first step in the brewing process? Never ask Nate Q what "step one is." Inevitably, the answer will be "cut a hole in the box." Lesson learned.

Then last night, we bottled the brew. This involved the use of the Ale Pail, and many bottles, collected over the past few weeks. Apparently, to brew beer, you have to drink a lot of beer ahead of time. It is a very tough gig. But someone's gotta do it.

Ale Pail. Siphon. Spilled Beer Catcher. 

Nate's smile is bigger.
We're makin' progress!

So we've brewed it. We've bottled it. And in 10 days... we'll get to drink it. ;-) Thanks, Qs!

The Qs. Awwww.

20 Days til 30: An Open (Face)Book?

I saw this cartoon on a friend's Facebook page the other day:

It's funny. It's also a little alarming: a punch delivered from a piece of funny ha-ha humor that immediately triggers the thought oh crap that's actually pretty true. Lets you laugh, then makes you think. We'll call it The Jon Stewart Approach.

So now I'm thinking. Have we become the generation of over-sharers? Are we all living lives as open (face)books? Have we lost our mystery? Are we all serial over-sharers?

Maybe. I think for those of us who are not social media natives, it's slightly less of an issue - but it depends on the person. I still don't feel like a social guru (despite the fact I've had job titles similar to that). Facebook didn't exist until I was 23, and I didn't join the site until I was 25. Years later, I still have reservations about sharing too much personal information on social media. If I'm having a really bad day I'm far more likely to put up an optimistic quote or a plea for more caffeine than a heartfelt confession about what's really eating at me. I still value privacy.

But what about folks born in the social media era? Kids who never knew a world without status updates?

I think the answer is still it depends. It depends on the person. I don't think social media necessarily changes who you are, so much as amplifies the reach of your persona, whatever it already is. If you're the quiet mysterious type in real life, you can be a quiet mysterious type on Facebook (or just be a lurker - or opt out entirely). If you're the gregarious life of the party, you're probably going to get tagged with drink in hand, mugging for the camera. Facebook didn't make you do that. It's just giving you a bigger audience - and hopefully, you'll learn to remove the photos that can cost you a job. <---- Maaaaaan, just typing that makes me feel old...

Speaking of old, though, I do know several people who most definitely did not grow up in the social media era, who are now Captains of Over-Sharing in the social sphere. And most of 'em were over-sharers before social hit. So the theory holds!

I think, as with - well - anything - the real key is learning to strike a balance. I certainly wouldn't want my descendants to write me off as "easily bored and hated Mondays.". Nor would I want the other end of the spectrum - i.e. for them to find digital evidence painting me as someone who was "really into vodka and danced like a Muppet." But would it be such a terrible thing for my Future Grandchildren to go through my digital files and say, "So this one time, Grandma spent a week in a bridesmaid dress. And hey, look, she wrote about things that mattered to her. And had a super cute dog. Whoa, she was in a really bad car wreck... remember when people drove cars?! And... OMG I totally get my punning from her!"

That might be okay.

PS What does any of this have to do with turning 30? Probably nothing. Other than starting to say things that make me feel old

21 Days Til 30: Tally Ho!

Man! I promised a tally and have yet to post one! So here is a random, extended tally for your enjoyment.

The "21" Tally
Days til 30: 21
Last birthday I thought about this much: 21
Age when I moved to Mississippi: 21
Number that comes before 22: 21

The Workout Tally:
Days I've Let Jillian Michaels Down: every day this week
Days I've worked up a sweat at rehearsal: every day this week (and tomorrow night will be my first night off in 8 days)

The Stressful Tally:
Number of items on my to-do list for tomorrow: Close to 30
Number of lines to learn for the show I'm in: More than 100
Exact numbers used in this portion of tally-ing: 0. Or now, more accurately, 1.

Flashback-Tallies Tally:
Times I wore the Bridesmaid dress recently: once!! To an '80s party!
Times I ate out this week: Actually, amazingly, I think only once or twice? Despite a hectic schedule? I'm proud of myself. Also I was sick and ate a lot of soup.
Post I randomly re-read and giggled at: My Food Haiku piece

So, there are some utterly pointless tallies for you. Tonight I'm going over the Q's house to bottle some home-brewed beer. I may write about that tomorrow, because talk about a great thing to do before hitting 30, right?

22 Days til 30: Grateful for my Urban Family

Not everyone is lucky enough to have a wonderful family they're born into, and a wonderful family they find along their own journey. I am one of those lucky few, and I want to just take this moment to acknowledge that blessing.

23 Days til 30: I Used To Be a Reader

When I was a kid, I was a reader.

Where it all began...

As noted in yesterday's post, I started reading at age 4. I announced to my mother, "I'll read you the book tonight instead." She figured I'd pick up one of the books I knew by heart and recite it for her. Instead I picked one we'd never read, Danny and the Dinosaur, and read it to her, start to finish. (She was very disappointed. I mean, of course she was also proud and delighted, but she'd been hoping I would be a late reader, un-pressured, who would bloom in my own time. It was an alternative-education-theory thing.)

By six, I was putting down books like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain and Bambi: A Life in the Woods by Felix Salten. I swear I'm not bragging. I was like a little addict. I'd sign up for summer reading programs and the librarians would tell me to slow down, because while there were little incremental prizes throughout the program, once you got over 50 books, you got a gift certificate for a free personal pizza for every 5 books you read. And they were running out of certificates for other kids. (What can I say? I loved books and pizza!)

I stayed a reader throughout high school, and even college - summers more so than during the school year, but I still read. I kept reading when I finished college. I traveled a lot for work and would read books on planes, and trains, and in my hotel room at night.

And then... grad school.

Grad school was the perfect storm conspiring to make one give up reading. I was taking a full course load, and had lots and lots of assigned reading. I also had an internship, and both years my internships required research, reading, and reviewing as well as direct service work. I was also working no fewer than three other part-time jobs (multiple teaching gigs, overnight shift at domestic violence shelter, plus working as a peer career counselor - clearly I was well-qualified since I held so freakin' many jobs). I wish I could say that "when I had a spare moment, I'd pick up a book." But the truth is that I didn't have any spare moments. And I had a spare second, I slept. With the TV on, if anything.

I finished grad school almost five years ago (yikes). The time has come... as my twenties come to a close, I want to turn a new page. Literally. I want to be a reader again. Maybe I'll even post the occasional book review here, if there's interest? .... Bueller?

24 Days til 30: Year By Year

So a thought hit me: could I think of at least one defining event from every single year of my life from 0 through 29? If I spent too much time thinking about it, probably not. I'd get too caught up in nostalgia. I'd fret too much about what to include, what to leave out, whether or not that was really the most important thing to note. So I'm not going to think about it to much. I'm going to give myself 15 minutes to summarize 30 years. Starting .... now!

• 0. I was born. Wish I could remember more about what happened before arriving here.
• 1. We moved from Chicago to Michigan. Also, I started talking. No joke. Ask my mom about the time I made a lady in the grocery store scream because she asked how old the baby was, and the baby answered her - by telling her my age, in months. Ah, from the mouths of babes...
• 2. My brother J was born. I actually have very vague memories of that day. (He was born just before I turned 2, actually, but I'm putting him here anyway, because I was nearly two, and really, it's the only thing I remember from that general time frame).
• 3. My mom gave me a packet of M&M's, all my own, for "being such a good girl." Possibly the best day of my young life. I also have a lot of memories of watching my dad shave his whiskers before leaving for work.
• 4. My brother A was born. I'd hoped he was going to be a sister. I'm glad he is who he is. He was named in memory of my cousin who died earlier in my 4th year; she had leukemia, and I missed her. I also learned to read this year, which subsequently occupied 75% of all my waking hours for the next solid decade.
• 5. I was in my first production. Cinderella. You can read all about it, actually.
• 6. I was allowed to get my ears pierced. My grandmother did the piercing. We both cried after the first ear. My mother forced her to go through with it and pierce the second ear. We all learned something, I'm just not sure what.
• 7. Halfway through the year, my sister C was born. My parents offered to let me watch the birth. I declined.
• 8. Around the time I turned 8, we moved, again (I think for the 5th or 6th time), but this time to the place where my parents live to this day - Smallville. My great aunt lived with us for awhile; she slept in my bed and snored a lot. Looking back, we took in a lot of folks over the years. That deserves more reflection, too. Also, I was allowed to get a dog. We named her Stormy. She was a great dog, and would be in our family for the next 17 years. 
• 9. I spent a lot of time with my best friends L and M. We were really into 4-H. Like, really. I think I also remember a trip Up North To The Cabin that summer (it was an annual family gathering) wherein I realized, whoa, some of my family is crazy.
• 10. I remember my 10th birthday being a huge deal. Double digits! Other than that, nothing.
• 11. At eleven, it was very important to me to refuse to wear a bra. (I didn't need one, but my best friend did and yet refused to wear one, and it was some strange solidarity thing to be reeeeeeeally against bras.)
• 12. I had my first crush. You can read about that here.
• 13. The good: I had my Bat Mitzvah. That deserves a blog someday. The bad: one of my best friends attempted suicide. The ugly: her mother told her that it was my fault, because I should have noticed something was wrong and "done something about it." The theme of this year? The end of childhood.
• 14. I wrote, directed, and produced my first play - "Through Rachel's Eyes." I also went to Israel - a Bat Mitzvah present from my aunt/godmother. Oh, and I was also named the Oakland County 4-H Queen. I got braces, which I hated, but which paved the way for a lot more smiley-Beth. Hot damn. I knocked 14 out of the park.Good thing, too, since 13 was so rough.
• 15. I also went to a leadership-camp for the summer. Someone told me that they were awed and terrified at the thought of being in my head for a day because I had "so much going on." That knocked the wind out of me. (I also dated my first boyfriend at 15. He broke up with me when I went away for the summer. Started dating a friend of mine. There was drama. And yes, we met through theater)
• 16. I GOT MY DRIVER LICENSE! When you live in rural Michigan, this is a huge freakin' deal. I also had my first kiss. (Yep. No kiss from the first boyfriend. And no boyfriend from the first kiss. I'm sure I learned something from that, too. Just not sure what.)
• 17. I worked at Burlington for a summer, which sounds boring but was not (yes, it'll be a blog someday, too). And of course, I left for college. Goodbye, small town. Hello, Boston. I also started dating my First Really Serious Boyfriend. 17 was kind of a big year, too.
• 18. For my 18th birthday, my freshman hall all kicked in money and as a total surprise, flew First Really Serious Boyfriend to Boston. In the midst of finals, there was my boyfriend, and a card signed by every person on my hall. I was floored. I will never forget that kindness. In other news, I registered to vote. And I think I went to Canada be able to have a legal drink. Later that year, I moved into a castle where I lived with three boys. 100% true.
• 19. Or maybe this was the year I went to Canada to drink? I forget. I blame the drink. Speaking of Canada, though, I do remember taking an awesome road trip at 19 from Boston to Niagara Falls and then on to Michigan with my friends Noah, Jasmine and Carly. The stories... oh, the stores...
• 20. Actually, on the cusp of twenty... several things happened. 9/11 happened. First Really Serious Boyfriend broke up with me. And I was told I had a potentially fatal condition due to a medicine I'd been on (luckily, I didn't). On every level, I was sure the world was ending - or at least, my world. My dad drove 12 hours up to Boston to walk around Walden Pond with me. That's what my parents are like.
• 21. Drinking in my own country became legal. I kicked off the two-year-period of my life wherein I "dated." (I recall one horrible blind date particularly vividly. Man, I have all sorts of material...) I finished college, gave a commencement speech, moved to Mississippi. My mom came down to visit me and help me set up a "home" here. When she drove away, I cried for a day. College was an easy transition. This was a harder one. This was real life.
• 22. I spent a lot of time driving around the Deep South. I was in my first play with Fondren Theatre Workshop. I had several plays produced or workshopped in Jackson. I started dating my Second Serious Boyfriend. The theme of this year, looking back, was clearly drama.
• 23. I moved from Mississippi back up to Michigan for graduate school. Hurricane Katrina happened. I felt guilty for not being there. I went to Biloxi and spent 2 weeks roofing houses. Also this year (and the next), while in school, I spent a lot of time with my parents. There was a lot of drama going on that year, in their lives and my own, so sometimes our time spent together was spent putting away a bottle of wine or ranting over coffee. But I loved all that time. 
• 24. Still in grad school. I interned with a foundation that periodically sent me to New York. I worked night shifts at a domestic violence center. I worked four other jobs and was carrying a full course load. I didn't sleep enough. My brother J got married. I got... single.
• 25. I spent a renewing week in Costa Rica with a generous and dear friend. I finished grad school and moved back to Mississippi. Towards the end of the year, I started dating my Third Serious Boyfriend. I also established Urban Family Thanksgiving (more on that this weekend).
• 26. I started writing plays again. I started winning awards for those plays. I was approached by a production company and switched careers. I had a major health scare, which this time was legitimate, and went through some surgeries. Also, I discovered Top Chef. And a renewed passion for cooking.
• 27. My grandmother died, and I got the news while on set filming a short film. I couldn't make it up for the funeral. But I did make it to the unveiling later that year. 
• 28.  I survived a massive car wreck. Also, my dog appeared in Jay Leno's monologue. I became a more grateful and contemplative person (probably more because of the wreck than because of my dog's celebrity, but him beating me to late-night fame was motivational, too). I wrote a lot.
• 29. I wrote this blog... which is not to say that writing the blog is the most formative thing about this year, but means that if you want to read about my week in a bridesmaid's dress, my writing struggles and triumphs, my dog, my thoughts on love vs. judgment, etc... it's all right here.

Good night - and wow. I edited myself a lot even in this exercise but also realized, there's a lot I've been through, not all of which can or should be summed up in a sentence or two, so this really is quite the surface-level list... and it was still exhausting. I should have thought of this earlier, and done one full blog on each year. But then again, maybe this quick fly-through is best. (And for the record, this took me closer to 20 minutes.)

PS I'll start adding tallies again tomorrow.

***Update, the next morning:
I didn't sleep well last night, but kind of in a good way, because I kept remembering things, year by year. Inside jokes whose origins I've forgotten (or, even weirder - remembered). People who have passed away, including my hero Evelyn, and the younger siblings of two of my dearest friends, and my good friend M's father. Trips. Turning points. Making the same mistake over and over. Stopping. Learning. Thinking to myself, what a wonderful world. Y'know... I could write a book.

25 Days til 30: Rejected, Not Dejected

All right, so let's get real for a minute. I figured, given three decades to get stuff done, I would have accomplished at least one of the following three Bucket List Items:

1) Be famous and / or wealthy
2) Be married, maybe even have started a family
3) Be drawing royalty income from something I'd written

Thus far, I'm 0 for 3. I guess I romanticized that whole idea that women either sacrifice career for family or family for career, but by gum, you do get one of them right by the time you hit your thirties. Personally, I blame these delusions on ... well, pretty much every cultural touchstone from Little Women to Sex and The City.

The thing is, regardless of striking out on these Big Three Bucket List Items, I've actually lived a pretty awesome three decades. So I'm not about to get sobby here. No, this is about grit. This is about powering through.

And of course, as any story of perseverance must, we start at a low point.

See, recently, I was thiiiiiiis close to crossing off one of those items from the list. I am referring, of course, to #3 (which would've inevitably led to #1, right?). I told only about three people... but Samuel French was interested in one of my scripts. I made it through the first two initial phases of evaluation, and was in the third and final phase where senior editors were reviewing my script and if they liked it, I'd be published by the pinnacle of play publishing houses. And then I heard from them! They sent me a very kind, personal, and encouraging...

... rejection letter.

On the same day that a book query I'd sent out also got rejected.

On the same day a different play I'd submitted elsewhere got - you guessed it - rejected.

And, briefly, I was dejected.

Three strikes in one day? I suck. I'll never make it as a writer. I should just scrap that crap, get an MBA and/or throw myself into an uninspiring but highly lucrative career. 

Then I pulled myself together. I sent out some more submissions. I decided to re-focus on writing.

And then, I experienced a career shift, started working even crazier hours, and stopped getting much done on the writing front.

Fast forward a few months: I got word that a different play I wrote, submitted, and stopped thinking about earlier this year... was just selected for a major regional award.

And then today, I got a letter from another publishing company - not quite as prestigious as Sammy F, but still large and respected, regarding the same play Sammy F had turned down.

"We enjoyed reading this play, and see its potential," the email said. "But we generally require 2 to 3 regional productions before we consider publication. Please do contact us again when your play has seen more productions."

I was tempted to feel discouraged.

Instead, I decided that rather than to keep my cards close to my chest, and tell no one about being thiiiiiiis close to something I really wanted, I was going to go public. I posted a Facebook status requesting help in finding avenues for getting this show (and hopefully others) staged. I asked my fellow theater lovers and dreamers to help me move from page to stage to published work.

How did it work out? Well, it's only been about 6 hours, so I don't have much news to report... nor do I have much time to speculate, because, if you'll excuse me, I have eleven requests for the script and I need to respond to them. :D

Thank you, thank you, thank you all! I'll keep writing, with fingers crossed (challenging as that may be).

26 Days til 30: Whiskey at 8am

Jack's an early riser.

Morning whiskey.

Sounds pretty bad, doesn't it?

But that's how I started my day today. Whiskey at 8am. Well, to be fair, it was a tea, with honey, and lemon juice, and a splash of whiskey. Medicinal, see?

So yeah. Day two of not feeling good, though I'm not feeling quite as puny as I was yesterday. Which means I had multiple reasons to raise a glass this morning:

1) After managing to survive yesterday, a toast seemed in order.

2) My throat was killing me. Nothin' like a hot toddy to help ease that pain.

3) I had another 10+ hour workday ahead, including three conference calls, followed by rehearsal. That's a lot of talking. The frog in my throat was gonna get really sick of my voice. Enhanced-tea was the frog's consolation prize. You're welcome, Kermit. Now get the hell outta here.

Also, have I mentioned I'm turning 30 soon?

Cheers.

Today's tally:
Workouts: 0, but I do run around A LOT in this crazy show. More on that later.
Healthy meals: All 3! Back to 3 meals! That's good, right? (And no, I am not counting my hot toddy as a meal.) Soup for breakfast, soup for lunch, broccoli and cheese Lean Pocket for dinner. And some whole wheat Pringles-sticks for a rehearsal snack. Not bad.
Inappropriately early consumption of alcohol: Check.

27 Days til 30: Just Making it Through the Day

Man, it's been a day. Today I'm grateful just for making it through.

Here's how the day went:

• 7am: Woke up. Didn't feel so hot. Nose running, head throbbing, throat sore. Uh-oh. Shower didn't help.
• 7:30 to 10:30: Worked to get as much done on one work front as humanly possible. 
• 10:30: Hit the road to drive to Greenville, MS for another work commitment.
• 11:30: Was supposed to call in for a conference call. Had absolutely zero cell signal. Uh-oh.
• 1:00pm: Arrived in Greenville. Worked there until 6pm. Work part went well; head felt like it was going to explode, nose wouldn't stop running, starting to feel a little loopy and like maybe I shouldn't drive home.
• 6:00pm Left Greenville.
• 6:30pm Made it as far as Indianola, MS. Realized that yep, I needed to not be driving. I've been in one spectacularly bad wreck; I have taken a solemn vow to do everything in my power to avoid being in another (not that the first one was my fault). So I pulled into a Dollar General parking lot, locked my doors, set an alarm on my phone, and napped for half an hour.
• 7:00-9:00pm Finished my drive home. Had a work email marked "Urgent. You must do this tonight."
• 9:00pm-10:30pm Worked. Blew my nose a lot. Ate some soup.
• 10:30pm Took TheraFlu. Passed out.

And yep... I'm retroactively posting this account. No way was I getting any of my own writing done on this kick-my-sick-ass day. Hmm. Maybe more on that later, too.


Today's tally:
Workouts: 0, but frankly, the car-nap was good for my body. And I'm sick, dammit.
Healthy meals: I skipped the first 2 meals of the day due to feeling like poo. The third meal was soup. I guess the starvation sort of evens out the lack of movement. Not that I plan on making a habit of that.
Smart adult decisions made: 1, at the very least.
Hours worked: All told, about 15.

"30 Days til 30": Public (Mile)Stoning...?

So here is what happened on Days 30, 29, and 28-til-30: I started thinking a lot of deep thoughts. The sort of soul-baring and salacious thoughts that would probably draw in an audience. Some of my biggest fears and secretly-self-evaluated-shortcomings rising to the surface.

And I read this comment from a woman who is, arguably, the most loyal reader of this blog (and of my life in general... she goes by Dramamama online, but I usually just call her Mom):

I say, write down all the self-indulgent, I-thought-I-would-have-made-a-million-dollars-had-a-Tony-had-an-Oscar-had-a-Pulitzer stuff. Write it all down. Wail about it. Whine about it. Then, hide it in your own personal folder and only publish what you can bear to bare.

Wise words. So I'm censoring the last few days of reflection. Unless I somehow decide that I'm ready to risk public mile-stoning. But I'll give you a quick tally:


Three days' tally:
Workouts: 3! Yeah, baby! Two days of Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred, 1 long, frustrated workout on the elliptical machine at my hotel in Lake Charles. I also danced quite a bit at the wedding that brought me to Lake Charles.
Healthy meals: Ooh, major fail. Other than a sushi lunch on Saturday, I was eating wedding guest food. Think lots of butter, and lots of reiterations of "the diet starts Monday."
Big life-cycle events that occupied my mind all weekend: Two. Publish PostBut for now, I'm keepin' them to myself.

30 Days til 30: The Countdown Begins

Thursday, November 10, 2011. It's almost midnight. The countdown begins. 

In just a few moments, there will be a mere 30 days standing between me and the big 3-0.

I've been saying for awhile that I'm going to document my final month in my 20s. Call it "30 Days 'Til 30." Find a way to alleviate stress about the milestone, and instead, celebrate and even embrace it, head-on. The documentation would be twofold:

1) A daily account of all my efforts to MAKE THE LAST MONTH OF MY 20s COUNT. On the healthy side (can I work out every day?).  On the splurge side (Starbucks holiday drinks are out... yes, I do deserve a peppermint mocha!). On the I-should-stop-doing-this-when-I-hit-30 side (two ponytails - that hair style's days are numbered).

This baby is about to turn 30.*

2) A daily reflection on the long journey to thirty, wherein I'll alternate between reflections on the things I thought I would have done by now, but have yet to do (or may never do)... and the things I never imagined I'd do by now, but have, in fact, done.

I'm still not certain that I'll have the guts to really dive all the way into to exploration of everything I thought I would have done, experienced, or accomplished by the time I hit thirty. Feels too self-indulgent. And too scary. Too exposed. I'm not sure I can do it, publicly... but I can at least try it to an extent, right?

And I can pretty much guarantee that the pony tails and the peppermint mocha splurges will happen.

Tomorrow kicks off the official "30 days to go." For the record, today was a long damn day. I am going to try really hard to get up and work out in the morning, before knocking out a few solid hours of work and then getting in the car to drive 5 hours to make it to a rehearsal dinner for a wedding. Where will the splurge come in? Will I get in the exercise? Will this lurking-beneath-the-surface breakout on my cheek fight its way to the surface and make me feel bitter about having to face 30 and acne?

Will I be able to make tomorrow count, and have stories to share, and the courage to share them?

Let's find out.

*Note: writing, even when in diapers! (And yeah, that's right, a photo asterisk - what?!) 

Asteroid, Shmasteroid

Hey, remember that time an asteroid came barreling through space, narrowly missing collision with our planet?

It was last night.

Somehow, in all the hubbub of work, elections, and, y'know, life, I totally missed this little bit of news. Ah, that comforting headline: "Tuesday Night's Asteroid: Why We'll (Almost Certainly) Survive a Close Call." * Yep, that whole galactic drama sailed right on past me. Wasn't even on my radar until the danger - and the giant freaking hunk of space rock - had passed.

Which is probably all for the best. I was already having a stressful evening, and home alone. I didn't need to start panicking about becoming the next Elizabeth Hodges, only, you know, much worse.**

It's some good perspective, though. Think about all of our near misses in life (how many times do we juuuuuuust miss disaster?). Think about the whole vast universe out there (holy s*, dude! WE LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE THERE ARE ASTEROIDS!). Think about whatever was worrying you, and then think about stuff like this, and get some solid perspective. The world is big, we are small. (I MEAN SERIOUSLY. ASTE. FREAKING. ROIDS).

So I've decided that the next time I'm feeling overwhelmed by work, concerned about political division, worried I'm getting a cold - I will take stock of the situation and realize that things could be worse. I could be smooshed by an asteroid, but I'm not! Hooray! And then I'll feel better.

Or start hyperventilating. One of the two.

(PS I know, I know. The asteroid was closer than the moon, but still thousands of miles away. This one's been on the radar since 2005. We weren't *really* in danger... THIS TIME. But the point remains: ASTEROIDS, Y'ALL.)

* That is the TIME headline. I am 100% not making that up. Click the link.
** I know, right? That WAS obscure!

A Right and a Privilege

I voted this morning.

After I walked my dog, but before I had my coffee or started working, right there nestled into the middle of my Tuesday morning. I stood at the ballot box. I checked and re-checked the illuminated names. I executed my civic duty, but more than that, I took advantage of the right and privilege of being a part of the democratic process.

We live in a very cynical society. We hear a constant chorus of jaded sentiments. One vote doesn't matter. Politicians are purchased. The system is rigged.

Driving to my polling location this morning, I saw signs and advocates for each side of every race lining the streets, waving at cars, making one final plea for their case. There was division, with various NO-ers keeping their distance from YES-ers and blue and red last names marking territory. They serve as the reminder that on many issues, we are deeply divided.

But when I walked in to my polling place, it was, as always, quiet and civil. No posters, buttons, or partisan promotion of any sort allowed inside this small room, designated for the day as a public sanctuary of democracy. I gave my name and was given in return my bright yellow waiting card. As I waited, I took the time to look around the room. At a man in a wheelchair, being rolled in to vote by his family. At an old white man with a large mustache flirting gregariously, but not loudly, with the two middle-aged black women working the ballot boxes. At a young man in a suit, briefcase by his feet, solemnly casting his ballot.

Then I went and stood alone to cast my secret ballots, surrounded by fellow voters but each of us intent on our own private ballot-casting.

And I'm sure many of us in that little room checked different boxes, but nevertheless, in that place, in that moment, we were all united. We were Americans, squeezing a moment into our day to remember and act upon that fact. I held the door open for the old woman entering the building as I exited - and gave her a nod along with my smile. It was my own small salute to her, because she deserved one.

She voted this morning.

Penny for Yours

My mind's been cluttered with thoughts. Now, in a moment of quiet, I'm having trouble collecting them. Tricky things, thoughts: they can come unbidden, and leave unnoticed. I did write a longer piece earlier today, which required a lot of research, a lot of thought, and was, in its essence, a plea for thoughtful approaches to decision making. I may have used up my available introspection for the day.

With my cerebral resources spent, I probably shouldn't be attempting a blog. But as I sit here, nodding off between sentences, the one thought still quietly dancing around my brain is about thinking itself. Do we do too enough of it? Too much? Whether we're spending too much or too little time on thinking... are we giving it the gravitas it deserves?

See, I realized earlier today that I can't think of the last contemporary person I have heard referred to as a "great thinker." I'm sure it was tossed around back in my academic days. Maybe one of the recent Steve Jobs obituaries or Stephen Hawking profiles would have used the descriptor? But it's certainly dwarfed by the celebrities, "it-girls," pundits, and personalities flashed in front of us throughout the day. We de-value thinking, particularly with messages like academics are elitists, action over analysis, details slow us down. We prefer speed, instant gratification, contrived reality and sound-bite information. Thoughtful, in-depth discussion and review has become too long, too boring, not nearly sexy enough. If you can't be pity, you're not worth quoting.

So that's my rant for the evening. And I guess I created the quote-image above as a nod to thinking... and to irony. (Because if nothing else, it's pithy.) Must think more on that. And must get some sleep - lots of work, lots of writing, and lots of reflection in the weeks ahead!

Talking To Myself: The Conversation Got Wilder

I say pretty random things, pretty frequently. Might be an obscure reference, out-of-left-field observation, a bad pun, maybe even testing some dialogue I might be weaving in to a play. I like to think it's endearing. Livens up the conversation, and what have you.

But I realized today that I say more random things even when I'm the only person in the conversation.

See, I was chatting with D on G-chat. And he apparently left his desk at some point. So when he didn't respond to my initial question, I just kept the conversation going. On my own. And the conversation wound up looking like this:

• Me: Want to pick up some fireplace supplies on your way home?
• Me: 'Cause I just loaded up on groceries. So with food and fire, we'll be all set. 
• Me: For the impending blizzard.
• Me: And the wolves.
• Me: And am I mixing up our lives with "Little House on the Prairie" again? That's so weird. I wonder why I do that...
• D (10 minutes later): Because you're crazy. But just because you're a girl, not because you're psycho, so it's fine. ;-)

He's not wrong.

Sincerely,

Not Laura Ingalls Wilder

Costume Parade! (Or, A Long Halloweekend)

What's the best part about house managing a Halloween show over the course of five days?

Five excuses to get dressed up in costume.

So I now present to you the collected gallery of my array of Halloweekend costumes... including one bonus costume, incorporated due to unforeseen circumstances. Let's just say the theater needed me. And my cameo got some good buzz. But first, there was a whole slew of other costumes. From TV mom to Jedi temptress... call me a costume chameleon!

NIGHT ONE: FLORENCE HENDERSON
It's the story... of a lovely lady!

NIGHT TWO: JESSE FROM TOY STORY
I wanna be a cowgirl, baby.

NIGHT THREE: SEXY JEDI
My line for the night, if anyone's eyes started wandering?
"These are not the droids you're looking for."

NIGHT FOUR: JACKIE SPARROW
Give me a career as a buccaneer
Oh, the life of a pirate for me!

HALLOWEEN NIGHT: APRIL O'NEIL
Our April O'Neil and Casey Jones get-ups totally won
 3rd place in the big Fenian's Costume Contest.
TURTLE POWER! (Um. Sans turtles.)

CAMEO COSTUME
And my last costume?
It was pretty fly.