To tell a story.

Why have there been decades of artists changing the world with their work, transforming their own lives with their ateliers and thought-processes and I still can't fathom a career creating art?  Why have I decided to hard wire myself into believing that I can do the work, but not get paid or that I can get paid a pittance but will need a survival job or do the work and not get paid at all?  What pact had I made prior to incarnating that left me thinking this way for far too long?

The words, "Far too long" always hearkens Sara Ramirez in "Spamalot" when her character comes out and tells the audience that she's been offstage "for FAR too long!"  Now SHE knew her worth.

Someone compared me to Anais Nin today.  Ok, it's not how it sounds - there was no, "Your work reminds me of Nin," so much as there was a comparison to how she writes about her day and her experiences, which I do...so a comparison was made and I was just fine with that.  I'm taking it and holding onto it knowing that, like her, I am a creative woman in need of telling a story.  One of my early memories of grade school is from Kindergarten.  Aside from the Christmas show about how Rudolph came into notoriety - a show we put on for our parents and my mother, who walked all the way across the street to my elementary school to see her daughter's show, told me to say my (1) line nice and loud and clear, so as we went down the line introducing ourselves, "I'm Dasher, I'm Dancer, I'm Prancer, I'm Vixen," I screamed, "I'M COOOOOOOOMEEEEEEEET!" and looked at her for approval as I stood tall and stiff (tall for a 5 year old) and then realized that I didn't need to take it that far. - aside from THAT memory, I recall being taken, with my class, to the multi-purpose room.  The multi-purpose room was a room we used for many purposes but I knew it to be the multypurposeroom.  It meant nothing to me, "multi-purpose," so it was a room with an odd name.  As I got older, I recall the veil lifting as someone called it the multi-purpose room and I knew that it wasn't a title but a descriptor.  In that room, at 5, I saw a woman I'd never seen prior and she looked a bit intimidating.  Not in stature, as she was short and wide, but her face wasn't smiling and her brow seemed creased.  "Who is this meany?" I wondered.  Were we in trouble?  A few minutes after all the classes had milled in, this woman walked next to an authority figure.  I can't see that person's face but I believe it was a female leader, so maybe our principal...otherwise, another teacher.  The woman opened her mouth and the most soothing, lyrical voice began speaking.  She was telling us a story.  The story was fun and pulled me in.  It was a bit spooky, too and she made us JUMP!  She was a storyteller and, after she finished, we all clapped and that was that.  I also recall that, while she spoke, I thought, "I want to do this!"  Always seeking a way to be a ham, I suppose.  To be seen.

I want to tell stories.  Will you read them?  I know that you'll see them.  I've had great audiences in you in theaters both packed and largely empty.  Oh so many empty ones.  And so many full - I won't ponder on the negative, dammit.

Will I have the courage to begin the children's book?  I really like the idea my son and I came up with in the middle of jumping waves in Hollywood Beach about a year ago.  My Godfather sat several hundred feet behind us, off the sand, perhaps sitting on his walker, taking photos of us, of palm trees, of clouds or sitting in Florio's, flirting with his favorite waitress.  She is beautiful, so I couldn't blame him.  Especially those big, blue eyes.  Like him, with the blue eyes.

I'm at an age where my peers are making waves.  Professionals.  They've hit their stride and are killing it.  It is uplifting.  It is inspiring.  It is intimidating and I can decide to let it stop me.  I can choose to compare.  But what lesson would that be for my child, to whom I say weekly that he gets to decide what kind of a day he's going to have.  I must lead by example.

I've been doing an awful lot of adulting, lately.  It's always painful on some level - especially when it's financial in nature.  Shelling out money for work that must needs be done isn't pleasant so I am trying my best to think of the end result of all this work.  It's easier to justify that way.

My sabbatical has afforded me time to explore, down to learning about podcasts that will inspire me to move forward.  New books, films, podcasts... absorbing others' creations.  Art in all its forms is worthwhile.  It's healing.  It unites us.  That never gets old.