Minor Characters

Back to my play…

My parents are likely to be featured as characters. They are characters, for sure. If the following conversation appears in a theater near you, know that it is factual. It happened last week.

(Two just-just-over-middle-aged people sit in their living room talking with their grown and college educated daughter. “Dad” speaks in a strong Southern dialect. “Mom” will be given a Midwestern accent, as this seems more wholesome.)

Dad: I wonder if Amber’s ever heard of Ted Bundy. Amber, have you ever heard of Ted Bundy?

Me: Of course I’ve...

(Voiceover: My parents seem to think that major events in history that happened in their lifetime are somehow only known through their own experience…)

Mom: (interrupting) Did they ever figure out if he was a psychopath?

Me and Dad: What?

Mom: You know, they say he was a normal kid.

Dad: What? The only reason he got caught was because he got sloppy with one girl.

Mom: (talking over Dad) I mean, there were some dead animals now and then, but overall, they say he was a pretty good kid.

(Voiceover: My parents also watch too many crime dramas.)

Dad: No, he was cra..Phyllis, he killed all those women. You know, he was a serial killer, Amber, he killed all those women.

Mom: No, I know he was crazy, but did they figure out what caused it. Didn’t someone do an interview with him? Or write something about…

Me: Of course someone wro…

Dad: (interrupting, voice a little raised) I don’t know, Phyllis, but they caught him because…

Mom: (interrupting) I think James Dobson interviewed him. I think he requested to be interviewed by him.

Me: Well, I’m sure that plenty of people have done res…

Dad: (interrupting) Phyllis, he was a sociopath, he raped and killed all those women.

Mom: (voice sounding a little agitated) Well, I know that, Mike. I’m just saying that there was some interview…

Dad: Phyllis…

(At this point the conversation is repetitive and in a play would segue into another, but this is just a unique sample of why the people in my life will lead to a great story.)

Like a mist

Today, my mind got away from me. This isn’t an uncommon phenomenon; I tend to let that thing wander as it will. Sometimes this is fine; sometimes it isn’t so fine – it sometimes gets stuck on thoughts that it ought not be messing around with. But today, it was simply surprising. In the middle of the day – not an un-busy day, I don’t know why my mind was unoccupied for even a second – in the middle of the day, out of nowhere, I thought of Robby. I think of Robby from time to time. In fact, I’ve blogged about the times I usually think about him (Speed Walking). But usually, the thought passes with only a smile and a sigh.

Today however, my mind stuck on him for quite a while. I didn’t know Robby very well – I mentioned that before, but I think that’s why I’m always a little surprised by how much I’ve clearly been touched by his short life. Maybe I thought of him today because my steps felt heavy with the weight of life. I’ve been in a funk lately for no apparent reason except that life is life. I began thinking of what Robby might be like if he were among our classmates. What might he be doing? Where would he be living? Would he be married and beginning a family, like so many are beginning to do?

I think I envision him as a fire fighter or a teacher/basketball coach. It seems to fit who he was when we were fifteen – kind-hearted, athletic, fun. But who knows what he would be. Think about what you were like, what you wanted when you were fifteen. Does it resemble what your life looks like now? Take a look at your facebook friends, the ones who graduated high school with you, the ones who graduated college with you. Are they where you imagined they would be?

Likely not. People surprise you. Life doesn’t go how you think it will. (As someone recently said, "It's amazing how many people want to be president and how many people don't become president." . . . Really? But that's for another blog.)

And like I said, I didn’t know Robby very well. Would he have made good choices? Would he have been an adventurer? Would he have overcome all the things that bog us down day-to-day with that smile of his? Would he cherish this life that we take so for granted?

I’m not saying that you should “live like you were dying” – so many people do seem to be living as if they are dying, with dread and trepidation and slothfulness – as if they are waiting for death. No, live because you’re alive – be as alive as you can be. I’m just saying that maybe you owe it to someone to have a better attitude and be the best that you can be. Maybe you owe it to yourself to enjoy every single day. You owe it to the people who love and care about you to pursue happiness with all of your heart. You owe it to the higher being of your choice to believe in something bigger than yourself. So, yeah. Carpe diem, why not?

Life is surprising. And short. Even if you live for another 60ish years, it’s only a blip. Do what you can, while you can. But sometimes that's harder than it seems. Do the best you can, I guess that's all we can really do. (Sorry for the philosophical mumbo jumbo/preaching lately…this is where I am in life.)

“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” – James 4:14

Welcome to my Existential Crisis

Do you ever get that feeling that all of your motions are extremely rapid and you have to consciously make an effort to slow them down, but at the same time there is a sense of reality that tells you that you are actually moving at normal speeds? This is also accompanied by a feeling that everything else in the world is spinning at inordinate speeds and you are just trying to keep the pace.

Welcome to my existential crisis. I’m pretty sure that they would refer to this feeling as an anxiety attack in some circles. But I prefer an existential crisis; it seems more philosophical and more manageable somehow.

The cause of this crisis: future thinking. I’m in one of those gap-places again where I am forced to think of my next steps. And people are starting to ask me about what those next steps are, which might be the most anxiety-producing part. I’ve updated and reformatted my resume and have started sending out applications for things to do in the fall. (God forbid I just be a student.)

Reviewing your resume is the epitome of existential stress. It forces you to analyze your past, try to predict where you want to be in the future – both the immediate and long term, and then consider where you are right now. Look at these things I’ve done. Does any of it matter? Is it at all cohesive? Has it made any difference to the world, to my skills, to propelling me into the future? Where is it that I want to be propelled? What do I want to do with my life? Does it really matter? Why am I making the choices I am making? Oh.my.GOD.

RELAX, yo. Breathe and reboot.

Wikihow has a 24-step approach to dealing with this existential crisis:

http://www.wikihow.com/Deal-with-an-Existential-Crisis

My personal approach:

1) Coffee

2) Chocolate

3) Make a list

4) Make another list

5) Wine

*Supplement with additional chocolate as needed.

And you know what. It’s working. Life is what it is. And actually, it’s good. It's wonderful. I'm blessed with wonderful friends and family who are experiencing beautiful moments of their own. I do love what I am doing right now. I have had some pretty cool experiences. And surely, surely, there is something awaiting me in the future. SOMETHING…

Moment by moment it is all ok. Truly.

Your Life on Stage

My newest yearning is to write a play in my spare time. I feel I only need to record my daily encounters in order to write a successful one.

I encourage you all to continue to lead interesting and exciting lives that I might be inspired. You being you is enough to make a stunning, disturbing, funny, crazy, beautiful story. It's just a matter of compiling and condensing it.

Look for the end result on Broadway and/or in movie theaters in the next 10-15 years. It's sure to be a smash hit . . .


(I told you the new blogs would be shorter. Saving the energy and material for the play writing.)

NOLA, again (and always)

(Ok, I know I said all new blogs would be current... However, this entry from my last trip to New Orleans never made it to the blog for some reason. And I am heading down there again tomorrow, so it's still applicable.)

Scanning the radio as I leave New Orleans, I hear a term that confuses me – “patchy.” All over the traffic reports, during Monday morning rush hour, there are accounts of patchiness. This statement is confusing for an Atlantan. Not once, ever, have I heard the term patchy used to refer to traffic. Coagulation, jammed, at-a-complete-stop, shutdown, horror! – these are the terms I am used to. “When am I going to move to New Orleans?,” I think to myself for maybe the fiftieth time since I arrived on Thursday afternoon.

The problem is, without fail, I always leave a piece of my heart in this city. Ok, I admit, I tend to fall in love with cities and places like certain women fall in love with men – often and easily. Edinburgh is that one man that you had that fabulous romance with, the one you still think of often and wonder what-could-have-been; but alas you had to part. Paris was a lurid love affair – so indulgent and beautiful. New York is the “fun guy” who is exactly what you need when you need it. Albuquerque is that one crunchy dude you dated in college who you didn’t quite understand. Boston is the hipster guy you met that one night having beers at the book launch. Atlanta is your high school boyfriend who you sometimes resent after all these years, but then there is all that history and so you keep returning.

Oh but NOLA, the fabulous characters and music and food that fill the streets with life steal my heart again and again. The beauty of the buildings and the smiling faces and the signs of survival and perseverance get to me, every time. I’m seduced by its atmosphere and culture. I hate so to leave. So the problem is I keep losing a bit of my heart to NOLA – and with half of my heart already buried beneath the cobblestoned streets of Edinburgh, I will soon be heartless. I think I must go and reclaim my heart at some point, I must forever.

(Starting tomorrow . . .)

New Shoes

I’m not a “shoe girl.” I’m not one of those girls who has a different pair of shoes for every outfit. In fact, I think I have a grand total of nine pairs. I’m not one of those girls who loves high heels. In fact, I kind of hate the way high heels make me taller and make so much noise when I walk. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to shoe shop for fun. No, I wear the same three pairs of shoes until they are ragged and only shop for shoes when it is absolutely necessary. (I think I’ve mentioned of late that I don’t like to shop generally.) I’m not a shoe girl. I’d rather be barefoot, always.

But today, today I bought three new pairs of shoes:

I’ve been walking in Freedom Park before work each morning and getting ready in the gym bathroom. Well, today, while I was getting ready, I realized that I had forgotten to put work shoes in my gym bag – crap! Living what seems hundreds of miles from where I work, returning home to grab a pair was not an option. And being 7:45 am, there were no shops open that sell appropriate shoes. In fact, the third tier option – the pharmacy – wasn’t even open yet. But the clerk who was coming in for work said that they did, in fact, sell flip flops. So I waited outside the pharmacy, wearing my very professional looking dress and tennis shoes, until 8 o’clock when Rite Aid opened.

So the flip flops – the flip flops were awful! They were made of foam. They were wedges. They sparkled a little. They were brown – my dress was black. But they were better than my Nike running shoes, kind of. So I bought the freaking foam-wedge flip flops.

Well, from there, the day just went downward. Nothing of particular horror happened, but it was just crummy. I just felt crummy.

I blame the freaking foam-wedge flip flops. Every time I looked down at my feet I felt out of place – like I didn’t fit in and stuck out like a sore thumb. Every time I walked across the room – flip flop, flip flop – the noise reminded me of how ridiculous those things were. Confidence was shot. And what can you achieve without confidence. Nothing.

F-ing foam-wedge flip flops ruined my day.

So on the way home, I stopped at DSW where I had a coupon. I bought two pairs of brand new shoes – sensibly cute flats, though one pair is red. Today, I spent $50 to buy three pairs of shoes. And while I know that a lot of people spend twice as much on just one pair of shoes, I do not. I blame the flip flops, really.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear my new red shoes and see if I have a better day.

“Hey, I put some new shoes on and suddenly everything is right
I said, hey, I put some new shoes on and everybody’s smiling . . .” – Paulo Nutini

6/4/11 Two Face . . . Batman?

(This is the last Tanzania related blog.. or at least it is the last one from my journal. From now the blogs will be from my current state of mind, in stead of from the past. It will likely be less frequent and less wordy - maybe then I can get Dad to read it, maybe not. Enjoy.)

How does ‘hakuna matata’ relate to this world I live in? I’m pretty sure that it is no longer appropriate to make that response when there seems to be more than minor complications. People want problems identified, solutions offered – I want these things.

But understanding that really, is this a problem, really? Understanding that usually life will go on anyway and that this problem will somehow be absolved or addressed whether you stress over it or not is a good philosophy to keep. Hakuna matata. It seems to be largely based in perspective.

And yet, I find myself wanting to do. I make my plans and my lists (so many freaking lists). I strive to be productive and goal oriented – this seems to be my nature.

But I long to be laid back and worry free. I think I occasionally achieve this.

I wonder . . . can ambition and freedom of mind coexist? I see the value of both and long to achieve some sort of balance. I think this is something I have often struggled with – this wanting to achieve and wanting to go where life leads. At this point in my life, my desire towards both is amplified. Surely, there is a way to balance dueling values.

In Tanzania, my fellow travelers nicknamed me “The Riddler” (thanks Shelli) because I tend to ask a lot of questions. I’m not a fan of this nickname. Searching for another, I might suggest “Two Face” as an alternative. Not because I feel as if I am two-faced, but because of my battle with balancing life philosophies. Balancing the experience lover in me (brought to the forefront by Tanzania) and my need to stay super productive is like juggling two identities, pulling out each as the circumstances fit . . .

Come to think of it, most superheroes have alter egos, right? Maybe then, I could be “Batman?” Maybe not.