Contemplative Holiday

This year, because my brother the pilot is flying on Christmas, our family will celebrate three days late. I still have the day off work, though, which means I get a rare, cherished day by myself in the Hobbit Hole. A list of thoughts I am having throughout this holy day:

-- I can drink before breakfast!

-- I could eat a banana and then make pancakes. Or, wait, I could put the banana IN THE FUCKING PANCAKES!

-- What happens if I put this nectarine on this radiator?

-- Probably gonna poop soon.

-- Whoops, dropseat on the footie pajamas got caught on the doorknob.

-- Hey, look how my tummy's flatter after pooping. Neato.

-- Let's rotate that nectarine.

-- I'll eat a banana, then drink, then put another banana in the pancakes. Fruit.

-- I like that it's cold outside,

-- The sackbut/trombone players on this Renaissance Christmas album are outstanding. Little bit jealous.

-- Radiator burn. Ow.

-- Would Monteverdi have had female sopranos?

-- This shampoo makes my head feel minty. Minty is a feeling.

-- Gah, lotion is cold! Can I microwave it? No, don't do it.

-- Can you put Kahlua in pancakes?

-- I can wear Christmas socks today!

-- Ugh, I don't wanna wear my good underwear. Do laundry.

-- Of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown. Indeed.

-- Let's play with hair gel.

-- Misread that line from Psalm 92, "They are full of sap," as, "They are full of crap."

-- I should ask the dermatologist about this.

-- The milk is frozen. Should not have messed with the fridge temperature just because the Polaner All Fruit went moldy.

-- Let's play it safe and remove that tangerine.

-- OK, enough Facebook. Time for yoga/nap on the floor. Remove the Smurf hat first.

-- It's not perfect, and it's OK.

-- Based on the impressions on this mat, my heels are surprisingly spherical.

-- The jazz flute on this prophetic worship album reminds me of Ron Burgundy.

-- "No diggity, just back it up..."

-- Let this day be what it is.

This Christmas Eve

Last week was awful.

There were a couple of profound disappointments, in a week that was supposed to be enjoyable; it contained a huge event at work, our office holiday party, and my birthday. It all ended up being pretty difficult, and I spent a fair amount of time trying not to cry in front of other people. Perhaps worse than feeling let down by others was the way it left me (as it always does) questioning and frustrated with myself. If I were braver, surely I'd be able to face these issues head-on and find resolution! But I'm not braver than I am.

It felt like Christmas was already over, and I was enjoying the lead-up to the holiday even less than usual.

Until tonight. I wasn't feeling Christmassy, but I was doing a reading in the Christmas Eve service at church, so I had to be there. And somewhere in the midst of the stories and carols that I'd heard a gazillion times, I realized that all this imperfection is, in a way, the whole point. God came to a messed-up Earth full of messed-up people who didn't miraculously un-mess up when He arrived. And every year, everything is still messed up. But Christmas still happens. That's actually what's great about it. I can be as weak and afraid and dysfunctional and sad as I need to be, but all that's true about Christmas holds true anyway. It holds true precisely because imperfect people like me needed it two thousand years ago and we need it now.


Have a wonderfully imperfect Christmas, friends. May you sleep in heavenly peace, because peace isn't based on your worthiness, or your ability to talk yourself down from a crisis, or whether you got all the cookies baked and the presents wrapped. It comes down to meet us.

God bless you, my fellow screw-ups!

Christmas Spirit

As a kid, "Christmas spirit" to me meant feeling like the season was special and exciting, and enjoying the specifics of it as special -- the music, the goodies, the decorations, the stories, the TV specials. You look forward to them, and you get a kick out of counting down the days till Christmas itself.

The transition to adulthood brings a wider view, where the rest of your life and the rest of the world creep in and affect your moments. Instead of Christmas having the power to make you happy, the rest of your life has the power to make Christmas sad. Add my own personal predisposition towards melancholy, and by seventh grade I was disappointed with everything that failed to live up to my childhood ideals. It wouldn't be cold enough to snow, or the whole season would just feel so normal, so not special.

That frustration and disappointment has stayed with me. I want to enjoy the music and the lights, and I now suspect that the trying makes it worse. Two days ago, it was gray and damp outside. I was working indoors (not always the case), with Christmas music playing and the smell of yummy foods surrounding me. In that setting, I decided I'd like to take a different approach: letting this season be what it is, rather than trying to force it to be anything. Is it too warm to snow? Let it be. Do I not feel like listening to a certain style of Christmas music, even though I'd felt like it earlier? Let myself listen to what I want in that moment. Do I not feel like shopping for a gift I need to get? Wait until the mood strikes me (within reason). Just let it be. Don't wish for what Christmas was when I was six. Let it be what it is now.

Let it be enough.

Soliloquy: Miss Chestnut

I gave a performance based on my decision to let go on 11/22/13, and there is a video of it now on YouTube. I call it "Miss Chestnut." Here is a link, if you're interested:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9y04qYou48

Hope you enjoy it :-).

So, What Do I DO?

You know what can really mess with my head? @#$%$# compliments.

Just as I decide I'm going to step back from something that's stressing me out, somebody tells me I'm good at it. I'm such a sucker for that. It happened with improv. It's happened with music. And now it's happening with acting. 

Tonight I had two separate conversations with people who told me that I'm good at acting and that, if I want to do it, I certainly should. It was very nice to hear. But it doesn't align nicely with my plan to stop doing stuff.

Perhaps the question is, if I am going to do something, whether I really want to do it, or whether I'm doing it because I think it can lead to something else. I think I need to do things because I will enjoy them presently and directly, and not because I see them merely as gateways to something else that could, possibly, eventually, be enjoyable. That's a rabbit hole I've gone down before, and it ain't fun.

I probably will end up doing Things. But I still think that Letting Go is an important part of that. I need to be free not to do them. I need to be able to sit in my apartment and watch TV episodes without feeling guilty for not spending the time "pursuing my dreams." I need to be able to watch them without comparing myself to every actor that's in them. I need to enjoy the process, not just the occasional result, or the hope of a result. I need to enjoy the present for itself, not just as a stepping stone to a future that I do not have full control over.

I suppose I should know by now not to make definitive, blanket statements. This blog could well be titled Holly Works Through Some Shit.  But the Letting Go was an important declaration. I don't know how it will play out, but it was important to say.

Maybe my own blog posts are among the things I need to let go. Is that too corny to even make sense? I dunno. It's late and I've had wine.

Letting Go

I resurrected this blog because I had some issues to work through regarding happiness and this felt like the place to do it. Things have recently taken an unexpected turn, and I haven't been sure how to write about it, but I'm going to try.

I think I mentioned finding it difficult to hold, simultaneously, the need to live up to my potential on one hand, and the need to find happiness and contentment in the present on the other. The state of my heart was revealed a couple weeks ago as I was looking at a picture of a dying woman. She was outside on a sunny day, and I wondered if she found any happiness in that moment. Then I wondered if I, who am so good at being unhappy, would be able to find happiness in such a moment. It surprised me that I imagined I would. (It's probably worth paying attention when one envies the dying.) The reason: The weight of my future would be off my shoulders. I think one of the biggest reasons I don't enjoy the present as much as I would like to is that the future weighs too heavily upon it. Perhaps living up to my potential, while a valid need, is unduly taking precedence over the need to find contentment and happiness now. Perhaps contentment is a need whose time has come.

Thus, I intend to let go. Let go of the ambition, so much of which felt too broadly distributed to be effective, but which I am unwilling to narrow down. Let go of the need to "make something" of myself, to prove to myself and the world that I am good at things and a hard worker. Let go of the idea that my life isn't what it should be, and an indication that I must not deserve more. I haven't been happy, largely because I've felt like I shouldn't be happy -- that I haven't reached an acceptable plateau, one that would merit maintaining instead of continued scrambling up the cliffside. But perhaps where I am right now would be perfectly enjoyable if I allowed myself to relax and simply maintain it.

-- I won't need to wait until I've worked up the oomph to learn monologues, so I can then take auditions, so I can be in more plays, so I can be a respected actress, so that then I can be happy.

-- I won't need to keep taking hours out of my precious days off to take awkward auditions for commercials, so that I can eventually get paying gigs, so I can be earning more money, so that then I can be happy.

-- I won't have to wonder, with each blog post, whether it will land me a book deal so I can finally say I've achieved something, and my hard work will have paid off, and the world will listen to what I have to say and everyone will like me, and then I can be happy.

-- I won't need to make myself go out more than I want and pretend to be more outgoing than I am and try to enjoy the same "fun" other people enjoy so I can meet the right guy, so we can fall in love and get married, so that then I can be happy.

-- I can stop worrying about how my jeans fit and whether I'm exercising enough, because disease and illness would of course be my fault, and also I want to be attractive, and then I'll know I'm doing everything right and then I can be happy.

I will just be happy. Now. At last. If happiness is a capacity that we can cultivate, then this choice to let go is how I think I will best cultivate it.

I won't have to be sad at holidays because I'm another year older and my circumstances haven't changed much. My life carries an undercurrent of fear that I don't have much to show for my 39 years on this planet because I'm too shy or too scared or too lazy, or all three, and I'm left in this uncomfortable limbo where I don't feel safe relaxing, but the motivation to do more would only be guilt and fear.

This is what I want to let go of.

My job may not make me rich or famous, but it is good and it suits me and it is enough. My apartment may not be big enough to hold all my stuff, but it is affordable and I have it to myself and it is enough. I may be sensitive and complicated and slow to find my way, but I am myself and I am enough.

Each seed of a moment won't be a disappointment because it failed to lead to some preconceived idea of success. It can just be a yummy little seed that I enjoyed while it existed; and perhaps joy is the best thing I could ask of my moments for a while.

This means I may not have interesting updates when people ask me how things are progressing -- the career, the search for a condo, my love life -- but when asked how I am, I will be able to say, "Well. I am doing really, really well."

Hobbit Hole

After 8 1/2 years of living with roommates, I was ready to be on my own again. Of course, I live in Boston, which means that I can't afford a place of my own. Even most "affordable" studios are more than double what I can pay. What I needed were landlords who were more concerned with finding the right person than with bringing in a lot of money.

Would you believe that I found it? I moved in at the end of August. It's super-teeny, but I was able to take it happily, largely because I considered it temporary. Reliable people had declared that it's often more affordable to buy a condo than rent an apartment in Beantown, so my plan was to start looking for a condo to buy.

Then two things happened:
1. I talked to a couple mortgage lenders and figured out what I can afford in this area, which is nothing.
2. This little apartment is starting to grow on me.

As a kid, I found small spaces cozy and safe. I daydreamed of having a little clubhouse sort of place, where I could hunker down with my favorite belongings around me, close at hand. This apartment feels like the adult realization of this dream.

Like I said, it's super tiny. Like, no-living-area, can't-have-visitors tiny. But that's OK. It's also underground, in a basement. So I call it my Hobbit Hole. I don't get to sit around blowing smoke rings (I suspect hobbit holes did not have smoke alarms), but I do get to sleep about five yards away from my fridge. I can place one hand on my kitchen sink and the other on my bathroom sink, simultaneously, without straining. The washer and dryer are right outside my door, so I have to exert almost no effort to do that chore. And best of all, the only insanity, dysfunction, or neediness I have to come home to is my own. All my new roommates are spiders, and they are wonderfully low-maintenance.

So I might stay put for a while and enjoy this. I can maybe go the affordable housing route and still try to buy a condo, and have the pleasure of decorating it, but for now, I think I'd like to hunker down. Let's see how cozy this place gets in the winter.

PodCandy Is Gone

Apparently, one's podcast disappears if it falls into disuse for too long a time. I let Holly's PodCandy lapse because I wasn't up to the task of learning how to edit the material myself. It looks like the page where one used to find the podcasts no longer exists, and the little device to the side of my blog no longer shows them, either. I also see no evidence that it remains on iTunes. This all seems a bit sad.

So Much to Say, So Little Ability to Organize My Thoughts

When I restarted this blog almost two weeks ago, I had all sorts of stuff that I wanted to process here. And it's still running through my mind. But nearly all the possible topics overlap, and I'm having trouble deciding how to break them down into individual blog posts. Also, much of what I have to work through is negative, which is why I have to work through it. I don't want folks getting all depressed, or worrying about me. And I sure as hell am not looking for advice. So I've been running through a lot of possibilities in my head, but not putting much out there that you can see.

I did buy a notebook and some pencils. That was fun. I really dig pencils and paper. And lists. I like making lists of things. I have a whole little Moleskine filled with them, actually: grocery and toiletry lists, to-do lists, gift ideas, books to look for at the library, accessories I should try to wear before the weather gets too cold. It's really satisfying. Anyway, I thought I could do a lot of the brain work of writing if I had a notebook with me during my breaks at work and while I travel on public transportation. It's helped a bit.

Maybe I need to get a bit meta, because writing this blog raises so many issues in itself. For example, I thought giving some attention to the Writer part of Musician Actress Comedian Writer Princess would relieve some of the pressure that had been building up around the Acting part. But no sooner had I decided that, than the pressure just transferred to Writing. I kind of hate that my mind works this way. Why can't things be fun? I always have such high hopes and standards for the things I care about that these things become burdensome, obligatory, and not fun enough to make the difficulty worthwhile. Ugh.

Being happy is not my strong point. Neither is being content. Or OK with most things about myself, or about my life. That tends to make things harder. I would like to be happy. I'm working on it. There's always some reason to feel guilty: The weight gains I've had after my surgeries, not keeping my apartment clean enough, awkward interactions with people that might be my fault, spending too much time on Facebook. It's always something, and if it weren't that thing, it would be something else. It's one of those issues where being conscious of it doesn't necessarily make it go away; in fact, I'll often then start to get down on myself for allowing myself to feel guilty. I'm pretty brilliant like that.

My hope is that I'll occasionally have a little revelation that makes things easier to handle, and then I can share it here. Until then, I may have blog posts that look like emotional Before pictures.

We work with what we have, right?

No Union

I just learned that I missed my twenty-year high school reunion. I got no invitation, and saw nothing on Facebook apart from one oblique reference between two former classmates about seeing each other in October. Over the past several months, I tossed out a few lines, both on my Facebook wall and in messages to friends, asking if anything was happening and when. I never got a response. It's like the universe wanted to make sure I didn't go.

I would be OK with that, actually. I'm a God person, and I believe He does stuff like that. Maybe I wasn't meant to go, even if I don't know why. I know better than to let myself dwell on the possibility that I'm still as invisible to people as I was in high school (I was voted Most Bashful), and to see this as evidence that nobody cared one way or the other whether I was there. Kind of hard not to let the thought slip into my head, though.

It's not like high school was a great time that I wish to relive. It's not like I have a list of impressive accomplishments I want to share with people. The fact that I was interested in going was, in my mind, evidence that I've developed enough self-confidence to attend despite all this. So it's weird that I still would have missed it without meaning to.

But I had a dress in mind. I would have looked pretty damn hot for my 38 years. And isn't that the important, part, really?

Blogging to Know We're Not Alone

     In the movie Shadowlands, the idea that "we read to know we are not alone" was posited to C.S. Lewis by one of his students. Though it's been almost twenty years since I first saw that film, I don't feel like I've ever fully processed this idea, and don't know whether I agree with it fully, partially, or at all. In the last few weeks, though, I've begun to feel a new season of blogging coming on, and I do feel like this is one of the main impetuses (impeti?) behind my urge to post again: not merely to know that I am not alone, but so that other people will know that they aren't, either. 

    I haven't posted in nearly a year-and-a-half, which I probably don't need to tell anyone who has visited this page (and thank you so much for visiting!). I actually had a ton to say over the summer of 2012, because I was in a play for the first time since junior high drama club, which had been about twenty-five years earlier. This was within the first year of my pursuing acting seriously, and it was a starring role in small-scale but professional production. There were two main roles in the play, and I had one of them, so new-to-acting me was carrying half a play. It was scary and exciting and I was experiencing and trying to process a gazillion questions and emotions. But I was so busy doing it that I didn't have time to write coherent posts about it. 

    That's pretty cool for someone like me, actually. Most of my life is internal, so to have so much external activity can be a wonderful change of pace. It wasn't sustainable, though. One of the best parts of the experience was being able to give myself over to it completely, to allow myself to think about the play all day, every day, to the point where I was largely ignoring the rest of my sort-of-grown-up life. I didn't clean my room, and was barely paying bills -- not because I had no money, but because I didn't have room in my brain to think about them. Not only can I not do that all the time, but I don't want to.

    Since then, I've only taken auditions for a couple theater productions and a handful of TV commercials. I was on an acting break (and a Facebook break) while I took an intensive course through my church that involved lots of homework and thinking, and I let my memberships to online resources for auditions lapse. They cost money, and I also didn't need the pressure of constantly asking myself if I really should be taking auditions during that time after all. And then I was looking for an apartment, and moving into that apartment, and there were medical issues...

    Now, with the course and other time-consuming endeavors over, at least for the time being, I'm trying to find a way to balance, on one hand, my ambition and desire to take risks and see how far I can take acting; and on the other, my desire/need for a quiet, contented life where I can simply come home from work and relax, without having to worry about trying to build yet another new career in a scary and often brutal industry.

     This is one of the many issues I'm currently processing, and my introverted nature makes me hesitant to just talk about it to anyone who makes the mistake of beginning to listen. I like this blog because you, my audience, are not captive; you don't have to read if you don't want to, so I don't have to worry about boring you. I hope.

    I also keep daydreaming about public speaking, of sharing my questions and processing with people (and perhaps the occasional revelation), on the off chance that people will be entertained and encouraged by it all. But I have no venue for public speaking, so here I am, once again taking to the written word. That's cool. It says "writer" on my business cards already. In fact, it says Musician, Actress, Comedian, Writer, Princess. So I'm totally allowed. And writing certainly is not second best. I'm quite fond of it.

     I am hesitant to make any promises in terms of how often I'll post or even about content, but I do hope to be honest and, as much as possible, non-boring. Thank you for reading, friends. May you find it worth your trouble.