​I am taking a few days off from my day job this coming week and thought it would be a good time to take a breather from blogging and social media while I'm at it, just for a bit of a recharge. I have been reading more and more about the need for artists to a break and want to give myself some solid time to disconnect from technology, read a book or two that have been calling my name, and generally rest up after a full summer. 

Before I sign off until next weekend, I thought I would leave you with a sense of what I'm reading, watching, listening to, and eating! Eating is a new category for me to share on the blog, but it's a huge part of my practice to try to stay healthy and maintain a sustainable creative life.

What I'm Reading: I just finished Atonement by Ian McEwan this week (second read through) and was reminded of why I think it may be my favorite book. Each line is like poetry and the story, set in the British countryside during WWII, is like a punch in the gut.  Read it. You'll love it.  It's also a pretty good adaptation in film form, with the gorgeous Keira Knightley and James McAvoy, and Saoirse Ronan. 

​What I'm Watching: Admitted, I've been reading more than watching things lately, but I have been indulging in old episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm with Larry David.  Anyone else excited about the new season coming out this fall?

​What I'm Listening To: I have had Jason Isbell's Nashville Sound album on repeat since it came out in June.  If you haven't heard his music yet, it's a beautiful, blend of Americana, southern rock, and country, but it's unlike anything you have ever heard. His latest album speaks to the current political climate in a way that is bold and subtle and I can't say enough about it. One of my favorite tracks, Chaos and Clothes, is below:

What I'm Eating: As you might recall, I tend to follow a Paleo/Autoimmune Protocol blueprint when it comes to food, and it is so helpful in keeping  my psoriasis under control and helping me to feel my best. Though I'm feeling under the weather today, luckily my appetite is still going strong, and this recipe by the lovely Jo Romero is on my menu this weekend: Crispy Italian Chicken Burger Stack

Wishing you a restorative week, whatever that means for you! 

 ​If a future generation, a million years from now, finds a log of my life, they will discover that on Day 12,453 I did something I have never done before: stand up comedy. 

"I didn't know you were a stand-up comedian", you might say. "I didn't even know you were interested!" 

I wasn't a stand-up comedian nor was I ever interested in being one. But I have performed stand up comedy as of last night and I am very interested in doing it again.

You see, I didn't realize any of this before I finished writing my book on creativity. The book was a wholehearted project for me, but admittedly after nearly four years of working on the book in some form, I was ready to be done. The book was taking up so much space in my brain that other creative projects got locked out. When I finished the book, it's as if a creative dam broke. Inspiration! Curiosities! Ideas! 

When my creative dam broke, the urge to do stand-up comedy was there, clear as day. I started to tell myself I couldn't. "But why?" a small voice answered back." I didn't have a good reason why I couldn't try it. Especially after using Google to see if open mic nights were even a thing for comedy (oh, the lies we tell ourselves to keep our dreams at bay). There were a bunch in Boston. 

My timeline from random thought to last night's performance went like this:

The day after I finished the book, the idea popped into my head. "I want to perform stand-up!"

I looked up open mic comedy nights in Boston and found one that offers newbies two minutes to show the bar what you've got.

Over the course of a couple of days, I wrote a two minute set.

Over the course of three weeks, I memorized it, edited it, rehearsed it, and edited it some more.

Last night, I showed up at the bar and added my name to the sign up list. 

​When my name was called, I fought my shaky hands to hold the mic and perform what I had written. A million thoughts raced through my brain.

You are the odd one out. Everyone else knows each other here. 
Your curly hair looks frizzy.
Your are wearing a striped dress with red sneakers. You look ridiculous.
Your jokes aren't funny. 
You will fail. You can never come back to this bar again. 

It wasn't easy to do, but it actually was a lot more realistic than I thought once you make a list and follow the steps. I'm not saying following the steps gets you a standing ovation or slam dunk set, but it does get you up on that stage. My ultimate goal was not to be good or get a paid gig out of it or even be complimented after the set by other comics. It was to go and do it.

And doing it felt glorious. I'm planning to do it again and explore even more of the life of being an actor with a day job onstage through comedy. Goodness knows I have a lot of material. 

A few weeks ago, Dave and I sat next to two young women on the subway. I overheard one of the young women talking about doing some stand-up. "I'm just going to do it. If I bomb, I bomb." Her friend agreed to come along with her for support and they would make a whole evening out of it. It was really sweet to overhear, and at the time, seemed fitting to hear as well, since it was around the time I had gotten my own urge to perform.

Guess who I saw at the open mic night? The young woman. And her friend. With plates full of pub food, sitting close to each other during dinner and the comedy sets that followed. I felt so intimidated at first. What if she was better than me? What if she was looking at me, wondering what right I had to be there? All these thoughts left me when the young woman took the stage, visibly nervous. I didn't see an enemy at all, but an ally. I saw a younger me, terrified but doing it anyway. I wonder if it's possible to be proud of a young woman you don't know, save for a shared ride on the train?
​
This unexpected experience led me to realize that one of my favorite parts about being at the open mic night turned out to be energy to the other comics when it was their turn. I'm not saying you laugh if something doesn't strike you as funny, but rather being fully present as an audience member. 

Being an audience member is not a static role. Each and every audience member gives off an energy to the performer that is palpable when you are onstage. It's like electricity. You can feel it keenly. Energy can be, well, energizing, or it can shut off the vulnerability and support in a room completely. I couldn't control what kind of energy the audience was giving when I was onstage (though I tried to make eye contact and remain open, inviting good energy my way), but I had full control over the kind of energy that I gave when the tables were reversed and I was in the audience.

How does one give supportive energy, you ask? For me, the following go a long, long way when I'm performing:

Eye contact
A relaxed smile
An attitude of "I want to see you succeed" as opposed to "I am waiting to see you fail"
Open body language--facing the stage, arms uncrossed, hands relaxed

If you aren't convinced, think of the last time you performed (or interviewed or had a business meeting) with someone who was giving you bad energy. Were their arms crossed, their eyes in their Smartphone, a frown on their face? You can notice this in so many different scenarios, and once you start noticing what makes you feel supported and what shuts you right down, you will be on your way to making sure that you don't do that to someone else.

Pick something you want to do. It can be something that you have always wanted to do or something that you had never wanted to do before now. Feel the fear rush in, don't fight it. Now, make a list of all the steps that you need to do in order to make it to your version of open mic night. Again, feel the fear. It's not going to go away while you write your list. But it doesn't get added to the list. Fear is a given in these kinds of quests. Focus on tangible action steps. Again, I'm not saying this is easy, but if I can do it, you can definitely do it!

After you make your list, do it. I dare you. Regardless of what happens, you will step off that stage knowing in your gut that you did something you really wanted to do, which is a big deal. You will go to bed that night knowing that you did something that you really wanted to do, AND did it with the fear at your throat the whole time. This is an even bigger deal. Being fearless is not just overrated, it's impossible. Being fearFUL and flinging yourself forward anyway is where the magic happens. 

What do YOU want to do?

I remember being terrified of bees as a kid. Summer afternoons morphed from lazy to terrifying as I would spot a bee buzzing around me and run inside the house, refusing the desperate calls of my mother to stay outside and play in the sunshine. But I couldn't stay. I couldn't risk getting stung. Little did I know that honey bees actually die after stinging a person. Looking back, it seemed a bit selfish to be afraid of something whose life was so short. What I also didn't realize is that my name, Melissa, means honey bee in Greek. Looking back, it feels fitting that the thing I was most afraid of was, linguistically speaking, myself. 

As a six year old, I didn't understand why bees existed at all. Honestly, I wished long and hard for bees and spiders and beetles and all insects for that matter to simply disappear. I didn't have any sense of the existence and importance of an ecosystem until being much older. Thus, I didn't know that our ability to live in the world depends on a very delicate ecosystem, one that is not only build on warm and fuzzy creatures like cats and dogs and bunnies, but on not so lovable creatures like insects, porcupines, and yes, bees.

I am still blown away when I learn about the interconnectedness of every living thing on the planet. If you look at bees specifically, it is estimated that there are about 25,000 different bee species in the world. These tiny creatures may seem insignificant, but it is also estimated that without their ability to pollinate the countless different plants on earth, human beings would lose up to a third of the food staples we have grown to rely on. A THIRD of food staples we rely on. Think about that. No more almonds, peaches, plums, or cherries. And it's not simply a hardship of not having the piece of fruit we want to eat. Less food variety for human beings not only means a less diverse diet, but without bees' help, farmers would not be able to grow as many crops. Less crops means food prices at the grocery store rise. And rising costs could have endless ripple effects on the economy. And on an aesthetic note? Countless flowers that make our world a more beautiful place and our ecosystem even richer couldn't survive. All this from the seemingly teeny tiny bee. lCan we still wish that the bees would disappear? 

As it is with each part of our ecosystem, from the elephants to the ants, so it is with the creative ecosystem as well. Sure, we adore the genius of Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton may secretly wish to all be able to strike it just as successful. But what if we got our wish? What if we all got to be that big? Is that sustainable? What gets lost in the process? Just as if all the bees could suddenly turn into giraffes, what would happen if community based artists like you and me suddenly saw no need for art making at the grassroots level? If we refused to play a theatre with 25 seats and demanded stadium sized audiences instead? Let that sink in. Think about how much would be different, lost. 

We need Broadway. We need regional theatres. We also need artists working in small basements and clubs and churches and libraries. We need Lin-Manuel Miranda. And we need YOU. 

Let me be clear. I'm not talking about playing small, limiting yourself, or talking yourself out of a really big creative risk. We are human after all, and because we are human, we are capable of evolving. You should be dreaming big, be willing to expand, and be eager to transform. But regardless of where you find yourself at this very moment or at some moment in the future, just know that you are making work that matters RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE. Work that matters to you and that matters in the bigger creative ecosystem that we are all a part of.

Never underestimate your role in the creative ecosystem. If you ever find yourself doubting your own ability to make magic, stop and think of the bee. Easy to miss, but crucial for us to go on living, and responsible for the kind of beauty that makes that living worth it. 

Be the bee. 

The great Sam Shepard died this week at the age of 73. So young. He gifted us with 44 plays and dozens of films and television performances. What a bounty of treasures to experience again and again.

I found this Sam Shepard quote when reading more about this incredible body of work that he leaves behind. I was so delighted to find it, because it felt like seeing a Big Feeling I have always felt in the form of a few well chosen words, for the very first time. 

Art is messy. There are vague road maps that artists have used throughout time, yes. But there's no surefire formula that can guarantee catharsis, transformation, or sparkling success every time. I suspect that this is because art is made by humans, about the very essence of what it means to be human. If we have not been able to perfect a roadmap for becoming the perfect person, then how can we expect to be able to write the perfect play? 

Art is not like chemistry, where we can read a recipe for a chemical reaction, combine the ingredients, and make it happen. Art has its own chemistry that cannot be created by following a series of steps. Cut and dry it is not. We make art in order to figure out the things we cannot understand, to try to make sense of the tangled mess of life as best we can, and in the process, discover glints of beauty and truth and love.  So how could it possibly be that the very art we create to make sense of the chaos could be devoid of chaos itself? Impossible. To accept the chaos of art, of the theatre, is to accept the chaos of life. To accept the chaos of life is also to accept the chaos of art. The flawed relationship between the two works perfectly.

I suppose I also ask myself, if it were even possible to nail down a formula that works every damn time, what kind of an experience would that be? If we could wrestle something as slippery as life down to a science, what use would we have for art? For exploration? For the very wrestling itself? Who loves finding a flawless painting, play, or poem? My heart thrills at catching sight of a brush stroke, finding the touch of red that destroys perfect symmetry, speaking a line of language whose radiance is in it's roughness.  Maybe embracing the chaos will help us find a kind of clarity. 

From where I stand, Sam Shepard wrestled with life and art and wrestled with them well. That struggle is the reason why his creations breathe and move and are so real to us. His characters, both as actor and playwright, are illuminated from within not despite, but because of their flaws and shortcomings.

Let us all find the grace and self-awareness and compassion to be able to glimpse our own wrestling match in this way, even if just for a moment. It might make all the difference. ​