Merely Players.

A long time ago, one could say several lifetimes in fact, I was a part of a rather unconventional family. 

The other members may not have even known it. But a series of traumatic experiences and news had left my soul battered beyond the point of recognition, even though not many people knew or noticed because I was so good at hiding it. I was an actor after all. And given that I spent most of my time around people who hadn't known me previously, nobody knew that I was different than my "old" self. I'm sure I didn't make much of an impression on anyone; I was just happy to be around a group of people so talented and unique, with no false pretenses of proper decorum, encouraging each other to be their true selves and to grow their gifts. 

I was part of an acting troupe that rehearsed throughout the summer and performed weekends through the fall. I was a part-timer, simultaneously working through my junior year of college, but I spent my weeks looking forward to the time I would spend with that fascinating group of individuals. Some were like me, brought up in suburban towns far from the glittering lights of New York and Chicago and working their way up to stardom bit part by bit part. Others were from distant lands, traveling gypsies working their way around the world experience by experience, and still others were simply running away from lives they knew they couldn't stay in. There were consummate professionals and there were philosophical drifters, and there was everything in between. And there was a lot of laughter and even more love, in many many ways. 

It was hot as hell in the summertime, and later in the season they were scraping ice off the stage. The costumes were often heavy and awkward, and yet never heavy enough when the winter air started to settle in. We got paid next to nothing. But every day after rehearsal or show we would all drop our characters and keep the local pubs in business while entertaining and learning about each other. What my "family" didn't realize that summer is how much I needed all of that. It may have been so simple and yet that camaraderie, that joy and those deep talks got me through one of the toughest periods of my life. I'm sure I was not the only one. Most of us were escaping something in our lives, which is often true of artists of any kind and especially true of most New Yorkers, as many of us were or turned out to be down the line. 

The season ended and I had many new experiences and perspectives under my belt, and I tried to go back to a nice normal college life. But between my season in the acting group and the personal dramas I'd been trying to manage, I was past being able to return to "normal." When the opportunity to move to New York with some other actor friends came along, I jumped at it, and continued to move down a path of escapism, to the ultimate Island of Misfit Toys. Quite a few of us stayed in touch for awhile. Some stayed friends, some dated, and some worked on projects together, either in the city or beyond. Some continued to perform and others moved on to successes in other areas of the entertainment world or out of it. I turned my focus to hospitality and later went corporate, realizing that my creative inclinations and experiences were useful in more right-brain-based industries where I seemed to be better suited once I worked through my head. 

But through it all: four cities, a failed marriage, a child, and a whirlwind of jobs and dreams and travels, that world and the people in it were never far out of my mind or heart, and I welcomed any and all interaction over the next decade. First it was just email or over drinks, then via myspace, then Facebook... each time the medium changed we would find each other all over again. It was so long ago and yet when I look over my social media streams, those people still are the ones I care about the most. We have all gone in so many directions both geographically and ideologically, but they have remained the most interesting and warmest people I've known in my lifetime. Which is why, when a piece of news showed up on my screen yesterday, I surprised even myself by reacting the way that I did. 

One of these beautiful people that had been a part of this family for really what amounted to only a few months of my life, passed away yesterday. I sobbed like I hadn't in years. I reached out for the others as they did, and we realized that we were all still there; the family was intact minus one. At first I felt so guilty; I don't even know if she would remember me and I hadn't spent as much time with her as so many others had... what right did I have to grieve this way? But then I saw others expressing the same concern and realized I wasn't alone. It was unbelievably heartbreaking yet beautiful the way that this group came back together even if only virtually and briefly. And I realized how much I missed them, and how grateful I was to know them all even for such a brief time.

I realized over the last few years how much I missed the arts and the theatre in particular. Although I've been a patron and a fan all during this time, and have done much to bring the arts into my new circles, I have missed really being a part of it. With each show that I saw, with each review or press release that I read, I have felt my heart being pulled further and further back. But the final kicker was this news that I received yesterday that made the path before me so crystal clear. This morning I had a conversation that will lead me back home, to my first passion, and to me being a productive contributor to the world that accepted me no matter what else happened in my life. 

I have never forgotten that beautiful sassy woman running over to me, someone she just met, sitting in my lap and wrapping her arms around me in the warmest and funniest embrace. She had no idea how much I needed that unconditional love at that moment. 

Today, at the end of my meeting, a similar spirit who I'd just met said goodbye with a hug, and although I smiled and maintained my professional demeanor as I've learned to do, I got into my car and cried. Thank you Ginny B.

Dream: Our New Orleans Wedding

After a long engagement we finally decided when and where we wanted to get married, and we had six weeks to make it happen. Thankfully I have been planning events professionally for years, and with the help of some extraordinary people we pulled off a wedding that was exactly what we wanted: classy, fun, unique, and totally us, focusing above all on the music, the food, and the people. 

With the limited time our options and guest list were also limited, but in the end it worked out perfectly, and we were in awe the entire week with how wonderful it all was. My groom said on more than one occasion that it was the happiest he had ever been, and I can attest that I have never seen him smile so much or so big. Unfortunately I didn't sleep much in the days prior to the wedding, and the entire day was overwhelming and a complete blur, as weddings often are for the bride. So when I was sent this video by our videographer, Jason Gilmore of J&J Studios in Dallas, I was simply anxious to see what I'd missed seeing and remembering as the day sped by. What I didn't expect was that he was truly able to capture the magic and the beauty of the day. We were freezing and we were exhausted, and we felt unbelievably blessed the entire time.

In this video are the highlights of the day, from the painfully early morning preparations in my suite at the Omni Royal Orleans, through the ceremony and the reception at the historical Latrobe's on Royal, to the fabulous New Orleans tradition of a NOPD-escorted Second Line parade through the French Quarter and into the Pat O'Brien's courtyard (with the temperatures dropping into the 30's by that point; hence the dancing and champagne to warm us up).

Thank you, New Orleans. Thank you Judy Chamberlain. Thank you Jason Gilmore. Thank you to Jimmy and Lillian, Marty, Adam, Tom and Sally, Heather & Sam, Barbara/mom, our beautiful and sassy wedding party, and all of our families and friends. And most importantly: thank you to my husband, without whom this magic never would have happened. Let's keep it going, baby.

Event Planning by See Jayne. (me) and Judy Chamberlain Entertainment 
Venue: Latrobe's on Royal
Music: Judy Chamberlain Entertainment with Special New Orleans Guest Stars
Photography and Videography: J&J Studios and Studio Rocket Science
Bridesmaid Jewelry: Shona Gilbert
Bridal Gown: Wtoo by Watters, purchased at Anonymously Yours consignment shop

Impediments.

Until yesterday, I had not written in some time. It was the holidays, and it was a depression born from the tragedy of Newtown, and it was bad family news, and then it was that we finally set a wedding date and I am now in the middle of the frantic 6-week planning process. I have been on a roller coaster of extreme highs and lows, and although here has been a lot to write about, in fact it has been too much. It has been overwhelming. And all of that information and all of those ideas formed into one giant clog that resulted in what can only be described as a nasty case of writer's block. I missed it and knew I needed to do it, but I couldn't get going.

But I think I am back. I finally wrote a piece yesterday that's been floating in my head for two months for Crave DFW, which you can read here. http://cravedfw.com/2013/02/13/food-and-fashion-lunch-with-ashley-burghardt/

Thanks for checking back and I promise there will be more soon. Maybe for this site, maybe for others... some of my ideas would make great regular columns for publications and I'm considering looking into that option. Or maybe I will do something else entirely. Because that's what having a moveable appetency is all about; a hunger that is constantly changing and evolving. For what choice do I have in the face of this wind but to put up my sail and rest my oars?*

* From The Passion by Jeanette Winterson

See.

see Jayne...

... is the realization of the power and beauty of connecting ideas and people. 
... is a unique combination of life experiences and global perspectives. 
... is left & right brain collaboration. 
... is the recognition of potential. 

... is writing, editing, publicity, event planning, meeting planning, protocol advisement, brainstorming, advocating and connecting. creative consulting.

we can't tell you where it is going, but we can tell you where it started: with a girl who decided to run for what she wanted. 

see Jayne. create.


To "Like": https://www.facebook.com/SeeJayneEvents

Auld Lang Syne.

Last night I, along with my Texan, walked off of an American Airlines flight into Dallas Fort Worth International, returning from John Wayne in Orange County. He and I turned in different directions, he to get the car and me to retrieve the luggage. We kissed briefly and he reminded me that we'd said goodbye to each other in that exact same spot before, almost three years ago exactly. Only then I had walked away to my connecting flight home to New York instead.

Aware of our mutual affection but completely uncertain of what the future would hold, we parted ways that time after a blissful week eerily similar to the one we just had, filled with hikes in the canyons, dinners with friends and alone, sunset cocktails, walks on the beach and reading by the fire in his little Laguna beach cottage. But then, both of us were dealing with messy and complicated endings to our previous relationships, as well as professional and geographical hurdles to being together. Knowing all of this led to a tearful and painful goodbye, walking in different directions each filled with a confusing emotional mix of despair and hope.

And now, having removed the hurdles and worked with each other in a way that only the deep love that we have for one another allows, we are living here in Dallas together and planning our wedding. With professional, legal, financial, and familial obstacles recently lifted or at least managed to a point of little importance, we are finally free to celebrate fully what we knew in our hearts three years ago, that we are meant to spend our lives together and have chosen to do so. Now, for the first time in this process, I feel free to plan this celebration marking our legal and spiritual union, and I am entering this phase with pure joy.

As I waited outside the luggage claim with our bags from California last night, and watched his car turn around the corner and his lights flash at me in greeting, an uncontrollable smile spread across my face and my heart started beating rapidly. He pulled up and got out to help me, and I laughed. I had spent every minute of the last ten days with this man, and I was as excited to see him when he came around that corner as I was every time we'd met up at an airport over the two years we were dating long-distance. In three years so much has changed, but that feeling has only gotten stronger. How blessed we are.

Happy and Blessed 2013 to you all.

Company

Foodie is not a word that I enjoy or use to call myself. I do like food, a lot, and after years of working in hospitality and with a healthy dose of curiosity, I know quite a bit about it. I even cook it. But really I'm just a very passionate and sensual person, enjoying all senses with equal vigour. A great meal in my book satisfies all of them; it's beautifully presented, obviously it smells and tastes good, and it's enjoyed while surrounded with good company.

Who you dine with makes just as much of an impact on your experience as the person preparing the food, the decor, the music, the seat, the view, the service and the choice of wine. The balance has to be right. If any of these are not quite right, it will negatively affect the dining experience whether you realize it consciously or not. I recently enjoyed some great food at a beautiful restaurant with some incredible women. But the acoustics were off and I had to struggle to understand my friends, and because of this I have no desire to return. A few weeks ago I ate at one of the "Best New Restaurants" in New York City and although the food, decor, and wine were all as great as promised in the reviews, and my dining companions were expertly curated I must say, the server's attitude made us close out early and continue our evening elsewhere. I wanted great food but my limited time with my friends was more important.

Some of the best meals of my life come with really great stories. There is a Spanish tapas restaurant in Greenwich Village called Alta that I read about in a travel magazine years ago as a place where top chefs go when they go out, always a good sign. I chose it for my birthday celebration with my fabulous  group of friends, and I still smile when I think about that dinner and will recommend the restaurant without hesitation. I have no idea how many stars that place has, or what any of the critics had to say about it. I know that we had a Bacchanalian feast for the record books and laughed harder and left with bellies and hearts full. Everything was perfect. I remember running into Calvin Klein and John Leguizamo, and the cougar hitting on my friend at the bar. I remember friends from different parts of my life meeting each other for the first time and it makes me so happy to see that they are still friends. I remember the sounds of the kitchen and the music and the laughter, the taste of the bacon-wrapped dates and white anchovies and the Cava, the love I felt surrounded by so many wonderful friends and the man sitting next to me who would ask me to marry him a month later. 

I remember every beautiful moment of a dinner in Paris, laughing at the intimidation we felt looking at the triple-phonebook-sized wine list and welcoming course after course of food far more rich than we were used to eating, but enjoying the rare gluttonous indulgence with friends from around the world. I remember being with some of those same people in Cancun clinking the biggest margarita glasses I've ever seen. I remember Sex and the City-like conversations on sidewalk tables in New York with my girlfriends with mimosas, a business dinner on Central Park South with a table full of South Americans, and another one in East Berlin where we laughed so hard with a group of Austrians that beer came out our noses. And I remember everything being absolutely perfect at that first date dinner with my Texan at WD-50 in the Lower East Side when he came to visit me in New York one autumn evening three years ago.

The first "epic dinner" I experienced was on a beach sixteen years ago. I was in Greece as an exchange student, eating with my host family and their friends at tables under white lights and stars on the edge of the calm and warm Aegean Sea. On my plate was a whole grilled fish, something I'd never seen before, but I followed the lead of everyone around me and I can still taste and hear everything from that dinner if I close my eyes and think back. I have no idea what that restaurant was called, or what most of the people around me were talking about in Greek, but it's not important. What was important was what I sensed, what I experienced, and who I was with. That dinner started the evolution of this "foodie," shaping me to appreciate the beauty of these multi-sensory experiences around a table.

But this all works the other way, too. I have been fortunate to dine at some of the best and most critically-acclaimed  restaurants in the world, but sometimes, unfortunately, with people I didn't love or enjoy. Pained conversations, lack of any kind of intellectual or (in the case of a date) sexual chemistry, uncomfortable situations, and quite simply a bad day physically or emotionally have ruined their share of meals for me and I would imagine for most of you. Some of the restaurants I have no desire to return to because the memory is just too bad, boring, or even worse, so completely forgettable that I committed little to nothing to memory.

While on a run on the Katy Trail here in Dallas earlier this year, I spotted a restaurant that looked like my favorite little bistros in Manhattan and Paris. The doors were all opened up to the warm air, the wicker chairs were the French cafe standard issue; t was exactly what I missed since moving to Dallas. I wanted to call up some friends to grab a table, order a couple bottles of wine and S. Pellegrino, and eat and drink and talk for hours until we were kicked out.  How did I not know it was there? Why haven't I been there before? Until I realized... I had.

During one of my first visits to Dallas, I sat at one of those charming little tables for a brunch with some people I was meeting for the first time. Suffice it to say there is a reason I blocked it out. The food was fine, standard French-American bistro brunch fare, the service was sufficient, and as mentioned the decor was charming. But the conversation was so forced, unenlightening and uncomfortable that it dominated the entire experience for me. Usually I can find something to talk to anyone about; it's always been my strength. Whether with newly-immigrated busboys who barely speak English, with an international billionaire CEO, a shy spouse of a business colleague, or with a Prime Minister backstage before a big speech, I can always find something of interest for us to talk about and to make them comfortable and open. But this was beyond my reach. When a person can't talk about anything but Real Housewives, Twilight, or eyelash extensions, announces that "pretty girls don't have to work," refers to my hometown as "um... interesting" and has no idea who Malcolm Gladwell is... I honestly had no words. I couldn't rescue it and I didn't want to. I was powerless and passionless and couldn't wait for the meal to be over. The conversation may actually win the unofficial award of the most vapid of my life, and I do remember that part when I force myself to. But how in the world could I be expected to notice the food when I was concentrating on not jamming a fork into my temple to relieve the pain?

The point of this silly little story is that a good or bad restaurant experience depends on so much more than the food. I've returned to Toulouse since and I have loved it despite my miserable first experience. Thankfully it got that opportunity. I know it wasn't the restaurant's fault, but bad company will make or break an experience faster than anything else. It doesn't matter how it rates on every other factor. And that brings me back to why I am so grateful for those amazing epic dinners where the conversation flows as easily as the wine, and you leave knowing more and loving more than you did when you arrived. Sharing plates, sharing stories, opening yourself to new experiences and new senses... that's what a truly great dinner is all about.

Last night I had another one of these good experiences, and I woke up with a smile, knowing that I felt more at  home here in Dallas more than ever before because of it. A group of the most interesting, funny, talented, smart, and kind people that this city has to offer all sat around a table at Marquee Grille in Highland Park Village and toasted to Christmas and every other winter holiday we could think of. We laughed, we shared, we ate and we drank. The Chef dropped by a few times to say hello, and white twinkle lights glittered outside of the windows. I was in love, with my betrothed sitting next to me, with the ambiance, with my pork belly and tuna tartar, and with my friends.

Maybe I am a foodie, but I think I'm more of an experience junkie. Bring on the epic dinners of food, laughter and intellectual conversation, and let's not waste any more time with people who aren't lifting us higher and heightening our senses. Because in the end it's always about the company.

Choice: One Year of Deliberate Transformation.

The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our "stars" but in ourselves. 

~ Shakespeare's Cassius.

One year ago I, along with my young daughter, moved from New York, a city whose skyline adorned the walls of my childhood bedroom and whose scenes filled my dreams and veins for decades, for Dallas, a city I considered at best utterly foreign, and at worst nothing more than a collection of red state stereotypes best only considered at 30,000 feet when traveling between coasts. But it was the home of someone that I loved and his family and friends, and experience had finally taught me that this was so much more important than a city. And if I was going to live somewhere new, then I was going to find what made it wonderful and I was going to fall in love with it. I never would have guessed that this would happen so easily and so quickly. It was a combination of what Dallas actually had to offer and the place I was in my life that made this happen. 

Years before I would ever even consider living in Texas, shortly after my 30th birthday, I made the decision to live a more deliberate life in reaction to the realization that my life was on a counterproductive path of passivity. I had wasted too much time letting the proverbial chips fall where they may. On the theme of “excellence is not an act but a habit,” I knew I had to make some major life changes, and as I did my tastes and goals became clearer. With each new choice that I made, it became not only easier, but also more rewarding and more thrilling. What else could I do? What else could I learn? I started to realize for the first time the power within me, and that I had a responsibility to use it.

With a new long-distance relationship to a Texan becoming a larger factor, my determination to make positive conscious choices for us became stronger. And when the further development of that relationship eventually required a cross-country move, I knew I had to fully embrace my decision in order to avoid later misplaced resentment. Like everything else, I learned that starting over in a new city is what you decide to make of it. People loved Dallas, and I was determined to find out why and experience it myself.

Circumstances were not perfect. As I prepared for my move, life-threatening illnesses affected family on both sides. My first three months as a Texan were spent traveling for work and for family, including a week spent in Boston to donate stem cells. But with each struggle and deterrent that I encountered, I became even more determined to push past it and live a fuller life.

As a teenage exchange student in Greece, I learned to step outside of my own culture in order to understand and accept a new one, and I applied this practice to my new adventure as a Dallasite. I threw myself into the culture, pushing aside comforts of the familiar and trying as many new things as I could. Challenging myself at every venture, questioning old habits and tastes, I opened myself to new experiences, people, and ideas daily.

At first in the chaos I simply opened my heart to the people and activities that were automatically part of my new life. Some have stayed because I chose to keep them. Some I knew would never fit, and they dropped out organically as I expected they would. New people came into the picture, welcoming me with true southern hospitality and inviting me to join them in new experiences. It was a shock to my New Yorker sensibilities, but I grew to appreciate them exponentially.

Probably the biggest challenge of the past year has been learning how to drive for the first time. For various reasons that I won't get into now, I never had a drivers license, but I knew it was absolutely a requirement in my new state if I was going to have the life that I was trying to lead. This challenge required the encouragement and at times force by my fiance, I admit, but in the end it was the most important of my adventures and I ended up with my first driver's license 2 days before my 33rd birthday. 

Physically I have undoubtedly changed. Of course I am most definitely wearing brighter colors, more make-up, longer and, yes, bigger hair, and higher heels than I ever thought I would or could. At times a conscious choice in a "if you can't beat 'em…" mindset, and sometimes I even surprise myself. Occasionally I force myself to wear all black with my ponytail and glasses again, just feel like "myself." I was requested to gain weight for the transplant, and it wasn’t hard when adapting to the cuisine and car culture of Texas. The difficult part was losing it afterwards, so I made some new healthy choices, starting yoga and running my first and second 5K races. The results have been more strength, flexibility, and energy than ever before, despite not ever being able to shed those “Texan Ten.”

When my daughter wanted to take ballet, I signed up for whatever adult class was happening at the same time. When the studio later started offering Bollywood class, I couldn’t resist. I ice-skated for the first time, and that same evening walked to the middle of the rink and sang the National Anthem before a minor league hockey game. I was probably expected to back out from nerves, having not done it since high school. But I didn’t, and it was another successful attempt at something new.

I started seeking out more new opportunities. I did my first pub crawl, which included my first ride on a mechanical bull. I got my first pair of cowboy boots and actually wore them with a cocktail dress at a fundraising event with the cast of Dallas. I attended my first professional football games and fashion shows. I traveled to Orlando, Boston, New York, New Orleans, North Carolina, Berlin, Krakow, Frankfort, Shanghai, Beijing, Laguna Beach, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Cancun, Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Francisco, Chicago, and Austin. To facilitate these travels for a mix of work, family, and pleasure, I've tried to learn or re-learn Mandarin, German, Spanish, and Polish, spending hours in coffee shops and pubs with tutors.  I realized recently that I know exactly one perfect useful phrase in each now, and at least one in each to offend or amuse native speakers. 

Spicy food no longer scares me and football no longer bores me. My new circle of friends is beautifully varied, full of fascinating people that I chose to be there and feel honored to have in my life. People from my old life that once held me back are no longer prominent, a choice that was difficult but with the help of loved ones and professionals became all too clear.

Arriving in Texas one year ago, exhausted from moving and goodbye celebrations, I was greeted with a bouquet of yellow roses and treated to a classic barbeque lunch. I knew if I was going to do this, I was going to do it all the way and I welcomed the challenges ahead. I know now that the things I've learned, the experiences I've had, and the love I've felt since opening my heart and mind and purposely living outside of my comfort zone are irreplaceable. I am a better mother, a better partner, a better friend, a better professional, and a better person because of the events of the past year. I know that I never would have felt the joy that I do now had I not chosen to live this deliberate life, and I’m proud to have done it here in Dallas.