Feel.

寧為太平犬，不做亂世人

For my non- Mandarin- speaking friends, this supposedly translates to "It is better to be a peaceful dog than a chaotic man," which is considered the basis for what we call "The Chinese Curse": 

May you live in interesting times. 

Anyone who really knows me, meaning that they've taken the time to do so, knows it's been one hell of a year in the life of Jayne. I don't really have any boring years in my adult life past, but this one could certainly win the proverbial cake. 

I married the man of my dreams. I now live in a city that I not only love, but that has welcomed me in a way that has been quite frankly overwhelming. My daughter is at the perfect age of 5, when we can have brilliant conversations but she still wants to crawl into my lap with her blankie. I have been allowed to use my creative personality to support the causes that I love, and I feel more appreciated and intellectually stimulated than ever before. Most importantly, my husband and his family have been so supportive and loving that it scares me more often than I usually admit. But...

...there has been what I would call a tragedy trifecta over the last six months. People who know me personally are probably aware of one. Some know of two. A select few know of all three. Suffice it to say, each one was truly and without exaggeration traumatic. Each one knocked me down hard, without having fully stood up again from the last blow. I keep getting permission from loved ones, acquaintances, complete strangers, and professionals to grieve; to mourn the losses that are very real, the ones hoped for, and the ones felt so deep in the soul they feel real. 

I have. I have mourned. I have mourned more in the last six months of my life than I had in the entire thirty-five years prior. I am pushing through, but with every few steps forward there's another step back. Another reminder: a song, a memory, a speech, an email... which inevitably lead to a complete meltdown of my composure. I sob on my knees on the kitchen floor. I sob while sleeping, and only realize it when I awake to a wet pillow under my head. I sob in the car on the way to a meeting, and in the bathroom while brushing my teeth. And I am so fucking sick of being sad. 

I'm told it's good. I'm told it's healthy. I'm told it's necessary. My sweet husband, my angel, keeps telling me I need to face it and let it out and that it's ok to cry. He encourages it and holds me and gets the tissues when the tears start flowing. He makes me feel loved even through the ugly cries. There are a lot of ugly cries. But I feel guilty, because I know I have so much to be happy about, and despite my outward appearance I really am aware of how blessed I am. Which makes it worse! It does, because I know how happy I should be, and to waste my time crying feels incredibly selfish and self-absorbed, which of course makes me cry more.

But despite all of this, which I suppose was somewhat expected given what has happened, there has been an unforeseen side effect: I also break down at beauty. I break down at joy. I break down at anything that topples my already-at-capacity emotions and I feel. everything. to it's fullest, even the really great things. It's odd, because it is such a thin line between joy and sorrow that sometimes I can't tell the difference. Frustration and overwhelming emotion all feel the same; it just needs to burst out of me. But the part that makes me feel better is that I feel hope when I cry for beautiful reasons. 

I cried a few nights ago while cooking dinner, watching my husband carry my daughter around the living room as they played "Olympics" (it was the luge, you see).  I cried when I looked around the table at a benefit that hit really close to home yesterday, realizing that the people around me were the most beautiful human beings, inside and out, who contribute to their communities and to each other in a way that is unsurpassed, and who love me and each other like family. I wasn't exactly happy, in the traditional sense, but I was hopeful.  

I cried tonight, witnessing what I could only describe as "magic," as a brilliant author and a team of brilliant theater professionals described how they took a novel and turned it into a musical that is sure to bring so much to so many in the coming months and years. That creative energy, the possibilities, and the emotions that will come out of the work that they are doing is so much bigger than anyone realizes. My heart was bursting. How could it not? 

The world is full of so much beauty, and we have so much to be happy about and to appreciate. We are growing as a species; we are developing beautiful works of art every day. I wouldn't wish my tragedies on my enemies if I had them, but I will own what I do have like I own my short stature and my less-than-voluptuous backside. They are mine, and they make me me. 

My tragedies have shaped me, and based on the surge of emotions that consume me fairly often these days, they will continue to shape me. Would I let go of all of this beauty in order to lessen the pain of the awfulness? Probably. Because it really hurts. But while I work through it I will let that painful joy consume me as well, and hope that in the end, it will be victorious. 

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.