Three Decades Later.

My very first birthday.

Today is my birthday. Turning 30. I am pretty excited about this. My 20’s were awesome- in the truest sense of the word- amazing times, some really hard times and incredible blessings. I cut my teeth on adulthood in New York City, was able to live in two other countries (Ireland and Thailand), followed my dream of being an actor through to the end of the road, realized my life’s calling, learned red wine and martinis on the same evening is a bad idea, grown even more in my appreciation of my family and my faith, made friends with funny, caring, forgiving, flawed, talented and loyal people and from the good relationships and not so good I’ve had, I have learned what it is to love and what is to not.

I can’t wait to see what is next.

“It matters not who you love,
where you love, why you love,
when you love or how you love.
It only matters that you love.”
~John Lennon

The Invoice.

The other night I had the pleasure (sarcasm alert) of witnessing a domestic dispute family affair style with one of the neighbors on my street. I dutifully called 911 who sent 3 police cars to the scene in under 10 minutes. I remember when I called the Astoria, Queens police to report the fact I was being followed and how one of the officers responded with “Are you new to New York?”.

Oddly enough witnessing a random, screaming, potentially violent interaction evoked homesickness for that city. (Perhaps yet another reason to add to the list why it was good to get out of there).

In New York City I was always on the move internally and externally. Here I am so much more settled, taking root and growing in ways unimaginable two years ago. People are good here. While I’d be the first to defend New Yorkers and their true hearts underneath the veneer, (disclaimer this is a tad generalized) I can say there is a moral compass within folks in OKC that was much more… vague in NY.

Yet I miss New Yorkers. They, we, can be a rare breed.

Like Ireland (as a friend pointed out- has anyone ever met an unwitty Irishman?) New York breeds a culture of storytellers, of performers, of zero bullshitters and the best bullshitters on the face of the planet. Of a sense things can change on a dime and you better be ready. It a heck of a training ground (for better and for worse). Ain’t no one going to pull a fast one on New Yorkers.

Which leads me to this story:

I finally brought my car to the mechanic this week. I’ve been convinced something is up with my brakes and been dreading the bill which would come with fixing them. (Just before heading West last summer I had nearly $1,500 work done on the car, some of which included fixing my brakes. Sigh.)

I went to the mechanic (recommended by a friend) armed with my invoice from the work I had done. No way was I going to be some stereotypical female chump at the mechanic who pays for work that was already done, cause that is what they do, right? No way Jose. I was ready for them.

I pulled up and entered the garage’s office. It looked straight out of 1979 down to the magazines. Low ceilings, yellow light, short furniture which looked as if it was taken with the cool retro Instagram lens and a faded and scuffed tile floor which called to mind my elementary school.  I was greeted as soon as I entered by the man behind the desk who had a kind face, the hunched shoulders of someone far beyond his years and one heck of an accent. I explained my concerns and he nodded, reaching for my keys at the same time.

“Well, why don’t we just pull her into the garage and take a look to see what’s wrong,” he said as he shuffled towards the door where my car was parked outside.  I anxiously took a few steps in his direction to halt his progress.

“Uh, sure, thanks. But before we do anything like that- I’d just like to get a sense of what that is going to cost,” I said.

He paused and turned back to face me, his hand still on the door handle. He looked politely confused.

“Well, ma’am we just need to get a good look see before I can tell you something like that,” he kindly explained.

“Of course. I apologize- what I meant was how much does the ‘check-up’ cost?”. The invoice was burning a hole in my pocket.

He looked a bit unsure, as if he suspected I may be a little slow and clarified again, “ There ain’t no charge to look at it. We need to check your car out to find what is wrong with it. Then once we know what is wrong with it- then I can give you the cost”.

We gaped at each other for a moment and then I began to laugh. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m from New York City and…” I trailed off.

He began to laugh too. “And they’d charge you for just walking in the door, right?”

Right.

In the end, all it was was my back brakes were out of alignment and very dirty. They cleaned them up, straightened them out, asked me about my life story and charged me $19.53 for the whole experience.

I know I can go on about life in New York vs. life in Oklahoma City but it’s been a rare… treat or experience to see how formative my time was in New York and how it informed me in my reactions and expectations of situations. It’s cool, at an age where you feel like you’ve a good sense of yourself, to be in a new situation with old expectations and be able to pull the invoice of experiences out of your pocket and take stock- for how much that training ground cost me and how much those experiences gave me.

It was worth it.

Human Genius.

I’ve been utilizing my local library and am reading a book called “12,000 Miles in the Nick of Time” about a family’s trip around the world and one stop included Angkor Wat in Cambodia. It got me thinking about my own trip around that country.

A friend of mine had been living in Australia while I was in Thailand. We met up in Vietnam and traveled around together and went to Cambodia where we visited the majestic awe inspiring Angkor Wat.

Angkor Wat stops you in your tracks. It’s ancient, it’s beautiful, it’s eerie. It’s a chance to step into a different world and get the sense of a different time. Angkor Wat is surrounded by 2.2 miles of gates and in the 12th century was the capital city. One of the first Western visitors to the temple was António da Madalena, a monk who visited in 1586 and said Angkor  ”is of such extraordinary construction that it is not possible to describe it with a pen, particularly since it is like no other building in the world. It has towers and decoration and all the refinements which the human genius can conceive of.”

I’d agree with you Antonio.

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The cool part of traveling around Asia is their “mai bpen rai” (no worries) approach to things. ‘Things’ being an ancient temple.

In Angkor Wat we mostly had free roam around crumbling stairways, Buddhas, shadows and hallways. Gail and I wandered down one ever darkening hallway as the ceiling drifted lower and the sound of water dripping became louder. I had a flash of my visits to the Met when I was a New Yorker and how the priceless art was kept behind glass, a safe distance away. Here the priceless art was dripping on my head.

We kept walking, weaving and ducking until it was too far along for us to turn back. It became more cramped and the scent of mold started to permeate the air. As the walls began to press in on us, we ducked farther still and rounded the bend into pure darkness. Then our eyes adjusted to the light.

In the center of the dark archway and in front of a large, beautiful and ancient headless Buddha sat an old woman; her hands clasped in front of her face as she prayed. A single candle burned, the flame casting strange shadows on the walls as we watched. She ended her prayer and made eye contact, bowing her head to us in acknowledgement. We nodded back and softly made our way around her as we headed out of the archway and suddenly found ourselves blinking in sunlight.

Dear Politician, My Eyes Are Up Here.

If I Only Had a Brain!

There is something ugly going on in the United States of America; a country frightened by the idea of ungoverned female sexuality while at the same time glamorizing sexuality as the only thing which gives a woman worth. Dropping into an ever deepening pond are stones whose ripples will create a tidal wave if we aren’t careful.

A month ago Rush Limbaugh, under the guise of political discussion, called Sandra Fluke the most demeaning name a woman can be called and attacked her for something she has no control over-her gender. If Rush had attacked African Americans in the same hateful manner, calling them names specifically designed to demean their race, he’d be out of a job. Instead he’s still crowing like a puffed up rooster on public radio and now has over 40,000 people following him on Twitter.

VA proposed the invasive transvaginal ultrasound law so women would comprehend that abortion shouldn’t be a “lifestyle convenience” and AZ  has contemplated a bill requiring women to  present a letter to their employer as to why they need birth control.

Huh. Interesting.  Do I also need to provide a detailed list of my cramps/acne/insomnia/migraines which birth control helps prevent? Do I need to provide a list of my sexual partners so my employer can let me know what they think of my choices before deciding?  Or detail my need to have my menstruation regulated so that I am actually able to have a child? Who is my employer to decide any of these decisions for me? Actually- who are these politicians to?

To put how offensive and condescending this is in perspective- if a man wants Viagra, he doesn’t have to go a sex therapist with his employer and a partner confirming his impotence before obtaining permission.

(As an aside to any politician who wants to decide my most private bodily decisions, you better make sure I don’t ever see you on TV apologizing for cheating on your wife with a ‘prostitute’. If you want to get all high and mighty about what’s going on in my pants, you better be keeping your you know what in yours.)

The ugly taking place in this country is not about abortion although some politicians have done a nice job convincing people as such. This is about women’s equality being chipped away and demeaned bit by bit. This post has nothing to do with my thoughts on pro- life vs. pro-choice although I know it will be read by some as such. This not about Liberals vs. Conservatives. Abortion is a deeply personal issue and evokes strong emotions on all sides. It’s convenient to use those emotions about abortion as a smoke screen to mask a larger issue: an underlying message that women are not capable of making informed and intelligent decisions. It says women should not have the power to make informed and intelligent decisions.

To be clear, I do not believe equality comes from having an abortion. I believe equality comes from living in a country whose laws do not make me accountable for my decisions in a way men are not made to be.

As Jennifer Granholm wrote on Politico.com “Guys, I’m thinking it’s hard for you to imagine what it’s like to have your most private decisions made for you. By women.  …It’s obvious that abortion is the most sensitive of public policy issues. Women deeply understand the wrenching trade-offs they must make in weighing such a personal decision. So, in addition to legislatively forced physical procedures, it should come as no surprise that women are angered by patronizing bills mandating waiting periods or forced “reflection” on images or on text written by legislators — bills that assume women are empty-headed children… Activists may need to fight the same fight their grandmothers fought in the ’60s. A woman protesting in Virginia held a sign that summed it up: “I can’t believe we still have to protest this sh—.”

It’s interesting to note Virginia is one of 15 states that has not passed the Equal Rights Amendment, which affirms the equal application of the Constitution to females and males.

If these politicians are so concerned about the youth of America and women’s bodies how about they do something about multimillion dollar sex industry of raping children and women occurring right here in the land of the free? How about addressing the fact America is one of the top destination countries for trafficked persons? How about Congress reauthorizing the Trafficking Victims Protection Act (expired in 2011)? I may be more inclined to believe the bleeding heart act if the agenda underneath didn’t reek of misogynistic self righteousness.

“A Senate bill to reauthorize TVPA through 2015 cleared the Judiciary Committee in October but has not come to a floor vote… A reauthorization bill has also been offered in the House, with wrongheaded Republican modifications. It would, for example, shift financing for victims’ services to the Justice Department from the Department of Health and Human Services, which is far better-suited for the job but has been a recent source of Republican obstructionism over contraception and health insurance. Allowing politics to hamper the campaign against human trafficking is especially tragic at a time when innovative approaches are making gains. A new trafficking hot line… has taken more than 49,000 calls, connected 5,770 potential victims with services and provided more than 2,155 law-enforcement tips. Those fighting modern-day slavery need support to find and help survivors.”  (NY Times).

I’m well aware having lived abroad and now working with women from Afghanistan just how much worse women could have it but so what. This is America. I should not have to use Afghanistan as a comparism to enable America to feel good or justified about these recent events. It doesn’t mean I should pipe down and take the backsliding. I owe it to all of the advocates who went before me and to daughters and nieces I may have to stand up and say this is bullshit.

Men of quality are not afraid of treating women with equality.

To Invisible Children

Reblogged from The SOLD Project Blog:

The SOLD Project would like to publicly congratulate Invisible Children on the courage, drive, and determination it took to create and market the KONY2012 video. SOLD’s founding members have relationships with IC’s that go back to the beginnings of our young organizations. We shared a passion to make a difference and a general bewilderment at the overwhelming road that lay ahead of us.

Read more… 934 more words

Why I Did What I Did.

Woop! Two years ago marks my last day at my corporate job and one year ago today marks when I started my temporary job out in Long Island. It’s amazing to see how much life can be lived in a year.

Blogging has been a bit slow as I’ve been working away on an essay I was asked to contribute to the book ‘End Sex Trafficking”. All procceds go towards a terrific international anti-human trafficking organization called Not for Sale. I am thrilled to have been asked to be a part of this.

I also wrote an Op-Ed for a popular D.C. publication on our relationship and responsibility to the women in Afghanistan (all this thanks to the new job I have). It’s a very productive time and I am loving it.

Today I received this note from my SOLD scholarship student in Thailand:

All I give is $31 a month and look at the doors it opens for her.

As I stood in my sunny kitchen in Oklahoma City reading her sweet and heartfelt words on this day when so many changes have gone before, I was viserally reminded how thankful I am for the past two years and why I made the life changes I did.

The Polls are Open

Yesterday I posted a link to my essay in the Stratejoy Essay.

Today I am posting a link so you can vote. If you liked what you read and have a moment to spare, please vote for me!

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Stratejoy Essay

Life. On Your Own Terms. 

We were in lush northern Vermont. All 26 members of my family crammed into various bedrooms, nooks and crannies. Plenty of board games and packs of cards for all. Laughter and breakfast feeds with God only knows how eggs and pots of coffee. It was my Grandparents 50th anniversary and, in honor of their life and the family they created, we had rented out a house and come north from wherever we lived for the weekend.

One evening we squished into couches and floor space clutching music sheets. Our grandfather had asked my mom to find some of his favorite songs he had loved as a younger man on “The Inter. Net”. With voices joined together, my grandfather standing in front of us with the woman he had been with since he was 17; I realized this is truly what life is about.

I was living in NYC as an actor. I was heading towards the Breaking Point but I didn’t know it then. What I did know was “something has to change” was becoming a refrain in my head; as constant and steady as the sound of a train on tracks.

One of the earliest questions I can remember answering is “What do you want to be when you grow up?”. A question asked at an age when we answer “a princess!”, “an astronaut and an alien!”, “a paleontologist!” (as my cousin once answered, the word large in his 4 year old mouth) without any self- consciousness. Days when we believe we will be those all those professions and maybe more. When you believe you will be what you want to be simply because it’s what you want. Why live life any other way?

“An actor” was always my prompt assured response to that question. I remember being dressed in hand-me-down gowns from my aunt, tripping over the hems, out on the front lawn while ‘directing’ the neighborhood kids.

Knowing what I wanted was a defining characteristic of mine. I made all my decisions according to being an actor and, being so young, I was fearless in doing so. Throughout my childhood I performed in local theatres; my best friend dutifully sitting in the front row of all my shows. Closing night in high school

(college in NYC looming at the end of August) I was grinning ear to ear as I took my bow. My whole family standing up in the audience clapping and grinning back.

I remember sitting in the back of the rented van my parents were driving heading down the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. Suddenly New York City rose up in all its overpopulated glory. It was love at first sight.

The question of what to be when I grew up came back to haunt me when I actually became a grown up; one who was still living just as I had in my first years in New York and didn’t see the situation improving. The novelty of living as an actor, hand to mouth, in apartments where rain came in through the ceiling light was long gone. Life was defined by how to pay the bills while attending as many auditions as I could. The refrain “something has to change” was growing louder. I found myself looking into the future: What made life matter? Did being an actor encompass that? Was I really a grown up? Did I really want this?

It was a scary edge to look over- one I never had had to do before with uncertainty tinged with fear.

But look I did. It was not the easiest of gazes. Real change is real.

Realizing stability was crucial to finding my way, I went into a corporate job alleviating financial stress. Yet despite the respite, I hated the job. I found I felt even more removed from who I was and what I was good at and felt at a loss and trapped.

With the wisdom of hindsight I now see the yo-yo of creating my own path as a blessing. Twilight is a part of the journey. The unhappy tedium of the corporate job sharply outlined for me the non- negotiables. Revealed them to me just as much as being broke and being an actor had revealed to me what I could and could not live with. Clarity is a rare and beautiful thing to be able to realize and explore.

My terms: I needed to be engaged and interested with my time, not staring at the clock eyes twitching from boredom. I wanted a flexible routine, to work as part of a collaborative. I thrived when challenged by creating and thinking on my feet. Be in a place where the cost of living didn’t so define what I could do for work. A place where relationships flourished because pointed words were not a constant requirement (NYC subways I am talking to you here). I wanted to give to and with my life.

Sometimes life is about compromise and in the compromise finding the balance.

And finding a balance I did, in way I had never thought about but was better than I could have imagined.

I quit my job, fundraised $10,000 and moved to Thailand for a year to work with The SOLD Project. I taught English to at-risk kids, I established SOLD’s volunteer program, lived in the middle of a rice field, learned Thai, how to ride a motorbike and detoxed from a decade in New York. The bottom line of living was distilled down to its purest form- to give love and be loved. It changed my life.

I now live in Oklahoma City working on the front lines with anti-human trafficking organizations. I can’t say I have it all filled out and figured out but that’s OK. Maybe you never do. Perhaps it’s what makes life an adventure and worth living. But I trust myself and this path. I know who I am, what I can give and deeply believe in the work I am doing.

I like who I’ve grown up to be.

I may not have gone where I intended to go.

But I think I ended up where I meant to be.