His Name Was Lucas

There are freak accidents in life that we cannot control, but then there are things like drunk driving, that we do have control over. 

We sat around the table, building an workshop about empathy for middle school kids with our words and our hearts, and my boss, a champion of art, theatre, life, and empathy, told us a story that broke our own.

A classmate of her son was hit by a drunk driver while heading back to his dorm room. The drunk driver did not stop once he hit this boy, and this young kid was killed upon impact.

He was an only child, and his parents are broken. 

My boss spoke of how going to Emerson College was his lifelong dream. He had even gotten into a special program where he got to study film in Los Angeles, a program that was quite prestigious within his department of study. 

When he died, he had no idea that he had been admitted to the program.

I just want the world to know his name.

She said that twice while telling this story, and it was something that stuck out amidst all of the horror. 

I just want the world to know his name.

My boss, a woman who didn’t know this boy that well, started a scholarship fund in memory of him, because she’s a mother and her heart breaks for those parents, because she’s an artist and feels things in her soul, because it’s a glaring reminder about a life cut too short due to drunk driving, and because she wants the world to know his name. 

There are things we cannot control in this world. And I’m not about to count them now. But there is so much that we can control - like not getting behind the wheel after you’ve had too much to drink, like pouring your energies into helping those who need it, like remembering those who have left us too soon - and doing what you can to keep their memories alive. 

Like saying the names of those who give love and light to this world, and elevating them above the rest of the chaos.

Her name is Kate.

His name was Lucas.

You can donate to the scholarship fund that is being crafted in memory of Lucas Flint here.

Rehearsal Failures

I was teaching a college audition class - an after school class that is designed to prepare students who wish to study theatre in college for their audition process.

It was a lovely class, full of the type of students who made you feel bright about the future.

One by one I called them up to perform their monologue in front of me and their classmates, and I was impressed and inspired by their dedication to their craft.

And then, one student came onstage, and immediately said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

I was confused.

You can’t…what?

“I don’t know. You know…do the monologue. I don’t want to fail," she said.

Fail? She hadn't even started! 

I coached her through her audition piece, reminding her that the rehearsal room was the time to fail. It was the time to try, to make choices, to figure out her connection to the piece - and through the mishaps comes clarity.

She was great. 

But then it made me think - how many of us say “I can’t” before we even try? How many times do you talk yourself out of trying something new, or going after a dream, even before you get started? How many times do you make yourself smaller?

There is beauty in the rehearsal process of theatre. Not many professions get the ability to show up for work and make a mistake, and not feel…judged. Or that they’ll get in trouble. Or that they’ll lose their job.

The beauty of the rehearsal room is not lost on me.

But perhaps we can take the building blocks of theatre and bring them to our everyday lives - and encourage those around us to try and reach for their dreams, to try something new, and give them the courage to fail - knowing that those around he/she/they will help them to stand back up.

With failure their comes growth, (one can only hope). But we cannot fail unless we try.

So here's to trying, and encouraging those around us to do the same.

There's Always a Point

The news is a lot lately to consume lately. I’m a woman of words -— words are my bread and butter — and yet, I struggle to find them when it comes to talking about the state of the world, the planet, and humanity at large.

Sometimes, being an artist in such trying times can feel pointless. It’s easy to think, “Gee, how can I make art when things feel so dark? How can I create in the thick of such hate? Is this how I should be spending my time? Perhaps I should choose a career that gives more tangible value? Is there a point to being an artist?”

Yes, there is a point. There’s always a point.

Make art.

Keep making art.

Especially when the darkness feels overwhelming. Especially when you feel alone. Especially when there feels like there’s no point.

Art is what reminds us of our humanity — it’s the invisible thread that has the uncanny ability to stitch us together.

Art is a vessel of joy.

Art is a tool for deeper thought.

Art is a spark for light.

You hold that light, and that is a gift that you should not squander.

The heartbeat of humanity beats with the desire to be heard, to be seen, and to be loved. And if your art does that even for just one person, that’s a pretty special reason to keep creating.

So keep writing your words, and put your paint to paper Keep filming and directing and making music and taking photos. Keep building sculptures and telling stories.

There’s always a point to creating.

The world is too small for you to buy into the narrative that your actions and your art, no matter how small, does not matter and cannot affect others.

They do.

They have.

They always will.

Now go — create.

Note: this article was originally published on Thought Catalog. You can read all of my Thought Catalog pieces here.

I Care

When I was seventeen, I worked at a private golf club. Members only. Picture the club of Dirty Dancing…it was like that, except we didn’t have Patrick Swayze. 

I have always believed in the good in humans. And, despite the news cycles lately and the social media streams lately and the just…awfulness of humanity lately, I still believe in the good in humans.

I have to.

But, back to the golf club.

I was a teenager.

And there was one night when an older man at the club asked me to turn to the side so he could see something.

And, being the gullible, hopeful kid I was, I turned to the side.

He was a club member.

I was a waitress.

You did what the members asked. You didn’t ask questions.

So I turned to the side, and he laughed and smiled.

I still didn’t get it.

At the time I worked with two older girls who were sisters. They treated me like a little sister, and I learned everything I know about the restaurant business, and hospitality, and customer service from them.

As I was standing there, they stormed into the dining room, took one look at the situation, and told me to sit down.

They then proceeded to yell at this member.

Stop being such a creep, they said.

It was in that moment I realized he was…ogling me I guess. He was being a dirty, old, creep.

For me, the most important part of this story, and why I still remember this story, is not the creepy patron.

It’s my co-workers, my friends, standing up for me.

It’s the fact that there were two women who had walked through so much fire that they wanted to save me from my own burns. And they cared enough about me to stand up.

Perhaps that’s what’s missing lately - the ability to care about a narrative that is not tied to our own. We can so easily push aside another human’s pain, so much so that we’ve forgotten what it is to care about someone - even if that person is not our family, our friends, our tribe.

To those who hurt in silence, I care.

To those who haven’t found the words, I care.

To those who don’t know how to trust, I care.

To those who want to trust, I care.

To those who feel broken, I care.

To those who want to love, I care.

To those who want to be loved, I care.

To those who try and make the pain go away, I care.

To those who wish it wouldn’t stay, I care.

To those who sit and wonder why me, I care.

To those who have no more tears to cry, I care.

I care.

33 Rules of Life

Good God.

I'm going to be 33 on Thursday.

I still remember when I turned 16.

And, at the risk of sounding like a Grandma, where does the time go?

I'm not really sure. Which, I guess is why it's why I write it all down.

My dear friend Hannah decided to write a rulebook this year on her 29th birthday. And so, in typical Hannah fashion, she has inspired me to do it myself.

Last year I wrote the 32 Rules of Life.

So here’s the 33 Rules of life.

1. Carve out ten minutes of your day to drink a cup of coffee (or tea, if that's your thing), in the morning. In silence.

2. Learn how to love the silence. Silence isn't scary. With silence comes clarity of thought. With clarity of thought comes growth.

3. Never stop growing. Never stop learning. The moment you decide you know everything is the moment when you'll start to lose any intelligent thought you once had. Everyone can teach you something, even if it's what not to do. 

4. Exercise. Even when you don't want to. You'll thank yourself later. 

5. Find things to be grateful for each and every day. Gratitude is key - grateful for the things we have. Grateful for how far we've come. Grateful so we know how far there is to go.

6. Go places. See new cities, meet new people, try different food.

7. Never pass on Chinese food. Or Thai food. Or tapas. Or tacos. Variety is the spice of life. 

8. Life will go as planned. And then it will go haywire. Learn how to remain calm amidst the ebb and flow, and learn who keeps you calm, too.

9. Find your focus in the chaos.

10. Focus on people more than things. You can always work overtime. You can't get back lost moments with those you love the most.

11. Love. Love deeply, love freely, love openly, love fiercely. Then be the love that you preach, teach, and seek.

12. Say I love you. Let the words pass your lips and live in the air. Let them imprint on the heart and soul of another. Love is not meant to be contained.

13. Prayer is good for the soul. I hope you pray for your people, and I hope you pray for those you have yet to meet.

14. See the story behind the human.

15. Read. Read everything, but don't forget about books. Let yourself get lost in the pages of another world and another life. 

16. Lose yourself in nature every once and a while. Feel the breeze. Drink in the sunshine. See the color that surrounds you. Take long walks in the woods. On the beach. Throughout your neighborhood.

17. Be kind to your neighbors. 

18. Kindness is not weakness. Remember that.

19. Know your weaknesses. But know that your weaknesses do not make you less of a person. They make you human. And we're all flawed.

20. Find make-up that makes you feel flawless. (If make up is your thing, that is.) Currently I'm loving FENTY by Rihanna. But you pick whatever makes you feel beautiful.

21. You are beautiful. Remember that. Tell yourself that in the mirror when you wake up in the morning. Remind yourself of that as often as you need to.

22. Pay attention to what you need for mind, body, heart, and soul. Self care is important - ain't no shame in taking care of you. 

23. Take your vitamins. 

24. Rule borrowed from Hannah Brencher: Keep your spaces clean. Chaos squashes your creativity. To keep your brain calm, keep your room clean.

24. Call people on the phone when you're thinking of them. A "like" on a screen, or a text message can never replace the love found in the cadence of a voice on the phone.

25. For my curly haired gals - embrace the curl. I can't even begin to count the amount of minutes I've wasted fighting with a straightening iron and a blow dryer. Now I let the curls go! (And, thanks to my pal Lara Casey, I'm obsessed with DevaCurl.) Now, if I have the opportunity for someone to do my hair for me, any hairstyle is fair game. 

26. Never underestimate the power of a good hair dresser. Or a blow out.

27. There are opportunities in life that you'll blow. You'll say the wrong thing. You. won't be what he/she/they wants. That's ok. Recognize the mistakes for what they were, and then let them go. 

28. Let the little things go. Let yourself feel pain. Let yourself feel joy. Let yourself embrace the moment and season in which you find yourself, and find the balance in knowing when to move forward.

29. Rule borrowed from Joel L. Daniels - Less concerned about the work you do, more concerned with the impression you, and the work you do, makes and leaves on the people around you.

30. Believe in your art. Trust in your gut.

31. There will be a love that will find you that makes you a better human. That sees your light and your dark and loves you anyway. That fills your days with warmth and laughter. It's ok to wait for that kind of love. You deserve that kind of love.

32. There is always a reason, a way, a someone, and a something to celebrate. Remember the ones you've lost, and let their love fuel you forward.

33. Love is fuel for the mind, body, and soul. Love you, love your people.

Chicken Lessons

I used to hate to touch raw chicken, or raw meat of any kind.

As a kid, I used to electively eat broccoli, and salad, and…that was about it. It took a lot of persuasion to get me to eat meat. I was a vegan before vegan’s were cool.

I didn’t like sushi for the longest time because of the texture.

My version of cooking myself dinner in college was salad and deli turkey.

I am one of those people who gets their steaks well done.

(I apologize in advance to the meat lovers of the world out there. I know it hurts your hearts to hear me say that.)

Tonight I’m going to make chicken and broccoli from scratch - and I had this thought as I was running to the grocery store - my how I’ve changed.

The kid who wouldn’t touch raw chicken meat has now dubbed herself as the family gourmet chef.

The kid who couldn’t be bothered to cook…ever, has now become excited by recipes, and cookware, and nutrition.

The kid who didn’t eat sushi for the longest time is now going to Japan for her honeymoon.

My how I’ve changed.

The teacher in me has been thinking about my change in cooking/eating/nutrition habits lately, and, naturally wondering where the lesson is - I mean, there’s always something to be learned, right?

So here’s what I got.

It’s amazing what we are capable of once we quit believing the lies that we tell ourselves that inevitably keep us small.

I always “thought” I hated to cook.

I don’t.

I just hate the feel and texture of raw meat in my hands - and you know what? I still do.

I always “thought” I hated sushi.

I don’t.

I just hate viscous food.

So what’s changed since childhood? I try things more. I go out of my comfort zone. I explore.

Sometimes, I hate the food that I try. Sometimes, I love it. But if I never pushed myself into a space that allowed for change, well, I wouldn’t really know what I’m capable of accomplishing.

So go on, try that new recipe.

You might love it, or you might hate it, but if you don’t try, you'll never know.

7 Notes for Teachers

It's that time of year again in New York - the start of school.

And while l do not find myself in a traditional classroom setting this year, I still feel like it's the start of a new year, and perhaps that's because it is. It's a new chance to learn, to grow, to fail, to flourish, to dig deeper into the person you're becoming - whether you're the student or the teacher.

Fellow educators, I think about you often. 

And while I have plenty of words to write about my students, I find myself always coming back to writing you notes at the start of each and every school year - eager to share the tidbits that have kept me going strong and happy from the first day of school until the last.

You're the one who gets to inspire a child and/or a teenager to become better than they were yesterday. Everyday you step foot into that classroom, you have the ability to show them how to bring their best self to the world. It's a huge responsibility. Embrace it.

Embrace the differences of the day - especially when those lesson plans go awry. You're teaching humans, not robots, and sometimes things don't go as planned. It's part of the gig. But if you don't deal with whatever crisis happens to be disrupting that perfect plan, nobody will retain the information you're trying to teach. 

Teaching is a superpower. And it's probably one of the most undervalued professions in our country. But know that I see you. I value you. And so do your students - even in the moments when it seems like they would rather be anywhere else, know that if you love what you're doing, and love teaching, they'll remember that for the rest of their lives. My favorite teacher in high school was Dr. Figuerido. She was my biology teacher. I have a career that has absolutely nothing to do with biology. But she made an impression upon me, as a student, and as a human that I'll never forget - and I graduated high school quite a number of years ago. Brilliant teaching transcends time.

It never feels like there's enough time - and you're not alone in that. Not enough time to prep them for a test. Not enough time get them ready for a show. Or a game. Not enough time to work all day and night and then go home and whip up a healthy dinner. Not enough time to spend with your loved ones, and grade papers, and prepare, and still get at least six hours of sleep. So often people quip about finding the work/life balance - and you know what? Maybe that's the problem - we tell  ourselves that each day has to be perfectly balanced with the perfect amount of work and the perfect amount of life, and then beat ourselves up when that doesn't happen. Sometimes days are perfectly balanced - and then there are days when the scale tips one way or another. Sometimes days are filled with more work than your brain can handle, and putting anything else onto your plate will set you over the edge. So, I say, stop filling the plate. Take a breath. Reach for your favorite take out menu, and cut yourself a break. Each month of the school year will bring a different season - embrace the season in which you're in.

With each season of the year will come new obstacles, new successes, new hurdles to jump. When you let yourself lean into those changes you'll remember that the ever changing days are one of the most interesting and rewarding parts of this job. 

You hold one of the most important jobs society has - you're a teacher. And when the days seem like they're never ending, and when you feel like you're not doing a good job, and when you get frustrated about the millions of things that go wrong on any given day in a classroom, know that if just one kid goes home at the end of the day, smiling because of something you said, energized because of something you taught - well, that's a success.

Success in your classroom is not about good test scores. Success is in the moments of discussion where you see the lightbulbs go off - it's the times when the students have discussions amongst themselves, and you can sit back and watch them engage with one another like respectful, intelligent, empathetic young adults. It's the moments when you see your students grow into the people they are becoming, when they become keenly aware of the world around them, and want to do their part in making it better in whatever way they know how.

Hamilton Lessons

I recently wrapped up my second season of teaching theatre to adults with special needs. Special needs can mean an assortment of things, so to put it to context, many of my students have autism, some have Down Syndrome, others are nonverbal - and the list doesn't stop there.

It is by far the hardest teaching job I have had in my career - and I have been teaching for ten years now, but it has also lifted my heart and spirit in ways I never thought possible.

It's so cliche to say, but I often feel like my students teach me more than I teach them.

One student this semester was quite quiet in the beginning days. He didn't like to talk much. And, well, it's a theatre class, so you can imagine how that might pose a potential problem.

In an attempt to foster conversation, I did a twist on the Mirror Game - and instead of playing the game in silent, I had Wait For It, from Hamilton playing in the background.

My student lit up.

He started singing - and he knew all of the words.

Do you like Hamilton, I asked?

I love Hamilton, he said.

And there was our entry point. 

I asked him if there was a song he'd like to learn, and he said that he wanted to know MY SHOT. So I printed the lyrics out, and we went over it each week, for ten weeks.

The final class is an open class for parents - the theatre invites them to come to see what their children have been working on all semester. It's informal, but it's special. An intimate look into the learning process.

My student, who has Down Syndrome, performed MY SHOT perfectly. His mom cried. I got a bit weepy.

At the end of the song he asked his mom if she liked his emotion - naturally she said she loved it. How could you not?

Hamilton was the entry point for my student to be seen, to stand on his own, to shine, and it was beautiful.

Perhaps that's the greatest lesson in the show - to pay attention to those around you. To see someone else's story in yours. To recognize that we all have the ability to stand strong in our own story. 


The Sorry Space

I'm sorry.
Because, why?
Because you're sad. You're unhappy. You're mad. Because that horrible thing happened. 
It's not your fault.
I know.
Then why are you sorry?
I don't know.

I used to say sorry to fill the space.
Even writing that seems like an odd thing to say.
But it's true.
I used to say sorry to fill the space of silence. To apologize for things that weren't even within my control. To apologize for something that never had to do with me. I used to say sorry for pain that I never caused and hurt that was not my fault.
Sorry used to slip from my lips as easily as air.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
If you asked me why I apologized so much, I wouldn't have an answer.
And honestly, I still don't have the answer.
Somewhere along the line I got it into my head that it was my job to fix everyone. To take on their pain and hurt, and try and make it better.
Somewhere along the line, I started saying sorry for things that weren’t my fault, but it was all I could think of when I say people I loved and cared about in pain.
I’m sorry.
But as you might imagine, that wasn’t always the healthiest thing for me. I would venture to say that it’s not the healthiest thing for any human being.
Saying sorry all the time. Taking on the world's hurt. Trying to fix the discomfort and pain of those you cared about with a single word can get quite exhausting.
It can even be demeaning.
See, when you utter sorry enough, people think that they can do anything to you.
People think that they can step all over your heart and soul, and it’ll be ok, because you both know you’ll be the one saying sorry in the end.
Now does that sound right to you?
Does that sound kind to you?
I do hope your shaking your head no on the other side of this screen.
I do hope the world no slips from your lips.
Because no, it’s not ok at all.
See, if your heart is that of a fixer, a healer, a do-gooder, chances are you want to rid the world of all it’s horrors. Chances are you want to reach out to the people you see in pain, the ones who are sad, the ones are hurting, and wrap them in love and warmth that will fuze back the pieces of their broken hearts.
Chances are you see folks dining alone and stop for a second to wonder if they're lonely. Maybe you walk down the streets and stop to look in the eyes of those who have no home, and give them the last crumbled bill in your wallet. You’re probably the person who stays on the phone with a friend in need, long past when you’d ought to be in bed.
And you know what?
That’s beautiful.
Your heart is beautfiul.
That goodness is beautiful.
It is.
But guard your heart, ok?
Don’t be so quick to fill the space with sorry. Don’t be so fast to apologize for something that you had no control over.
Listen before you let sorry slip through your lips.
Your apology should land on the hearts of souls who need it, who'll appreciate, who will hear it. Fill the space with sorry when it’s needed - not when you are at a loss for what to say.


The Place of Praise

I tend to have a problem saying "thank you" when I'm complimented. 


Someone tells me, "you're so ___________________ (fill in the blank with something positive)", and I say, "oh, no YOU are." It's an active effort for me to sit in that place of praise. 

I don't do it on purpose. 

It's like a knee jerk reaction - and I have no idea where it comes from.

Perhaps it's my need to please people, or because I'm not always comfortable with attention on me, or because I am my own worst critic.


But here's the thing - I know too many wonderful humans who do exactly the same thing, especially women. Girlfriends of mine who are brilliant at their crafts, their careers, at motherhood, at marriage - they too shy away from living in that place of praise.

And I wish we'd all just...stop it.

Perhaps it would be easier to stand in that praise if we saw our fellow sisters doing the same thing - and celebrated them for it, and even encouraged them to do so more often.

So, ladies of the world, hear me when I say, "it's OK to own your magnificence and celebrate your accomplishments. It's OK to say "thank you" when someone recognizes the good in you and the greatness that you're doing."

Humility is beautiful, sure. But being humble doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel the praise. 

Feel it.

Own it.

Embrace it.