You Hope It Sticks

Theatre, it connects us all.

And yet...sometimes I think we forget about how much we're all connected.

Our actions affect one another. Our work affects one another. Our perspectives and outlooks on life - they can be palpable. 

My father is directing a production of This Wide Night at Guild Hall of East Hampton. Two of my closest friends are starring in the production. Other friends of mine are doing the technical aspects. 

Yesterday, they had students attend from a school that houses troubled youth.

For five years, I worked at an alternative high school teaching theatre and English. I worked with students who hated education. I worked with students who had horrible home lives. I worked with students who had drug addictions. I worked with students who were juggling being a teenage parents.

It was draining. It was rewarding. It was tiring. It was invigorating. 

It was a tiny million things and large ones all rolled up into one that I can't quite explain. For teaching in situations like that will age you, it will change you, it will stay with you.

Often it seems like your students don't care.

And truthfully, in that time and place they don't.

But you pray that something sticks. You keep trying to get through to them, to listen to them, to learn from them - and hope that they learn from you.

Today I got an unexpected Facebook message...

Hey I don't know if you remember me, but I was your student from Rocky Point Alternative High School. This is probably really strange but I wanted to let you know that I just saw This Wide Night at Guild Hall yesterday, and I know one of the lead actresses. I knew I thought the directors last name sounded so familiar! It really was an amazing show. Anyway, I'm starting college this summer, and was just remembering how much time you, as well as the rest of the teachers invested in trying to teach me. Sorry I didn't appreciate it then, but I definitely do now.

What a message.

What a blast from the past.

Of course I remembered her. 

It was a year when all the students seemed like they didn't care. It was a year when all words appeared to fall on deaf ears. It was a year when every effort felt thankless.

And yet...here we are.

Years later.

Apologies and gratitude, and knowing that my words did stick.

To all of my teacher friends trying to get through difficult and trying days - know that they hear you. Know that you matter. Know that your efforts are for something, that one day, even if you're not around to hear it or see it or know it, they will look fondly back on their high school years and think - thank you for caring.

Brussels.

I think of Brussels, and my heart breaks.

I think of Ankara, and my heart breaks.

I think of Paris and the wounds that have not healed and it still does not compute.

I think of Jaffa, and Kenya and the other places ad faces that terror and evil have touched and my whole body feels heavy.

How long is the list now? Better yet - when does it stop?

Today was a day I spent working at my desk, writing, writing, and writing. And I could see military planes flying overhead. I could hear their rumbles and growls.

Perhaps it's the teacher in me, but the question in my mind, the only thing occupying my thoughts all day long was, what do we tell our children?

I mean, honestly..what do you say?

There are a lot of little folks in my life who I love more than anything, there are quite a number of people in my life who are pregnant, ready to bring life into this world, and I can't help but wonder, what kind of world are we creating for them? What is this legacy we leave behind?

I cannot, and will not, condone such violence.

And I'm confident in saying that there is no man or woman who walks this earth, that is of sound mind that would ever justify what happened today.

But what does that leave us with? The normal, sane, intelligent folks of the world don't condone senseless violence and blowing up airports and train stations and movie theatres and schools and  concert halls. Ok, great.

But now what?

I want to know what to do.

I've always wanted to know what to do. Give me a task. Give me a goal. Give me a cause. Give me something. Cause sitting back and watching people do unspeakable, despicable, disgusting acts in the name of another has never really sit well with me.

See, I believe that the good people of this planet are on the same page as me. That the lot of us recognize that such violence is NEVER justified. I believe that the good people on this planet do not want this violence and terror to be the normal for our children, and our children's children.

I cannot believe that we, as people, will let such darkness squelch out our light. I have to hold onto hope. To love. I have to hold onto the strength that comes from compassion and support of your brothers and sisters.

I want to know what to do.

But all I have is this. We must be there for one another. We must be an ear to listen. A shoulder to cry on. Open arms that welcome an embrace.

I believe that love triumphs over hate. And I believe we must do better.

We have to.

Little Shop of Dreams

There's something about an empty theater that soothes me. Revives me. Inspires me. Sure, it's beautiful when each of those seats are full -- but there is also a certain magic that occurs in those moments after the show has started...when the dust has settled and the ghost light is on, and the story that has just been told still lingers in the air.

That is, by far, one of my favorite moments in any run. For the magic that has undoubtedly happened onstage cannot ever be repeated, no two performances are ever completely identical. That's the beauty of this artform - it forces us to remember & to embrace change. It demands that we cherish moments of connection and intensity and collaboration, moments that, despite the pictures and videos that may have been taken, can only really be repeated in our memories.

🌿

I just wrapped up a prduction of Little Shop of Horrors. The entire production involved almost 90 teenagers.

TEENAGERS.

I just worked with 90 teenagers, and yet, I'm still living.

But all kidding aside - I just watched 90 teenagers work together for three months. They all had different skills. They all had different weaknesses. They all had different strengths. They all were different.

And yet, their differences came together for a greater good.

Those differences came together to create a piece of art that will last in their hearts and souls for as long as they live.

Those differences came together, and united a group of people.

Perhaps our politicans should take a theatre class, eh? Not for public speaking - but to understand what it means to work with someone whom you do not like. To work with someone that has a different set ideals than you. To work for something bigger than your immediate universe.

I've heard it said that actors and artists have the biggest egos in the universe.

Instead I'd say this - perhaps they have the smallest ones, for a true artist is more concerned about the work at hand than his or her own ego.

To the cast, crew, & pit of Little Shop of Horrors - I hope these memories stay with you for the rest of your life. I hope you always remember of a time when a group of young adults came together for something bigger than themselves. I hope you remember that with hard work, love, & passion, all things are possible. I hope you know how proud I am of each and every one of you.

Love and Gratitude

LOVE SONGS for V-Day Volume 3 is coming up.

For those of you who aren't familiar, V-Day is a movement that was sparked by Eve Ensler's play, The Vagina Monologues.

V-Day is a global activist movement to end violence against women and girls. V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money, and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls, including rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation (FGM), and sex slavery.

LOVE SONGS for V-Day is a concert where performers from across the city come to celebrate this cause. And Eve. And music. And love. We sing, we laugh, we smile,  we dazzle the audience, and then we donate a portion of the proceeds to V-Day.

It's this Saturday, February 13th, at Feinstein's/54 Below at 9:30pm. A limited amount of tickets are available here.

And while I should probably be writing another press release, or fixing schedules…I'm sitting here, typing this post.

(I mean let's be honest - it's 3AM - I should be going to bed.)

But I have gratitude on my mind, and I cannot sleep.

For it takes a village to put on a theatrical production.

And if you're lucky…that village is your tribe.

At the risk of sounding cheesy, they know your beats. Your heart beats. Your brain beats. Your creative beats.

They share the same dreams.

If you're lucky, you are surrounded by a tribe of people who are willing to put in blood, sweat, tears, laughter, love, heart, and all the nitty gritty feelings I can't quite put into words.

I think theatre is just that - all those moments in life that can't put into words. The moments that the most truly eloquent string of sylabbles still cannot encapsulate.

See, if you're lucky, you are surrounded by a tribe that becomes your cheerleader, your confidante, your sounding board.

If you're lucky, you are surrounded by souls who do not judge you should you send an email with a great idea at 2am.

No, they are the folks who get just as excited about said idea.

In my perfect world, I would hold this concert every year with each and every musician, performer, and composer who has participated in years past.

It would be huge.

It would be great.

It would make Eve Ensler proud.

It would be a reminder to the artistic community, and the world, that we are more connected than we seem to realize. That it does no good to draw lines in the sand to seperate us all - for an eagerness to divide, rather than unite, is not progression it's just…regression.

But alas, we have not booked Carnegie Hall or Radio City Music Hall…

...yet.

And so I am not able to include the everyone who's been a part of the growing tribe that is Love Songs for V-Day past and present.

But, I'd be remiss in not thanking them. Each and every year this concert grows beyond my wildest expecations, and it's because of the love of this tribe.

So thank you, 

Loni Ackerman, Tracee Beazer Barrett, Anna Ty Bergman, Will Buck, Micah Burgess, Maddie Shea Baldwin, Alex Brightman, Virginia Cavaliere, Max Crumm, Carmel Dean, Ariana DeBose, Lauren Elder, Jessica Lara Finney, Drew Gasparini, Samantha Gershman, Kerri George, Jessica Howard, Siri Howard, Joe Iconis, Melissa Rose Hirsch, Jessica Kahkoska, Hannah Kloepfer, TJay Kowalchuk, Dave LeBlanc, Meredith Lesley, Lauren Marcus, Angelo McDonough, Happy McPartlin, Marisa Miller, Ashley Moniz, Jessica Mortellaro, T.J. Newton, Taylor Noble, Chika Obiora, Ryan Scott Oliver, Drew Overcash, Alexander Sage Oyen, Josh Pemberton, Krista Pioppi, Olivia Polci, JP Qualters, Max Quinlan, Benjamin Rauhala, Peter Romagna, Rob Rokicki, Mike Rosengarten, Krysta Rodriguez, Andrea Ross, Anthony Rubbo, Monet Sabel, Zoe Sarnak, Dave Schoonover, Abigail Shapiro, Milly Shapiro, Taylor Sorice, Jennifer Ashley Tepper, Katie Thompson, Emily Tyra, Stephanie Turci, Christopher Lee Viljoen, Michelle Veintimilla, Alan Wiggins, Natalie Weiss, and Nat Zegree.

This year, Broadway's season includes Eclipsed, Waitress, On Your Feet, and The Color Purple.

This year, women like Lupita Nyong'o and Phillipa Soo and Renee Elise Goldsberry and Jasime Cephas Jones are making history.

This year, I'm once again producing and directing the third annual LOVE SONGS for V-Day at Feinstein's/54 Below, where on  February 13th a group of beautiful and talented and amazing artists will gather at Broadway's Supper Club to celebrate love and life and the message of Eve Ensler's work.

Last year, I featured a cast of all female performers.

This year, the evening will feature music written solely by women musical theatre composers. Because they deserve to be celebrated. Because their words are wonderful. Because women are shaping the landscape of musical theatre. Because women are shaping the world as we know it.

Because it's the year of the woman. The girl. The old lady.

Because it's the year for us all.

#LoveVDAY54

Give A F*CK

The snow is starting to fall, and I can't sleep.

I keep thinking about this father and son I saw walking along the side of the road when I was driving home the other day.

(I don't know if they were actually father and son. But that's what it seemed like.) 

He was pushing a stroller, and there was a toddler trotting alongside him. They had winter coats on…and he also had a cardboard sign on his back.

HOMELESS was the only word I could make out.

And, well, I'm not proud of it, but I kept driving.

The snow is starting to fall, and I can't sleep.

I keep thinking of that man and child.

What are the going to do if the blizzard strikes as bad as they say? Where will they go? What will they eat? How will they stay warm? Would the five bucks I had have helped?

Recently, I saw this post on the interwebs that I thought was brilliant.

It said - 

"Why do people brag about not giving fucks? Do they think it makes them more appealing? Like hey look at me, I'm a heartless asshole. The best kind of people are the ones who give plenty of fucks, the ones with massive hearts who give too many fucks. They are my favourite kind of people."

Again I keep thinking of that man with the toddler.

The snow keeps falling. 

And he's still in my mind.

Again I'm drawn to this quote.

GIVE A F*CK.

In the age of empowerment and independence and social media highlight streams, we've learned how to take control of our own destiny. And that's a beautiful thing.

But somewhere along the line we forgot how to care about each other.

The term "give no fucks" has become a favorite. A GODFORSAKEN HASHTAG.

Everyone wants peace. Everyone wants equal rights for all. Everyone wants rainbows and unicorns and all things happy (don't get me wrong, I'm on that happy train too), but…how are we supposed to live in peace and harmony if we don't care about one another? If things like #zerofucksgiven is a trendy thing to do?

The snow is falling.

And I still don't know where that man and toddler are going to wind up.

But, I give a fuck.

I do.

I think we all should start to give a fuck a little bit more. 

I think we'd all be better off.

Viviene

A week ago, my dear friend Kate gave me the greatest gift. She had asked me to teach a theatre class at The East Hampton Senior Citizens Center. My teaching experience is quite extensive, and yet, it had never included senior citizens.

But when Kate asks you to do something, you say yes. 

It's usually good for the heart.

It always feeds the artistic soul.

So, I said yes.

I walked into the center, armed with my lesson. I had recently developed a workshop entitled, "Words to My Younger Self", in which the students of the class would pick a piece of advice that they wished they had known when they were younger. They would write out this life lesson, and then perform their monologues for the class.

The director of the Center loved the idea.

I loved the idea.

All was well.

I walked into the classroom, and began to organize my papers, and put out pens. I counted chairs, making sure we had enough. I began to put the chairs in the circle.

And then my students began to walk in.

Bud was 85 years old.

Jean was in her early 70s.

Brianne was in her late sixties, and had suffered head trauma.

Trudy was in her mid 70s. 

And then there was Viviene. 

…Viviene was 97.

It became crystal clear that writing, well, that wasn't in the cards.

I had a mild panic attack for a second. (Nobody could tell, of course.)

What was I going to teach these people?

Theatre games, the director said. You know, like, improv!

Now, while I appreciate the help, IMPROV was not going to work with this crowd. It's hard enough to do that with a group of students who are in performance training.

Luckily, improv was always my favorite. And so…I switched gears real quick.

I'm fortunate to have two of my grandparents still with me. My grandfather is 91, and my grandmother, my Nonna, she's 90.

And it was the words of Nonna that echoed through my brain at that moment...

"Megan, us old people. We have no future. We know that. So what makes us happiest is talking about the past."

And so…we spoke of the past. The pulse of theatre is based in storytelling, and the collective wisdom and experience between all of them was huge. So, with me gently facilitating the questions, each of them told their story, and then they each gave me a piece of advice.

Each and every one of them lit up as they recounted the stories of the good ol' days. The reminsced about old neighborhoods, old celebrties, and what life was like, 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago. 

I wish I could've bottled up the magic that happened.

For some reason, Viviene was my favorite. Later on I was told that she has terrible short term memory, and often forgets where she is, but, in that hour with me, she had no trouble sharing about her life, and was not shy about giving me a piece of advice.

With a difference of sixty-seven years between us, she told me:

"Don't break the law. Always stay on the right side of a question - when's someone's asking you something, you have to make a decision of how to respond. Make the right one. Be true to yourself. Be kind. Remember that it's never too late to find love. I was a painter, an author, and a teacher, but I was not lucky in the love department. But I never closed myself off to it. Don't ever close yourself off to it."

What a woman, eh?

And as we are entrenched in this Christmas season, and forge our way into 2016, I hope we remember Viviene's words. For it's not the things in life that count - but the people you meet, the stories you listen to, and the new memories that you make.

Thank you, Kate, for one of the best Christmas gifts I have recieved. 

You Matter

Because you matter to me
Simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody
You matter to me
I promise you do, you, you matter too
I promise you do, you see?
You matter to me

You matter to me. You matter. To me. You matter to me.

Say that on repeat, because I'm starting to realize that not enough people hear those words. Not enough people at all.

....

I've walked past too many homeless people than I care to count.

It's a lot.

I mean, if you work where I work, it's inevitable. If you live in New York, it's inevitable.

But still, it's a lot.

And while I walk past these individuals more times than I care to count, it's never not once affected me. 

How can it not?

Cries for money. For food. For a life that's better than the one he or she is living - that sticks. Those are not cries that can roll off my back so easily. Each cry, it sticks.

This month, I'm working on a show in Salt Lake City.

Today was my first day off, and so I wanted to explore. To walk. To see this city. 

The second I stepped out of my building, I was confronted with a homeless woman.

And she wanted to ask me a question...

Maybe it was Paris. And Beuirt. And Kenya. Maybe it was the fact that I was called to this city to create art. Maybe it was the  sad state of the world in which we live - but something made me stop.

I listened to her questions. 

I told her not to worry as she apologized for her cold sores - and I took in as much of her story as I could.

And I'm reminded of a new song by Sara Bareilles - You Matter To Me.

Because you matter to me
Simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody
You matter to me
I promise you do, you, you matter too
I promise you do, you see?
You matter to me

In light of recent events, I'm wondering how often we forget to tell this to the people we care about. Not just lovers - but friends. Family members. Co-workers. People who make your life better - if only for a moment.

The world is not big enough to think that we're all isolated from one another. We need to matter to one another more - and we need to tell one other of the worth that we have in each other's lives. 

You matter. You always matter. Sheltered or homeless - you matter. You were once a light in someone's life - and even though it may dim, there's no reason why that light has to extinguish for forever. 

Life will always be complicated, but complications do not diminish your worth.

Take the time to listen to one another. Take the time to tell those whom you love that they matter. 

I Can Only Hope...

Just yesterday I was writing about a Christmas musical I'm working on in Salt Lake City....about the fact that one of the songs is Seasons of Love, from RENT - and how the world always needs more love.

...

Today one of my best friends told me that she's finally pregnant with a little girl.

And then, during lunch, one of my new friends said Paris is burning. It's in chaos. There are explosions. There are hostage situations.

.......and here I am, once again at my computer.

On one hand, I feel like words cannot reach moments of such terror and tragedy.

And yet, on the other hand, I feel like it's the words that we share now are the most important ones of all, for they will be the beacons of light that pierce through such darkness. 

I can't wrap my head or my heart around what happened in Paris today, November 13th. I just can't.

Today was horrible. It was deplorable. It was awful.

The terror and violence that occured today was, and will always be, inexcusable.

I'm an ocean away, and yet, my insides hurt for the people of Paris, and the entire of country France.

I'm an ocean away, and yet, my insides hurt for all of us.

For we have to do better.

We must do better.

Today one of my dearest friends told me she was finally pregnant with her little girl. And all I can think about is that child.

Is this the world that we're bringing our children into?

It can't be. It just can't.

We have to do better.

We must do better.

Freedom, joy, and choice were under attack on November 13th. But I can only hope that we, as a collective, will not give such monsters that victory.

I can only hope that we condemn such violence. Over and over and over again. Never should excuses be made for such acts.

I can only hope that we start to talk to one another more. To listen to one another more. To support one another more.

I can only hope that we begin to learn about the things that we do not understand, and respect the differences between us. Differences will always exist - but it is how we treat those differences that count.

I can only hope that love will triumph over hate, that good will prevail over evil, that after such darkness one will face the brightest of light.

I can only hope...

Now, an ocean away, I pray for Paris. I pray for peace. I pray for love and compassion to sweep The City of Lights on it's darkest day. 

And I hope...

I hope that one day we are able to sympathize with whatever tragedy falls upon our fellow brothers and sisters. Cause the comparison of horror is just...sad. Pointing fingers and presenting personal and political agendas when people are grieving is not progress. It's regression. We all cry the same salty tears. We all bleed the same blood. We all need some more love.

Seasons of Love

A cup.

Lately, if you’ve tuned into the interwebs, you’ve heard some commotion about the Starbuck’s “Christmas” cup. 

What’s the issue? It doesn’t have SNOWFLAKES. It’s red, it’s green, but there are snowflakes missing…and it’s created somewhat of an uproar.

And all I can say is…WOW. I think Jesus is just shaking his head in sadness. In the fact that we seem to be missing the point of Christmas altogether with petty arguments such as this.

Because like it or not people, this is not what Christmas is about.

…

This month, I have the honor and privilege of being part of It Happened One Christmas at the Pioneer Theatre Company in Salt Lake City.

It truly is a lovely show, fusing Christmas favorites from both prose and music into a delightful story.

One of the songs, is Seasons of Love, from the Broadway show RENT.

And, quite frankly, it’s a brilliant choice for the holiday season.

Allow me to remind you of the lyrics:

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Moments so dear

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

How do you measure-measure a year

 

In daylights- in sunsets

In midnites- in cups of coffee

In inches- in miles

In laughter- in strife

 

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

How do you measure a year in the life

How about love

How about love

How about love

Measure in love

Seasons of love

Seasons of love

 

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

How do you measure the life

Of a woman or a man

 

In truth that she learns

Or in times that he cried

In bridges he burned

Or the way that she dies

 

Its time now to sing out

Tho the story never ends

Lets celebrate

Remember a year in the life of friends

 

Remember the love

Remember the love

Remember the love

Measure in love

Seasons of love

Seasons of love

Measure in love. IN LOVE. IN LOVE. IN LOVE.

Christmas, dear folks, is not about a snowflake count on a coffee cup. It’s about love. About giving. About selflessness. About heart.

It’s not about the material. It’s about the moments shared with those that you love. It’s about celebrating the goodness that exists in one another - in cherishing the tiny moments that slip under our radar all too often in other moments of the year.

Christmas is about birth. About life. About love. About celebration. It should be a day when we all come together - not an excuse to further any divide.

Let’s celebrate. 

Let’s forget about the naysayers - and remember the love.

Taking My Own Advice

I've always felt like the moment you put something on paper, the moment you type something out…it becomes official.

Maybe it's silly, maybe it's the writer in me, but alas, it's this thing I have.

So I suppose the time has come to type the following - I was chosen to be an Karen Azenberg's SDCF Observer at The Pioneer Theatre Company, for their production of It Happened One Christmas. I'm trying to be very eloquent at the moment. But really, if we're being honest, all I want to to say is - 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(again and again and again - AHH. And all the happy smiley emoticons. The one's with the heart eyes, too.)

See, in the spirit of honesty, I've always wanted to be a director. I saw my first Broadway show in 1991, and I think it's safe to say I've had a love of theatre and storytelling ever since.

But, I'm a little too practical for my own good at times. 

Perhaps it was fear of rejection. Perhaps it was just good old fashioned practicality. Perhaps it was a constant internal battle, wondering if I was good enough….

…who knows.

But, when I came out of college, I went right to graduate school for theatre education. To me, that was the smart move. The grown up move. The practical move.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love teaching. I'll always love teaching. I spent last year teaching six periods of theatre to the brightest kids I've ever met - and directing them in their school productions. They taught me more about education and life and art more than any class I ever taught in graudate school.

And most of all, they taught me to take my own advice.

Go after what you want, I would tell them.

Don't let anyone tell you you're not good enough, I would tell them.

Chase your dreams, because there are few things worse than looking back on your life with regret. I would never want any of you to go through that. 

At the end of the year, one of my student's, we'll call her Laney, said...

I hope you take your advice. I hope you chase your dreams, too.

Ah, from the mouths of babes.

I suppose it was at the end of last year that I knew I needed to make a leap. I needed to open myself to all sorts of directing opportunities, and not be tied down to a traditional classroom setting.

And so, I made the scariest decision I've ever been faced with in my professional career, and left the classroom this year.

It wasn't something I decided lightly, but, it was something I had to do. I needed to try. I didn't want to always be wondering.

I decided to apply to the SDCF Observership Program agian - but this time I wouldn't limit myself to NY theatres. (I had applied to the program for the past two years, but only limited myself to NY theatres, and I was never was placed with a director.)

Once again I got into the program, but, just because you get in, doesn't mean you get placed with a director. Once an Observership Opportunity arises, you have to write an essay/statement to the director, explaining why you want to work with them and why you're a good fit for their show. Then that director decides if they want to bring you on.

I interviewed with Karen, and she picked me.

I think I'm still in shock.

I always tell my students that one of the biggest signs of adulthood is knowing when to ask for help, and knowing when to say thank you.

Naturally, gratitude must always be paid to my parents, for supporting my wild artistic endeavours. I'd be living in my car if it weren't for them. That's no joke - it's quite true.

My brother also plays a huge role in keeping me grounded and putting things in perspective. Thanks, kiddo. 

But I'd also be remiss in not thanking my mentors who've helped me along the way - Emma, Greg, Kate, Josh, Loni, Scott, Mana, and Susan….and plenty other folks along the way. But these guys, well, they wrote me recommendations, they answered my questions, the helped me network, they gave me opportuntities to direct and produce and learn and grow - and for that I will be forever grateful.

Thank you all. For your guidance. For your trust. For sharing your wisdom. For taking a chance on me. 

We don't live in a vaccum. The relationships you make, both personally and profesisonally, are all interwoven. And in the theatre profession, the great Mana Allen would say, is a tribe. A tribe of artists, yes. But it's a tribe of people coming together to create something bigger and more beautiful than themselves. It's a tribe of people coming together to leave this world better than they found it. It's a tribe of people giving voices to those who have lost the will to speak.

Sometimes, it's easy to get swept up in competition, and forget about the tribe.

But helping one another, (no matter what your profession may be), is so vitally important. It makes your tribe stronger. It makes the world better. It makes the work last longer.

Thank you to my tribe. I'm so fortunate to know you all.