Week 17: I've lost track of time...thank God

Losing track of time means I'm obviously not living with any idea of what's coming next.  Some might find this disconcerting, but I say: Hallelujah!
Present concentration, restored.

(Had to start this post actually on Monday last so I could remember what happened!)

Monday: Workout with a friend - a new circuit at the gym that involved supersets...supersets being two strength-training exercises rolled into one smooth movement, like a lunge with a shoulder press.  A surprising amount of sweat cropped up all over the place...and continued well throughout the day.  An evening in Queens performing a staged reading proved very successful...especially the subway adventure out and back.  First, an evangelist assuredly pronounced to the Queens-bound passengers that Jesus was coming and "Anyone with two boyfriends...will not be going to Heaven."  The return trip was even more humorous, as waiting underground for the #7 train for an hour left me feeling like I had just paid $2.25 to sit in a sauna with my clothes on.  Funny, no?

Tuesday: A day with torrential thunderstorms, threatening the Shanghai Symphony and NY Philharmonic Central Park event.  However, it held off and we camped out under an overcast sky, listening with thousands of others to Bernstein, Tchaikovsky, and Gershwin until it grew dark.  Running early in the morning doing speed intervals wore me out...those supersets left me supersore.

Wednesday: Well, at this point, I forgot to write down what I did this day, so let's assume it was successful in terms of having fun and forgetting about time.

Thursday: Packing and running around completing errands before my weekend home.  Some time was spent in the gym too, I think.

Friday: Up early and on planes all day.  Walked miles through the CO airport on my layover to get some exercise and stretch my legs.  Hello, moving walkways, I'm traveling without your help.

Saturday: An early run with superfit, super-duper friend K.  After a night of wining and dining, the fresh CA air was almost too good to be true.  The bridal shower surprise turned out to be successful as well.

Sunday: A surreal day, with visiting the Farmer's Market, enjoying some time with beloved friend J and soaking up much needed sunshine (apparently I'm "pasty"), and being home...away from "home".  Did not look forward to the trip back to NY, oddly enough.  I think my soul has been needing some West Coast rest.  Prospects for returning were tempting.

Ironically, the losing track of time made me feel like I had never left California - it was so easy to slip back into the charmed life of a Bay Area resident - almost too easy.  It left me thinking about the future for a few days however, and getting back to the present would take up time next week....

Week 16: The Year of Fun

Walking home late one evening with some friends, I was struck by the idea of how much stress I had accumulated over the past year, and how I was still feeling anxiety over the remaining year of graduate school, the future search for a job, the future financial securities...basically concentrating so much energy into the future, that I was neglecting the present.  In fact it occurred to me, as I looked down at my summery flip-flops, that I had forgotten how to be present.  Here I was, listening to light-hearted laughter over the day's antics, breezing down Broadway under a full moon, surrounded by smiling, joyous people, and my concentration was only stopping in for a little check-up on the subject of conversation before jumping back into thoughts about what I needed to prepare for the next day.

I stopped myself in the street as a bolt of inspiration hit me and proclaimed to my friend Laura, "I am going to have fun. Everyday.  Starting now."  And with that, I ran towards the nearest scaffolding and launched myself onto the highest bar I could reach and gave a leaping split kick into the air.

(I honestly cannot tell you what came over me, but witnesses will testify that I had just imbibed a delicious concoction commonly known as "Bubble Tea"...known to induce glee and satisfaction within 15 minutes of digestion.)

Since that inspired revelation last week, I have stuck with the quest: A year of fun.  Everyday.  Something fun.

It's changed my life so far.

Monday: Recovering from the Fourth of July barbecue for the residents.  100 plus people, two charcoal grills, one social director in a sarong, and an evening of three fireworks displays from the rooftop.  Running commenced to cover the cost of the hot dogs.  Evening consisted of an inspiring presentation of a youth refugee film screening at the House.

Tuesday: The hottest day on record.  Decided to tromp about in the park at 3pm and sweat the heat out.  Funnily enough, I cooled off so much I slept like a baby that evening.  Also had to bid farewell to a great friend who was returning to the Netherlands.

Wednesday: Running in the evening to cool off.  Complete with a romp through some late-night sprinklers.

Thursday: Ice Cream Social and a mini-dance party in honor of the return of a beloved friend from the Czech Republic.

Friday: Party in honor of National Sugar Cookie Day.  Spent the day sauna-like in the community kitchen, whipping up some homemade cookies for the event, and then decorated the pub.  Danced and socialized til the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday: Energized from the week, went on a run and did some Rocky-esque log tossing in the wooded area of the park.  Then rode over to East Harlem to catch up with a friend and explore the neighborhood.  Nothing like Puerto Rican hoots and hollers to raise the self-esteem.  Gracias, papi, but no, I did not drop your heart in the street, nor will I bend down to get it for you.

Sunday: The World Cup finals.  Spain pulled through, though it took them long enough.  Rehearsal for a staged reading at Ripley-Grier studios made me feel like a real NYC actor.

Thus far, the commitment to fun has proved to be the best idea I've had in....well, ever.  Try it out for a week - seek out something fun everyday - and you tell me just how much it rocks. 

Week 15: Hot Fun in the Summertime

A heat wave has hit New York.  I'll try and describe the sensation of a heat wave.
Imagine waking up with humidity and 90 degree heat.
Rather, imagine lying in a pool of tepid water, with your clothes on, and taking breaths of stale, warm air.
That's what it's like to lie on your bed in the morning at 7am.
There's really no better motivation for not eating than excessive heat and oppressive humidity.

Monday: Stairmaster for 20 minutes.  Luckily the gym is air-conditioned.  Unluckily, the effect of a cold shower after a workout will not last for more than 10 minutes.

Tuesday: Yoga to the People - a donation-based studio that caters to the hip, broke crowd of deodorant-free students.  I kept slipping off my mat from all the sweat dripping off my body.

Wednesday: Walking around the city, sweating my armpits off.

Thursday: Rest day.  This means finding a cold, dark room and staying there for as long as possible.  My mini-fridge was a quick alternative.

Friday: Wandering around The Met for 4 hours - cold, airy, and lots of marble.  Perfect antidote for the weather.

Saturday: Cold, dark room search.  Unsuccessful.

Sunday: Organizing a resident BBQ - 100 guests on the roof, two grills which I sweltered over for four hours, and three different fireworks display from our terrace view.  It was like a day at the spa: healthy food, relaxing atmosphere, and a sauna.

This week: mission to find a pool.

Week(s) 10-14: New Regime

Yes, it's been a while. Yes, I'm going to condense a month's worth of exercising into one post.
Yes, it took some encouragement from friends to get back to the posting.
(Thank you, you-know-who-you-are.)

After a rather lengthy recuperating from the past year of school wherein they tried their best to kill us (death by rehearsal), I'm finally feeling somewhat rested.  It took me until now to settle down and convince myself that, as I awoke each weekday morning, there was not a pressing need to memorize something, translate an accent, prepare a character background, or rehearse that evening.  In fact, my body forgot how to sleep in until I force-slept myself back into the habit.  Yes, it took about a month.

However, I did not forget how to exercise, and in fact managed to overcome phantom-excuses (I used to be able to say I was too tired from rehearsal) and get myself to the gym, or outdoors.  As previously noted, I started a running group, and yes, I have been sticking to it, and yes, it did create a new regime for me by nature of inception.  Ironically, I seek out running on my own more often than I did when I didn't have a running group to lead.  In addition, the summer season gives me more incentive to be outside, hence weekend trips to the beach and/or mountains for various recreational activities.

So, what did those weeks of mental and dormant recuperation entail?  There was running, and ellipticals, some swimming, and some body-weight strength training (push-ups, sit-ups, dips, plank, etc).
Essentially, I've plateaued, since my workouts haven't really changed in the past month.
Yes, this became apparently linked to the reason why perhaps I haven't seen any changes!

But, change is just around the corner...I hope.

Another encouraging friend of mine once told me that I should increase either my workout a) intensity or b) duration, over time...in order to keep pushing my body to change.  It makes sense, doesn't it?  If you climb the same hill everyday, it gets easier over time and you adapt...and your body wakes up every morning thinking you're going to climb that hill - preparing for that.  You develop a habit, and a way to efficiently deal with the now-commonplace task...

Kind of like going to school everyday for 30 weeks out of the year and trying to get through it as efficiently as possible.  Waking up everyday knowing there's a hill to conquer, and you've developed a habit of preparing for that.  But this year didn't become a commonplace task.  In fact, it became rather difficult as the year went on...and yes, I had to work harder to cope.  I worked harder, and the changes happened mentally and emotionally and intellectually.  But, the change only happened because the tasks had become more demanding over time.

This parallel, however, also reveals to me that if I go full out too long without any breaks or rewards, I need a month to reset myself.

Which is why I'm taking this new regime with a little more flexibility.  I had forgotten why I set out to do this in the first place, and now, as I mark the 78-days-until-my-BMI-goal count, I remember that I wanted to feel better about myself.  But I've somehow lost track of how I feel about myself.

But luckily I'm aware now, and that's a change in and of itself.

Week 9: Set Back/Sit Back

This week was all about settling into summer, and (hopefully) establishing a new workout regime.  Turned out to be more like settling into hopefully establishing summer.

Monday: In a fervor of frustration at my lack of exercise from last week, I launched myself onto a Spinning bike during lunchtime and proceeded to sweat out every ounce of motivation over a period of 45 minutes.  I spun so fast that the pedals started to feel like tiny prison mouths on my feet.  That, combined with the raving barks of our instructor - who was NOT spinning, but pacing around on two feet - reminded me of the similarities I have found in the past with militant gym experiences.
The best moment of the day was realizing I spent my lunch break between my four finals in a healthy expenditure of stress.

Tuesday: Happy to have completed my second year of graduate school, I quickly caught up on the dormant sickness that had been waiting to attack for the past five months.  Confined to bed with a nasty head cold and sheer exhaustion, I dragged my poor feet onto the elliptical machine and then switched to running as fast as I could to clear out my sinuses.  I may have discovered a new workout motivation - the Breathe-Easy Routine.

Wednesday: Still fighting the residual sickness, I slept and slept and slept.

Thursday: Going into work, I did not feel like doing any sort of physical activity, but convinced myself to just do 10 minutes.  after 10 minutes, if I didn't want to keep going, I promised myself I could stop.  So, I hopped in the pool, and 10 minutes was all I did.

Friday: Nearly missed the bus out of the city to DC for brother's graduation ceremonies.  Walked all over 34th St area and then did a hotel workout upon arrival that consisted of jumping rope (mimicking the rope, of course) in one place until my calves wanted to fall off.  Worked up a nice little sweat doing that, and then did some sit-ups and push-ups.  Still, I am never quite satisfied with anything less than a 30-minute regime.

Saturday: Graduation festivities and tromping around everywhere in heels.  That counts for something on most days, except all the graduation toasts and meals made up for that.

Sunday: Cleaned house, in heels again (this wasn't on the original grad weekend celebration list), and literally swept up dust bunnies from the graduating seniors' apartment.  That and walking around everywhere surely added up to a pedometer reading, but nothing in the way of cardiorespiratory...unless you count the sneezing from all the sweeping.

And then, getting home late Sunday night, I couldn't bring myself to write about the week, as I sensed I had failed somehow.  I suppose the stress of completing my second year, coupled with the idea that I still have work to do, and there's no vacation I've planned for just myself...well, those things made me feel like I should just sit down and give up - or at least give myself a break.  I'm still down about the lack of progress I can(not) see, and herein I'm facing (again) my termination point.  This is usually the place where I give up and get extremely frustrated and refuse to subject myself to physical torment.
However, instead of giving up completely, I started a running group at the House.  That, i suppose, was a step in the right direction.  We'll start on Monday evenings.  Hopefully, the new workout regime will find a way to create itself.

Week 8: Nothing Doing

I literally did nothing this week.  There is a bevy of "shoulda-woulda-coulda"s running through my mind as I sit down to reflect on this week, but the cold fact is that I was unmotivated to workout this week and felt disappointed in my physical self.  It's been 8 weeks, and although my colleagues have commented that they notice I'm slimming down, I can't see it - neither in the mirror or on the scale.  I swear, the scale has not budged an inch, and my clothes seem to fit just the same.  The only difference I can note is that when I do workout, I feel that I surprise myself with my endurance and capacity.  Thus, I just couldn't bear to step into my shoes for a workout.

Monday through Friday were finals week.  This fact alone *should* have motivated me to blow off stress in a healthy manner, but I simply gave up the mental battle to drag myself to the gym.  I did walk a little extra during my commute, exiting one subway stop before my usual, so my walking back-and-forth each day summed up to about 25 minutes instead of 15.  Still, instead of patting myself on the back about this small adjustment, I just feel lazy and pathetic.  Although some trainers say to concentrate on the positive, to me, walking an extra 10 minutes each day (which adds up to nearly an hour over the week) is not enough.  It was something, but then again squatting down to sit on the toilet could be something too.  It surely doesn't replace a cardiovascular workout.

That idea, "not enough", is another hurdle I've been battling with outside my workouts.  I wonder when I will ever be "enough"...healthy enough, slim enough, smart enough, creative enough, artistic enough...the train is endless.  (I guess that's what my mom keeps calling my need for "perfectionism".)  However, I've discovered that I get demotivated by the thought that I might never be "enough" - and when trying to achieve a physical goal, this thought is enough to stop me in my tracks and sit my patootie right back down.  If I'm never going to be enough, then what's the point of chasing down an infinite result?

The resultant discovery is that it never WILL be enough, so I've got to find some other reason for doing it...namely, enjoyment.  This week, I reflected on the fact that I was unmotivated to workout, something I should be enjoying by now.  In my reflection, I found that I need to find more activities which motivate me because of the sheer joy I gain in doing them.  That's the quest for this week.  I know that I enjoy running (in moderation) and swimming (especially outside) and dancing (which I have rare opportunities to do).  So, I'll just have to figure out how to motivate myself this week to seek out those types of activities in order to counteract the perfectionism mindset and re-boot my joy of pursuing this task I've set for myself.

Week 7: Running Heaven

The weather turned great, then rainy, then beautiful, then cold.  Luckily, the alternating days of temperature allowed me to run during sunshine sans showers hours.

Monday: Decided to try something new - not working out on the first day of the week.  Result: I felt a nagging sense of anxiety all day, especially when contemplating how this day of rest might translate into a habit for the rest of the week.

Tuesday: Doubts allayed, as I got out running in the evening sunshine.  I was so ecstatic to be outside, I ran for a full 35 minutes, including hills.  I had my music on, and I literally felt like I was flying through the park.  I had a ridiculous smile on my face, and I was reminded of a lifestyle I used to have in California, which made the workout bittersweet.

Wednesday: Rested, as the rain was terrible. Plus a full day of school and meetings for summer job (I'm running the Programs at the International House!) made for a lot of trekking back and forth to various locations.

Thursday: Running again, and this time with a friend.  Nothing more motivating than running with a friend, and nothing makes the time go by faster!

Friday: Grotowski physical in the morning, and then a quick workout at the gym in the afternoon.  I've become bored with the machines, so I've started watching TV on them while I trudge along.  It definitely makes the time pass faster, but I feel better when I'm consciously tracking how the workout is going.

Saturday: Performances for class all day, and rehearsing.  Skipped working out in favor of moving sets around on stage and tromping up and down stairwells for four hours.

Sunday: Worked out in the pool.  Was really sluggish when I started, but once I started doing intervals, the time flew by.  Yes, the fast lane again.  It's getting easier.

I was mindful of my stress eating the week too.  I've been minding a lower glycemic index during mealtimes, resulting in less blood sugar spikes.  Helpful when I'm in late afternoon classes and trying to stay awake....

This week is finals week.  I'm already feeling the pressure of juries and final performances.  This semester, I learned 10 dialects, taught my classmates how to speak in a German dialect, performed on the main stage in two separate performances, won an Honorable Mention for an outside performance, perfected four different genres of songs, studied five different eras of acting style, completed six scenes and monologues, auditioned for next year's shows, and juggled a part-time job.  Everyday, I take it one day at a time.
This week: taking it one class at a time.

Week 6: Weak 6

This week was a doozy. I can barely remember the past 48 hours...not by choice, but by the sheer quantity of events that have transpired. And somehow I think I got in enough exercise to constitute a worthwhile post.

Monday: (?) I think there was some exercise in the form of cardio. Also had rehearsal until 10pm. Yes, there was an 11pm workout in the gym that transpired. I lasted about 20 minutes doing a circuit.

Tuesday: Early morning rehearsal and work. There was swimming after work. No Phelps, but since there were some pretty young (re: under the age of 65) swimmers in there with me, and since I was leading them in intervals for most of the laps, I felt pretty good.

Wednesday: Rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals. Everyone was freaking out about the auditions for the Fall production (slated for Thursday), and since it's Shakespeare, everyone's doubly freaking out. I was trotting all over the place, racking up enough walking miles to make up for the lack of gym time.

Thursday: Auditions day, dress rehearsal for the festival performance, and more walking around the city. Auditions were nerve wracking, and I had to blow off some anxiety later that night on the treadmill. Cardiorespiratory training is getting easier...which means I need to increase the intensity soon.

Friday: Callbacks. As if 3 minutes of panic-inducing judgement in front of a jury of directors and producers isn't enough, now we get to endure four hours of it. In the middle of this, there is a festival performance and a rehearsal. Every two hours, I was somebody else. I plopped into bed at 11 that night without bothering to unpack my bag or undress...because just spending time in your own mind can be tiring enough at the end of the week. Spending time in four other people's minds will render you incapable of doing anything except brushing your teeth and crawling under the covers.

Saturday: More callbacks. They were quicker and less painful than the previous day's session. Another performance, the final one, at the festival competition (we won an award in every category), and then the bomb scare in Times Square simultaneously. Tried to swim beforehand, but the pool was filled with a swim meet for the kids...substituted working out in gym with carrying all our set pieces and props downtown from the theatre through the Times Sq mess. Sweatfest.

Sunday: Chilled out, had more rehearsal, but felt better knowing that this week I don't have to concentrate on any outside projects. (Nearing the end! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!) Hot and humid today, so after enjoying a candlelight supper ceremony at the House, went running along the riverside with the Czech opera singer. A good 30 minutes made me feel accomplished.

Mentally exhausted from these past few weeks, and more than ready for school to be over for the semester. A few more days until finals week starts, at which point I'll hopefully have enough steam to motor me through to the 17th. On the 18th, find me sleeping in the whole day and not answering my phone or emails.

This week: mindfulness of "stress eating"

Week Five: Time for Balance

This week, I cracked. Though I managed half a week of exercise, mental and physical tumult rendered me exhaustible and indifferent.

Monday: Rested. A weekend of traveling and running in two different states, coupled with a return to a city that, I believe, I might be allergic to equals Rest Day. Upon disembarking from the MegaBus at 28th and 7th, I promptly dissolved into sneezes. All this after spending 48 hours in the New England outdoors without so much as a cough. I blame the polluted air of the island. Isn't ironic how the word 'island' will conjure up images of restful beaches and swaying palms whereas Manhattan looks like a grey mud bubble?

Tuesday: Sought solace from the grey mud bubble in a run at the park. Since class was cancelled, I felt unburdened, and ran for about 30 minutes through cherry blossoms and new grass. During my cooldown, I was approached by a delightful Lab-mutt named Mishka, who licked all the sweat off my face. Some might find this repulsive. I nearly cried from delight, it made me that nostalgic for home. Had I the means, I would have packed that pup up in my pocket and spent the day having my chin licked off. Between the leftover high from the weekend running and the reconnection with the important things in life, I made a decision: I decided (during my surprise day off) that I will embark on an adventurous trip after I complete my MFA. The summer of 2011 will be dedicated to living in a foreign country and learning to surf. Truth be told, I'll have The MFA and since that's all I wanted to accomplish in the first place, why not seek out another dream goal? Re: seek balance. Pushing myself too hard these days results in me feeling like I'm failing (I know, I know, it's not 'failing', it's 'trying better'). Since I've found it impossible to silence my self-judgements, I'm going to take a break and learn something new (i.e. surfing), thus reconnecting with my gentler self - the voice that encourages me to think like a beginner and to relish imperfection. I've choked this voice out of my consciousness since being in graduate school, mainly because it's a cutthroat industry, and being kind and gentle on myself will not result in excellence, nor will it push me out the door to auditions. However, the cost has been high: constant anxiety, lowered sense of worth, and imbalanced daily activities. In short, I'm overdue for an extended vacation - one that can erase a 3-year scar of elevated stress levels. I'm pretty sure 4 months in Bali with nothing but a surfboard and a few books will cure me.

Wednesday: Back to the grind. I tried to find balance on the subway while juggling a 3-ton bookbag, breakfast, and heels. Why do I insist on challenging myself before 8am in the morning? A new workout was on the menu: the celebrity circuit. a short cardio warm-up, 3 cycles of alternating strength moves with cardio, and an intensified cardio set at the end to cap it off. I measure success of a workout in sweat these days. Since this one made me sweat profusely, I'd say it's a keeper. The quest for keeping my sanity this week revels in a small accomplishment: clown demonstration for Bring your Child To Work Day. Thursday will be full of red noses, ridiculousness, and miniature William Shakespeare figurines. Should I be worried that this prospect makes me feel like I've won the lotto? I'm starting to empathize with the performers who "run away with the circus"....

Thursday: Clown Day. We ran around with small red masks (aka clown noses) on our faces, in silence, while teaching small children how to act ridiculous. As if kids need lessons in harnessing their inner ridicule. After clowning, I went to try out some mattresses, on a whim. I nearly cried when I discovered the kind of rest I could be getting, instead of the "rest" I'm privileged to now. Perhaps I'm always exhausted because my bed is the comforting equivalent of a jagged, broken-down pile of granite.

Friday-Sunday: Trekked around NYC, in preparation for a performance in a 15-minute play competition festival. Saturday night was the performance, and we were selected to move on into the final round of competition. Stress levels were extremely high during the tech rehearsal, and then we skipped half a page of dialogue in the actual performance. The audience was none the wiser, however I think the playwright might have had a slight stroke. I was exhausted by the week's end, needless to say. I've got to find a way to be less exhausted...without spending $1500 on a dream bed.

Goal for this week: Fit in more days of concentrated exercise than this past week's.

Week Four: Is it Week Four...?!

The semester is drawing to a close and, appropriately, I'm in the most difficult stretch. I went away for the weekend to find my sanity. The highlight of the trip, besides reconnecting with family and friends, was reconnecting with my running.

Monday: Pool. It's getting easier. I'm in the 'FAST LANE'. This may sound impressive, but take into account that the other FAST LANE swimmers include a geriatric with flippers and a crack-head who calls himself Phelps.

Tuesday/Wednesday: These have started to be my rest days. Since I workout through the weekend, I find a need a mental break earlier in the week.

Thursday: Elliptical for an hour. Caught up on the news. I think Mother Nature is pretty upset wiht us right now.

Friday: Grotowski. Truly, this "workout" wreaks physical and emotional havoc.

Saturday: Running in a different state. Oh the glorious intake of fresh air! I did a circuit around the local playground: liners on the basketball court and calesthenics on the jungle gym. It kept me interested, at least. 25 minutes flew by.

Sunday: My surprise favorite. Running in the morning in yet another state (2 in one weekend), I was so excited by not only the perfect running weather (you know the kind: cool, with a hint of dew) and the crisp, woodsy air but also by the fact that I was OUTSIDE, I ended up running for an hour. It literally flew by. And around the half hour mark, I remembered how I used to love running. The way it feels when I reconnect with my torso and limbs moving on their own, drinking in fresh air like cold tea, feeling the blood pulse in sync with the rhythm of my breathing - I could have run right off the streets and kept going for days. It was the first time in a few months where I've had a quiet morning to myself to think and be peaceful on my own terms. I did not have to wake up that early for class or work; I woke up for me, and I had space and time to clear my thoughts. I found my sanity; it's at 6:45am on a deserted suburban street, overlooking some backwoods, listening to the river of my breath and the flow of my feet. Alone and divorced from the mill of New York's daily hubbub and my final, cramping stretch.

I can't believe I'm a month into this. I've felt progress rather than seen it. The ease of breathing after a certain amount of exertion, and the positive feeling before and after I exercise. I think after a month it really does become a habit that you start to enjoy. That's what I'd advocate: Give it a month, consistently (at least 3x/wk).

Goal for this week: More weights. And to hang on to my sanity.

Week Three: Reconfiguring

I crawled into bed last night at 1am, knowing that I didn't get the post up in time, but satisfied that I had carved out time to exercise this week with the hectic schedule. If last week was stressful, this week was burn-out.

Monday: A quick workout on my lunch break for 20 minutes. Not enough to fill my craving for starting-the-week-off-with-a-bang, but a much needed mental freshener for the rest of the day.

Tuesday: The day got the best of me and I didn't make time for exercising. I did, however, fill my brain with so much Shakespearean langauge that I felt as if I had run a marathon.

Wednesday: see Tuesday.

Thursday: Worked out for a half hour in the pool. Literally the only time I had, due to being in class until 10:30pm that evening. I thought, before I began my workout, "I am going to enjoy swimming. It's something I like, being in the water, so why not just have a good time?" And, miraculously, after killing a half-mile, I felt like I could have swam for another whole hour.

Friday: Jazzed by Thursday's mentality, I woke up super early and went for yoga in the East Village. It's my new favorite thing. After that, I faced Grotowski and, after an hour and a half of racked sobbing and physical exhaustion, all I wanted was to go to sleep. Which I managed to do around 11 o'clock that night.

Saturday: Spent the day in - a cancelled rehearsal left room for me to catch up on work and do some housecleaning, and around 3pm, I went on what I like to call the "Little Red Lighthouse Run". Starting near Grant's Tomb, I run up through Riverside Park to the George Washington Bridge - so close that I'm practically standing underneath it. And right at the water's edge is a little red lighthouse from the 1800s that is, though defunct, a historical landmark of NYC. It's not much taller than a regular house, and it's far enough away that a "there-and-back" run will take an hour or so. The weather was nice, and I was feeling anxious to get in enough working out to constitute a week's worth, so...success.

Sunday: A nice hour and a half at the gym - 30 minutes on the Spinning bike, and an hour doing weights - a "pushing" day. This is a new idea I picked up from some of the guys who are in there regularly: you can have pushing days or pulling days, and structure your workout based on those sorts of activities. I think there are two other sorts of days you can have, but I forget. Anyhow, it's a nice respite to go in and say, "What can I pull on?" for each muscle, rather than having to go and staple yourself to one machine or endure lunges yet again. Wokring out in the afternoons make me extremely tired by the day's end, so I slept well, albeit not enough.

This week, I really started to enjoy myself during my workouts: my heart wasn't thudding as hard as usual, and I was pleasantly surprised by the ease of Sunday's workout...it would not have been that easy a few weeks ago. I think it's time to bump up either intensity or duration...which means I must be making progress!
This week's focus: more weights.

Week Two: Where There's Will

Two old friends, Temptation and Stress, drop in for a visit. Actually, Temptation wandered in from the backyard as usual, and Stress somehow snuck in during the middle of the night.

Monday: How easy it would be to sleep in, I dreamed. Especially since it's raining, and it's Monday. The guilt of having to either a) write that I slept in and skipped a workout - or b) flat out lie about a workout - woke me up and forced me to get dressed. Stumbling into the gym at 6:15am, I did the ADHD workout: 10 minutes of cardio on three different machines. Attention-deficeit, yes. Hyper-active, no.

Tuesday: How easy it would be to sleep in, I dreamed again. Especially since it's raining again and it's Tuesday. "Was that thunder?", Temptation asked lazily from my bedside.
After a particularly grueling Monday, I deserved it.
I opted for the Summit Trainer at the gym that evening - like climbing a mountain, only without the fresh air...or scenery. (Watching two old Walkman-ed seniors jog beleaguerdly around the indoor track doesn't count.) 15 minutes on the Stair Master while waiting for the Summit Trainer, 30 minutes mimicking a mountain climb, then 15 minutes on the Upright Bicycle. Why do all these machines have names that threaten militant domination?

Wednesday: Stress accompanied me to most of my classes. Three assignments due (performances of memorized scenes or text that require technical process to be in place) and I missed a deadline for some paperwork at the House. I blame Temptation's Tuesday antics - if I hadn't slept in, Stress might have given me some space. By 11pm that night, I went in for a late-night ADHD workout. Definitely attention-deficeit (I was focusing on a long-lost pleasure known as TV), but more hyper-active than Monday: Stair Master for 10 minutes, Recumbent Bike for 10, and the ERG for 10 minutes to finish...all the while keeping the heart rate about 140. I was pleased with the interval training I fit in on the rower: every 2 minutes, I'd pull as hard and fast as possible for 10 strokes. Back Off, Stress.

Thursday: I refused to let Stress tag along for the day's activities. Vinyasa yoga played a nice part in allowing me to focus on my breathing, and re-center with my inner calmness. It also played a nice part in educating me about shoulder stands, and how the endocrinal system uprighted can solve all your health problems. I'm always mystified by the yogi health vocabulary, however. What exactly is "vitality"? And how is that different from "aligning your energies"?

Friday: Energized from Thursday's yoga, I trekked over to the East Village at 6am for some more Vinyasa at a place called Yoga To The People (it's an amazing establishment, there's one in SF if you chance upon it) for the simple pleasure of hearing the Tibetan Singing Bowl. Please try to experience the sound a singing bowl in person before you die. It's beautiful and rare. Hearing it live is a whole different experience. Sweating it out on the mat for an hour was beneficial for my soul, and then I trekked over to school and had a complete emotional breakdown in Grotowski class (see last week for description of this Technique). Bascially, I fried my CNS to the point where I felt more vulnerable than I have in my entire life...or maybe dregged up some vulnerability that I've been trying to mask for years now. Between the soul-fulfilling yoga and the emotionally-draining weeping I did all before lunchtime, I felt like a robot for the next 10 hours.

Saturday: Rehearsals all day and a meeting with colleagues = Rest Day.

Sunday: A journey to the Botanical Gardens in Brooklyn, followed by Easter Mass, and then work and five hours of rehearsal allowed me to walk over 6 miles during the day. I'm worried about the upcoming week however, and how to fit in working out to my schedule - every hour from 7am until 10pm is booked with either class, work, meetings, or rehearsals. Yikes.
On the upside, I received a great book in the mail today called "When Food is Love" and I haven't been able to put it down...it's already putting some things in perspective when I'm hankering for an eclair.

This week, I was successful in feeling better after working out. In fact, I found that if I could have time to put in two sessions of yoga everyday, I'd do it. And if you're sitting here thinking that yoga isn't as intense as a cardio workout, you may be right, but I challenge you to try vinyasa for an hour and a half one of these days and then we'll talk about different levels of rigor.
Stay tuned for next week. If I make it through and manage to workout at least 20 minutes everyday, I'll be okay with that.

Week One of the Life To-Do List

Monday. Ha. No shame.

Last Monday, I got down to the gym and did a new circuit training regime: 3-2-1 for short. Circuit A is 10 minutes of cardio, Circuit B is 10 minutes of functional training, Circuit C is core training. The routine plays out like this: A-B-C-A-B-A (3As, 2Bs, 1C). After 50 minutes of a sweat fest, I decided dips are overrated, and the plank is my personal nemesis.

Tuesday: Got in the pool after work and did some laps. A macho-type guy calling himself 'Phelps' challenged me to a 25m race after seeing how strong my butterfly stroke was. I lost, but we were doing freestyle, and he was at least a foot taller than me. Next time though, he won't be so lucky.

Wednesday: I got some great running tips from a friend of mine who trains firemen. In addition to working on my form (pose technique, anyone?), I went for 30 minutes just working on 'feeling uncomfortable' with my heart rate. Basically working consistently at a high THR will help build capillaries on the muscles that eat up fat before carbs. Yes, please.

Thursday: Ouch. Everything is sore, but I went to an hour and a half of Vinyasa yoga, which is strength and balanced based. Later that evening, I attended a workshop at school for a new emsemble piece we're garnering. We ended up doing A LOT of movement-based work, including Suzuki walking, core training, and group flocking - which is like it sounds - flocking in the sense you clump together and move as one. Unfortunately, we were being led through the flocking by a former ballet dancer from Puerto Rico who seemed to ignore the flexibility challenges some of us faced that day.

Friday: Double Ouch. I blame the Puerto Rican. Four hours of Grotowski - cat work and plastiques. For those unfamliar with the Polish theatre guru, Grotowski developed a process of movement work that confuses the central nervous system so as to access emotional levels unavailable to us in our conscious body state. Basically, circling your head counter to your hips in an upside-down triangular position will either make you laugh maniacally or weep uncontrollably while kicking out sideways at imaginary terrors. Four hours of this sort of work will indeed deplete your body of sweat, anger, and any compassion you may have had for the human race.

Saturday: REST. Glorious rest. Helped out at the Spring Ball at the House, checking coats and listening to the live band play standards from the 1940s. Alumni guests danced the foxtrot, tango, cha-cha, waltz, and two-step...all the while I was wondering why the tallest girls always seem to get paired with the shortest guys in this kind of setting.

Sunday: Slept in. (Those ballroom dancers stay up until all hours. You literally have to send the band packing and turn off the lights before they will take their coats home.) More rest for the body, and light eating to compensate for lack of cardiovascular exercise.

I also talked to a few friends this week, and everyone has been so supportive! I have a fear that I will fail at this, but the challenge lies in concentrating on small successes. In the past, I got discouraged because I felt like I wasn't seeing/feeling any results after such hard work. So, I've had to redefine how I'm measuring success.

This week, I'll try to find a word besides 'Ouch' to describe my workouts.
Hopefully it will be something like, 'I want a fifth helping of lunges, with a side of box jumps!'

Ever the overachiever, me.

Any Given Monday

Mondays always burden me. A wise Italian grandmother once said, "Get everything done on a Monday." Achieving productivity on even the smallest scale will make Mondays seem terrific. What a way to start the week: getting stuff done. Mailing that letter, paying that bill, taking out the trash, getting the shopping done - small human feats that grow heavier if they remain on the To-Do List past Thursday.

I started thinking about this Monday on yesterday's Sunday. I have grown tired of feeling hopeful about the productivity I imagine will occur at the beginning of every week, especially when I make a plan to get something done and miraculously allow myself to put it off until Thursday. Or, sometimes indefinitely.

I realized that the problem with my To-Do Lists inevitably have to do with the accountability factor involved in making the list. As author, I am usually the only one privvy to its contents, and the sole authority monitoring completion of any given task. Furthermore, the list serves my own purposes, and so when something gets done, I'm the only one who can truly revel in the satisfaction of making a swift slash across the page.

Now, I'm not saying I need glorious banners of praise unfurling whenever I take out the trash, but there is something else to be gained with this insight: when something doesn't get done on my private To-Do List, I'm the only one who has to deal with the shame/guilt/disappointment/burden/(insert weighty feeling here) of knowing that, at the end of the day, I didn't follow through on my goal.

What I've discovered this Monday is the existence of my Life To-Do List. Unbeknownst to me (or perhaps I simply refuse to acknowledge that it looms indefinitely), there are a few items on my Life To-Do List I've been anxious to cross off permanently. I've managed to cross off a few items on previous productive Mondays: the Monday I mailed my grad school application, the Monday after I ran a marathon and managed to oversee a cross-country videoconference for a bunch of surgeons, the Monday I arrived in a foreign country and found a job, hotel, and pub with four hours, the Monday I cleaned the house without being asked.... Small feats that take on enourmous significance once completed.

That being said, there has been a consistent, persistent item on my Life To-Do List that I have figured out how to conquer...or at least take a stab at getting it crossed off for good. I'm making it PUBLIC. This way, the shame of unproductivity or, worse, persistent off-putting, will be a burden I can no longer tuck away as I crawl into bed in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning.

Here's the bare bones:
The item I'll have crossed off by my 28th birthday is "Get In Shape".
That means an acceptable BMI by September 14, 2010.

Henceforth, the Public To-Do List starts today.



...Tuesday.

The irony is not lost on me, but at least the shame will force me to improve by next week. Feel free to check back next Monday. My sense of pride is at stake now.

The Jetta and the Journey

I did not make a New Year's Resolution this year. A certain friend will claim that I have resolved to do whatever I want to do without regard for consequence in 2010, but how much trust can you place in a resolve that is made at 1am in the throes of fresh-start hysteria? The only resolution I've committed to consistently over the past two years is the resolution to not make resolutions.

Regardless, 2010 has been a year of surprisingly good luck...luck of the sort that may result in a whole decade of stellar moments. From cross-country escapades to gasp-inducing spectacles, my daily adventures have taken me from sunny, beloved California back to the wintry Northeast, and I have been collecting trunksfuls of memories which will, in retrospect, award this year as being the beginning of a great decade.
All I can say is, it's about time.

Some of you may recall that I drove cross-country at the beginning of January this year. The beloved Jetta (faithful manual friend to the family), myself, a long-time friend, and a finnicky GPS navigator lovingly named Greta journeyed from the golden hills of California across the wintry landscape of Route 70 to Northern New Jersey, where Jetta will now permanently reside. The trip was a success, given that it was a) the dead of winter, b) Jetta was in no way equipped with snow-proof anything, and c) two slightly madcap artists were clocking 50 hours of driving in under 6 days.
My brother-in-soul Chad accompanied me from gorgeous San Jose down to gaudy Las Vegas, through overly-arid, overly-nice Utah, into winding, quaint Colorado, past fog-laden Kansas, beyond frighteningly zealous Missouri, around peaceful Ohio, into delicious and restful Virginia, all the way up the Eastern thoroughfare I-95 to bustling JFK...whilst engaging me for 4 days in that exquisite rhetorical debate of "Would you rather...?"
For those who have not yet been blessed with the opportunity to engage in this game of choosing between two life-altering disasters, know that it ultimately results in sacrificing either your dignity or your vanity. In any case, debates can (thankfully) rage for days, and when faced with a barren landscape of trees in West Virginia that reminds one of adolescent facial hair, choosing between no arms or no legs becomes an inherently fascinating topic.
(And for the record: General opinion agrees that to have screaming faces on your fingernails is far better than sporting an assortment of noses on your scalp, and although I'd rather be a unicorn than a phoenix, choosing between smelling faintly of clam chowder or tasting like sour milk simply renders one speechless with despair.)

The journey being long, I was prepared for foot cramps and long streches of pavement, but I was unprepared for the simply extaordinary experiences of Americana. The first hint at the stellar-ness of this new year was the Farewell Ceremony at the California-Nevada border at sunset on Sunday. After rolling into the Last Gas Station in California on a tank full of Red-Light Empty, I stretched my legs and perused the store for a memento to mark the occasion of Jetta's Last Night in Cali. I searched fervently for christening agents: an avocado and some sunscreen (California mascots), only to settle on a surfboard keychain (the only item in the store that paid homage to California). Chad joined me in the checkout line, eyes urgent, meaning he either just witnessed human inanity in all its splendor, or finally discovered the Sacred Waterfall Urinal Mecca, that glorious Las Vegas-style spectacle in what would elsewise be a forgettable pit stop event. It was the latter. And a little bit of the former. (Nothing says Darwin Award like a urinal that splashes back.)
While he explained the sheer absurdity of relieving oneself into a tropical paradise pool, I tried to explain the lack of California memorabilia to be found at this Last Pit Stop Til Nevada. Both of us exited the storefront with mouths agape at the unlikely findings...the tiny keychain and the plethora of "Welcome to Nevada" kitch (fanny packs for your gambling coins, anyone?), but more memorably the scenic urinal experience. Debating whether or not to continue into Nevada before sunset, we realized that this would indeed be Jetta's last few moments of California Life. What better way to commemorate the years of service Jetta had provided along Highways 280 and 101 than a changing of the keys?
Phoning Dan for his last thoughts, I recorded a few words of gratitude, and then proceeded to thank Jetta for its service to us over the years, and officiated the new journey by slipping on the surfboard keychain, all the while symbolically facing West, with the sun slowly withdrawing behind the silhouette of two Mack trucks and their onlooking corn-fed, buckle-heavy drivers (who were staring with eyes urgent in our direction). After a few breaths, we slipped back into the car and crossed the border out of California and into the Jetta's New Life, precisely as the radio crooned that we were "little children out on a lucky streak".

A stellar Last Moment if ever car had one.

Venturing across the country the rest of the week merited even more awesome, stellar moments (the bulk of which would be too numerous to recount in detail for this post). However, highlights included the Muddy River Cafe (aka GOOD FOOD, a desert establishment complete with decent food, an over-sized soft-focus portrait of John Wayne, and a set of six-year old triplets aptly named after famous Hollywood cowboys), snowy Utah's Fishlake National Park (escaping a near-lock-out situation with the car keys when one went missing off a snow-laden sandstone cliff), fog-covered Kansas (the only part of Kansas we actually saw was a large billboard proclaiming that "Jesus is Real"), unforgettable home-cooked meals (special thanks to Colorado, Ohio, and Virginia households for the sumptuous meals and warm and cozy beds!), Missouri in all its glory (some Bible Belt stereotypes are indeed alive and resplendent), and staying ahead of the raging storms (we missed every single storm that was predicted for the route, a miracle which cemented the journey as lucky).

Upon arriving in the Tri-State area on the first Friday of 2010, I felt a twinge of sadness after dropping my co-pilot off at JFK, as if the journey had been halted without warning. So much had happened, everyday, that I felt fearful of the events ahead - would the luck continue? Would I have more adventures like this, and (most importantly) would I be able to continue feeling lucky? However, as I was sitting at a red light on the corner of Brooklyn and the End of the First Week of 2010, I couldn't help feeling triumphant - as if I had started off the New Year right, and though Jetta had ended one life, another was beginning...and the good fortune of the journey would lay the groundwork for a decade of lucky streaks in my own life. I couldn't predict how or when these streaks would come, or what they would deliver, but I was confident in having no resolve for 2010.
After all, the beauty of having no expectations nor resolutions is that everyday miracles take on life-altering significance, and the elation of a lucky streak can fuel you through uncertainties the same way that memories of California sunsets will warm you through the remainder of a New England winter.

All I can say is, it's going to be a good year.

Going Global

My return to New York this fall brought with it a new housing situation: I am residing in an international abode, with about 500 other students from 94 different countries, studying everything from opera to peace teaching to organizational sociology. Dinner this evening consisted of steak fajitas and conversation about interntional criminal justice with a Belgian. This afternoon I said hello to a resident from Ghana on my way to check my mail, and earlier this morning I read the paper next to two musicians from Germany. I live down the hall from a structural engineer, a classical singer, and a German banker.

Life is good.

The house itself is complete with a fitness facility, dining hall and staffed kitchen, music practice rooms, commons rooms, library, gymnasium, parlors, auditorium, a rooftop terrace, a private park, furnished bedrooms, wi-fi, and a pub. It's rather easy to find something to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

The history of the house itself dates back to the 1920s, when Harry Edmunds met a lonely Chinese student on the steps of the Columbia Library and invited him to supper. Thus began a simple tradition which blossomed into a global community: one supper turned into many suppers, and one guest turned into nearly 500. The venue shifted from a single house to a Rockefeller-sponsored mansion, and yet the tradition continues on Sundays as per usual.

Being among so many professionals (the average age is 27 - taken from a range of 21-52), and experiencing how many different ways of living and learning are possible gives me hope for my own path. The feeling is one of being in the "right place at the right time"....

I recently attended a Community Weekend, at a camp north of Manhattan, and there were about 40 of us for an overnight stay. Bonfires, boating, team-building (ropes course), and games galore. It was encouraging to see and hear how everyone was eager to meet one another, to engage in a meaningful dialogue about who they were and where they were from, and make a new friend...or forty. No sense of timidity or closed-off behavior - these were people who take to heart the idea that life is an adventure, and to approach it with open arms.

My only disappointment is that I cannot spend more time inside the house, getting to know everyone - alas, my school schedule keeps me busy to the hilt, and with the recent addition of being cast in the Fall production (yay!) I don't expect to have a lot of free socializing time until later in the semester. There are a whole host of programs that will boggle the mind: language exchanges, community mentorships, jazz evenings, open mic nights, dance classes, intramurals, study groups, and field trips galore! Living here could be someone's full-time job.

Yet, I'm looking forward to this coming Sunday, which will mark the 100th anniversary of the supper tradition. (Again, right place, right time....)
The guest speaker is an environmental journalist from the New York Times - so I'm brushing up on my nature news.

Truth be told, I'll probably just go down to the 3rd floor and ask one of the Australian residents to get me up to speed over some coffee tomorrow....

Finding the Story

Our family vacation in Disney World: Mom's birthday landed on the last day of our park admission, and we lucked out with 36 Fast Passes, resulting in a terrific whirlwind of efficient ride-activity. The sun held for most of the day, and cloud cover during the evening was a welcome relief after a day of meandering around the Magical Kingdom.
I couldn't help but notice, on our third go-round of Splash Mountain, that each ride told a very succinct story, and in the most concise and entertaining way possible. Splash Mountain, in particular, tells the story of Brer Rabbit's escape from the hungry grasp of Brer Fox and his dopey sidekick, Brer Bear. Brer Rabbit and his escape from Brer Fox: only the essential story bits were created in an underground waterway, with little songs and scene settings to complete the theatricality of the storytelling.
But in the short three minutes before the big drop-down under the briar patch, each rider became Brer Rabbit, and shared in the thrill of the escape from Brer Fox's clutches. Each corner was like a chapter in the story: first you entered his world, with singing pelicans and doo-wopping frogs; next came the villains (Fox and Bear) and their plans to catch themselves some dinner; two more corners and you watched Rabbit escape a tar pit and get tangled up in honeybee nests; the final corner revealed Rabbit, captured and hanging over Fox's cauldron.
As you ascended the rickety water tracks to the final drop, vultures overhead proclaimed eventual doom. The last thing you hear before the surprise of a stomach-jumping descent is Brer Rabbit begging Brer Fox not to toss him into the briar patch - at the same very instant you catch sight of the tangle of plastic thorns ahead of you. You can't help but scream when the drop happens - either the drop itself or the fact that you might hit the thorny mess will do you in. Afterwards, you turn the final corner and a large animal-laden showboat greets Brer Rabbit (you) home to the land of zippi-dee-doo-dah.
Our third time on the ride, my brother leaned over and asked a story-related question. I realized that the whole story was laid out in such a way through the ride that even someone unfamiliar with the whole plot can follow the tale quite easily. His question had to do with what Disney cartoon the story was based on - and I realized that still-unknown Disney stories exist for audiences to discover for years to come. However, the Imagineers have got it figured out. Who, what, where, when, why - the essential and only components you really need to create magic anywhere.

Assembling the Ensemble

Our class has nearly reached the end of its first year together at the New School for Drama's graduate program. We've learned so much this year, somewhat without realizing it fully. The daily osmosis consists of a variety of theatrical information: a short history of European actors, memorizing perfect pronunciations of "str" combinations, careful selection of a well-placed word for a pivotal moment in a script, synthesizing rehearsal blocking with proper Alexander Use... we've experienced the osmosis in class, in hallway discussion, over the much-needed third glass of wine on Friday nights...our brains have picked up a new vocabulary and a new outlook on theatre and what "THEATRE" is. And somehow, we find that the year has gone by too fast, that there is so much more we need to know, and that we are developing into artists of immense potential...far beyond anything we could have imagined in our application letters.

Many of us came to school to be with like-minded individuals; students who want to create better "THEATRE", students whose colors scream potential, challenge, and big dreams. This first year has challenged us, yes. Our horizons have broadened in possibility and shrunk in terms of market reality. Our dreams have become anxious, fervent thoughts of the day, residing next to the essential craft work we have to finish that evening. We've been concentrating on building our skills individually...and in the meantime have realized that we need to build our ensemble within the Drama walls, in order to achieve that elusive THEATRE we're yearning to create in the outside world.

In the midst of all the craft work (by that I mean the individual skills of elocution, stage movement, and script analysis), our class has experienced an underlying crisis in unity of spirit. We're suddenly facing, in our last two weeks of our first year, the threat of a weak ensemble. This threat may not seem ominous if you believe that artists are their own business - in that case, ensemble is something that comes and goes with every project. However, in the spirit of creating THEATRE as we have discovered this past year, the threat looms like the rustling of leaves amidst the hunt.

Our class is divided in more than a few ways, and leveling our experiences so as to create a solid foundation is an item we have yet to tackle. The faculty has tried to create a technical foundation that we can build upon, but when your art depends on another's in such close proximity, tensions appear and questions of esprit de corps arise. We start seeing that our so-thought "like-minded" colleagues are rather inexperienced, or cannot communicate, or would rather concentrate on their own pursuits within the industry.

Creating an ensemble. There is no business manual for this task. Theatre professionals love to pretend that the theatre business is different than other businesses: really it's all venture capitalism at heart. VC work environments can be exciting and a little uncouth at times, but there are ways of succeeding. The theatre ensemble rests on many of the same tenets. There is no company; there's Broadway (consider that the IPO). If you do well, you only have so much time on the market before your idea becomes stale, or historic, and is replaced by another. You can revive, re-stage, re-finance...but the theatre is always looking for the next big thing. Creating an ensemble means creating a group that will consistently create something new and essential for the market. And finding just the right mix of talent for this requires sacrifice and blind faith in the prospect of potential IPOs.

Some artists are too afraid to lay aside their own insecure future for the insecure future of an ensemble. (Working towards your own goal is much more secure than working towards a group goal, isn't it?) Students who show up late to class, are consistently under-prepared, and don't memorize their lines give those artists seeking a strong ensemble reasonable doubt in the future of their classmates. So we've got to either throw in the towel or confront the issues which sometimes become personal. Why isn't my classmate prepared? What is s/he going to do about it? The ensemble is only as strong as the weakest link. When does it become appropriate for the person in the cubicle next to you to point out your lack of commitment to the project? Is that employee threatening the group's success?

We're having a town hall meeting this week to discuss the threats to our ensemble. Management has failed us a little bit - the teachers are not holding some students to a like-minded standard in class coursework. There are some suggested pink slips circulating, but not with enough weight to satiate the students who are shelling out $500 an hour to learn from that other student who was 20 minutes late for their scene work. Many of us are discussing our original hope: to come to graduate school to be challenged by artists of the same caliber, of the same desired potential. Like-minded individuals. Creating an ensemble. The like-minded are showing their true colors now, and it's threatening our pursuit of the IPO.

We're Human. Again.

Well. Here it is, October, and despite my best intentions, it has been over a month since my last post. Life has been busy...and I have been rather lazy about getting round to writing about it.

To summarize:
Have started classes at The New School.
Boxes from California have finally arrived, thought still unpacked in the living room.
Am contemplating donating them because I've been able to survive with out them for the past five months.
Have joined a climbing gym, and experienced the immense pleasure of sore climbing muscles after a month's respite.
Am re-learning how to be human.

It's true. The classwork I do and the homework I'm assigned all falls under the existential title of "Learning How To Be A Human."
I will take you through it, because it really has consumed my life and I think most of you will find it most interesting, even perhaps ridiculous, but mostly you will envy it.

A typical day at school. (Grab something to drink while you read. I'll wait.)



You ready?




Okay....

8:30am. We arrive at the building and go upstairs to learn Neutral American Speech. NAS, as we commonly refer to it, consists of a new alphabet (called the International Phonetic Alphabet) and very specific, and detailed instruction in the use of articulators and breath control. Ever wonder how we make sounds? That's our area of study. If you are holding a drink at the moment, take a sip. What happens? You swallow it. Yes, and the liquid also passes through several different areas of your mouth, which we refer to as articulators: the lips, teeth, alveolar ridge, tip, blade, front, middle, and back of tongue (yes, your tongue has five areas), the soft palate, the hard palate, and finally past your uvula down into your esophagus and past your larynx. Wave hello to your vocal folds on the way to the stomach. Don't forget to let out a nasal "mmmmm" that will reverberate in your turbinates as you enjoy the sensation of quenching your thirst.
Armed with the knowledge of how each sound is placed in the mouth, we learn how to speak in a neutral pattern and how to write out words as they sound so that we can imitate any speech pattern of any person in the world. Ask me to write you a secret note in IPA sometime. Not only will I write one, I'll write it out in an Australian dialect.

10:00am. We change into movement clothes and head downstairs for Alexander Technique. This class consists of the study of how your body moves and whether or not you should trust how you move. The primary area of study is the spine, and how we can prevent compression. Imagine coming into this class and learning that you've been creating lower back pain for yourself for years without knowing it. When you inquire about how you can correct it, there is no simple solution, because one of the tenants of this area of study is to not focus on the end result. The answer lies in a three-fold tier of awareness: sensory appreciation, directing, and primary control. I could get into it, but then you would be worrying about the cup in your hand and how it's creating compression in the thoracic region of the spine when you lift it to your lips to take that next sip.

11:35am. We float out of Alexander class and across the hall into Vocal Production. Let us not confuse this class with the earlier sound-as-speech class (NAS). Vocal Production is the study of how to maximize your vocal registers. Everyone has two registers: chest voice, and head voice. Those high notes that come out of Mariah Carey's vocal chords? Head voice. The rumbling bass voice of James Earl Jones? Chest register. And by the year's end, we will all be able to imitate both to an exciting and terrifying degree of accuracy. Currently, we are working on developing strength in the registers, which involves a daily ritual of intimating sirens and emitting primal calling. We make so much vibrational noise that were I in the room with you now and demonstrated a warm-up, the liquid in your cup would start sloshing around.

1:00pm. Lunch. A well needed break from the physical rigors we've worked on all morning. Lately, we've been eating outside, but the fall is beginning in New York, and soon it will be soup and scarf weather.

4:00pm. After an afternoon of practicing spelling in IPA and calling out to each other in low rumbling tones while staying relaxed through the cervic region of the spine, we travel upstairs yet again for the motherload of the day: Stanislavski Technique. Stan-iz-lav-ski, properly pronounced, was the father of acting who lived in Russia in the early 20th/late 19th century and developed a logic path of study which we all know and love and recognize today as "acting technique". His followers went on to develop many different branches of acting based on certain tenants of their own fused with his, which comprise the wide range of acting styles we have in America (and somewhat abroad) to this day. In this class, however, we are concerned with Stanislavski and one of his followers, Lee Strasberg. Strasberg is credited with founding what is referred to as "The Method" or "Method Acting", and the difference between Stan and Strasberg is not a topic I intend to visit today. Just know that Strasberg's technique involves an area we will refer to as "sense memory".

We take our seats in class and immediately assume "relaxation position" - sitting in the chair in such a way as to promote total relaxation of the body without falling asleep. This is somewhat difficult, given the comfort level of the chairs themselves, but our teacher assures us that we will not often have the luxury of even a chair, so we must plough through with the given circumstances.

Relaxation is harder than you imagine. The effect is stunning. Everyone holds tension in their bodies in different areas, and when we actually achieve a state of total relaxation, those tensions escape in varied ways. It is not uncommon to hear the person next to you start crying because she has relaxed her forehead, or the guy on your left let out a long scream because his jaw was clenched too tightly. Our instructor calls these effects "general emotion" - and he reminds us that not only is it okay to release these sentiments, but also that everyone carries general emotion around and we would all be better off if people learned to relax more often with deeper intention. I am inclined to agree with this. I am not suggesting that we go about screaming at random times, nor crying over our lunchtime bento box, but rather noticing in your day where and why and when you feel tense...and gently asking the tension to leave as you take a deep, satisfying breath.

Once we have achieved an acceptable level of relaxation, we begin the sense memory work. Take the cup in your hands, for example. Take your time in examining it. How does it feel? What is the texture? Weight, color? Temperature of the container? Is it hard, soft? Plastic, glass, metal? Does it smell? If you tap on it, does it make a sound? What about the perspiration on the outside of the cup? Is there a handle? What does it feel like to hold it in your left hand compared with your right hand? If you set it down near you, does it make a sound? Can you smell what's inside it? What does it taste like? What happens when you hold the liquid in your mouth without swallowing it? Can you feel anything leftover on your lips? What about the sensation in your chest as the liquid travels to your stomach? How about the tension in your arm or shoulder or back as you lift the cup to your face? Does the rim touch your forehead when you drink? How does your breath feel inside the cup?

These, and even more questions, are the questions we ask when we sit down to recall something from our memory within the sensory realm. Visual, visceral, aural, oral, tactile, pungency...they all are contained in any experience you have in your day. However, we rarely take the time to process the full sensation of any moment or any object. Can you imagine what would happen if you did? Can you imagine firing up every sense to its fullest capacity?

We concentrate on sense memory for over an hour during class. Just sitting there, recalling the senses and trying to feel what it's like to be in the shower, drinking coffee, feeling sunshine on your body. Putting on a sock, a shoe, taking off your coat. Little things. By the time we are finished, we have to take a mental break. We continue with this after the break even more, so that by the time we are finished at 7:00pm that evening, we're exercised our minds, bodies, and souls to exhaustion during the course of our day of studies.

And that's what it's like...at least on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays are a whole bevy of three other, new classes. But that's another entry altogether. Right now, I'm going to go journal a little bit about the feeling of the keys under my fingers and the clackety-clack of the keyboard keys, while recalling the sounds of the park below my apartment and the slight chill incoming from the cracked window reminding me that the fall is coming and the light is fading into evening.
I hope you're enjoyed your cup of whatever it was as you read...and I hope that maybe you'll start paying more attention to relaxing and experiencing the moments of your day.

It's such a gift, learning to be human again.

The Place Where Nomads Go

My boxes are still in a storage unit in California.

I flew out to NYC last Saturday, and successfully moved into my apt, however. The boxes I shipped in July actually did not get sent. $500 to have them stored for two months, 20 minutes down the road from my house. Needless to say, there is some hell to pay.

Luckily, the past week has left me with a full heart - a heart full of joy, excitement, hope, and laughter. There were a few items on my brainworry list: roommates, weather, colleagues, administration, finances. These topics manifested themselves in various detailed form: Will my new roommate talk in her sleep as well? What am I going to do about running in the infamous NYC humidity? How does my loan refund get deposited? Where am I going to find a good burrito on the East Side?

Amazingly, all these questions were resolved in a matter of 48 hours. :)

As for starting in the program, I know I promised to write all about it, but there is too much to say about the experience of meeting your collective soulmates, after waiting for years to discover something you couldn't exactly define until you found it. You have to forgive me for the next portion of this blog, because I'm writing on the fumes of a residual life high. Ahh...actors.

I've come up with a little story that will best sum up the experience as a whole of this week's journeying:

A nomad wanders around in the desert by herself, meeting people along her various walks of life, scrounging for what she can, and surviving how she will. She lives her life from one adventure to the next, and though sometimes feels pressure to find a town and settle down, something in her soul tells her to keep searching.

She hears of a place where nomads go, and decides to venture forth to see what is there.

When she arrives, there is a group of people who have also wandered like she, scrounged for what they could, and survived how they had. They had lived from one adventure to the next, and though they too had felt the pressure to find a town and settle down, they knew they were to keep searching for something. They too had heard about the place where nomads go, and as these nomads suddenly find each other all in the same place, they recognize that they have found what they did not know they were looking for all this time. They cannot place the feeling, but something is happening. They know it by the heart's leaping, and by the spirit's trumpeting.

The first day they feast together, and there is an excitement in the air that cannot be satisfied, and as they look at each other, each nomad taking in the other's countenance, they see there reflected pieces of themselves. And the longer they stare, and the more stories they share, the harder it becomes to distinguish between the nomads and the self. (When one has been wandering like only a nomad can wander, it is quite unsettling to discover that there are others like yourself.)
They agree to feast again on the second day.

The second day arises and the feast they have then heralds a new sentiment: terror. Each nomad realizes that the life they knew is on the brink of extinction. Studying each other for a while, sensing bubbles of doubt in their throats and weights of fear in their hands, they discuss what to do. A passerby would find this scene most peculiar - a collective of nomands, standing close in a circle, not knowing if they should stay in this place or run for their lives.
Suddenly, a voice breaks through the thick fog of panic and it tells them to be kind, respectful.
Engage in a dialogue, it urges. Take care of each other, is the echo.

They set up camp, sharing what little they have, and exchanging each fear for a sprinkle of hope. Bit by bit, they begin to breath again, and the breath becomes a sigh, ebbing in with the new life of their collective. They talk long into the night, and under the twinkling smiles of the stars, they discover their home in each other. They fall asleep, side by side, and a dream hangs over their heads like the cool shade of a plum tree.

When they awake, they will see each other in the dawning, look happy, and say,

Good morning, I am excited and terrified.