Growing up, getting older... it's about time.

Yesterday, I was sitting in Central Park, at the base of the C curved tree in this photo, experimenting with food coloring and glitter. A gust of wind blew away my excess glitter so that the leaves next to me shimmered. It was quite beautiful.

Today, I had an incredibly inspiring conversation with my roommate Amy, where we tried to figure out what we were doing with our lives. (Me as a recent college graduate, her in her final year.) I am doing well as far as a theatrical career goes. Last night I attended a staged reading that the Hangar did in the city, and got to reconnect with many people from the summer. It was great to stand in front of my former employers and say, "I'm designing five shows right now." (and getting paid for pretty much all of them.) However, I find myself with very little interest in climbing any "theatrical career ladder". I don't want fame, or anything like that… the only real benefit I can see is more money and it being easier to produce my work. I'm used to working on a great number of shows at once; I'm good at functioning that way and pretty soon, with more experience and connections under my belt, I'll be able to make a living that way.

My question is: do I want to?

I sense that, rather soon (one of my peers gives me 18 months), I'm going to master the technology of it, and then I'm going to get bored, twiddling my thumbs waiting for new toys. Sound is one of the more flexible elements, it has fewer necessary functions it MUST perform than set, lights, or costumes, so there's more of a discovery of how sound is essential in each production. That's exciting. But I'm already starting to feel that boredom sink in, because while every show is different, every show is also the same. I'm finding that it's the people who actually make the show worth doing or not.

This summer, I had the joy of working with some people who I want to work with forever. There was a strong (happily mutual) artistic attraction, finding both them and their ideas interesting, which revitalized my work. It was absolutely thrilling. I had a joke with one of them that she would come to New York and we'd be anonymous art fairies, doing anonymous public art pieces for the purposes of spreading beauty and magic. Like glitter on a leaf in Central Park.

In my conversation with Amy, we talked about how our generation from PHTS seems less interested in forming theater companies than even the people just before us. (That's the thing to do; leave school, found a theater company.) There are many problems with this system, which creates a lot of very young theater companies which mostly fold before they're 10 years old, and there's going to need to be a new option coming to the forefront for young artists presenting work, but beyond the producing aspects of it, we seem to be more interested in different ideas of organization. We're the guerrilla artists, we're the ones brought up in a very specific time on the Internet that celebrated randomness and open, collective creation across boundaries of location. Amy and I started talking about how to engage people who were not "artists" in the "I went to art school" sense of the word in free art and creation, and I started thinking about two things. One, the Cheap Art Manifesto, published by the Bread and Puppet Theater in 1984:

And this quote by William Morris:

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.

I believe art is important. I believe art should permeate the world. One of my main interests as an artist is helping to change how people see the world and each other, to see magic and possibility in all things. (see God in all things… same thing.) I believe that art is particularly essential in this moment because this is a moment of change, of things beginning to burst, and art can help lead us towards the positive right now. I believe that art needs to be everywhere--not just in the theaters and museums where people who can afford it can pay for it, but in the streets, on buildings, on the sidewalk, surprising you in a subway, shouted from a rooftop.

These thoughts about wanting to do more free art, about what is required of me to have a career as a designer, about how delightful it is to work with people I truly feel drawn to working with, has led me to a scary conclusion:

I am going to be happier and more artistically fulfilled if I do not have to make my living doing theater.

This is a scary thing to admit, and there's some young art school voice that's telling me it's cowardly, or a cop-out, or giving up, if I decide not to make my living doing theater. In an ideal world, I'd be able to make all the money I needed doing theater with the people I really want to work with, but that's not going to happen any time soon. In the almost-ideal world, I'd be able to make all the money I needed by novelwriting and doing theater with the people I really want to work with, but that's not going to happen immediately, either. I would rather have some weird, well-paying day job (today I was looking randomly at being an ultrasound technician or being an embalmer) and then only do the shows with people I truly want to work with, than do the number of shows I would have to do to make my living as a career designer. Why? I haven't been working that long, but I've been working a lot. I did 43 shows in 7 semesters. I did 11 shows this summer. I'm doing 5 shows right now. And now I'm 22 and approaching burnout, and I feel it kick in when I'm working on things I am not incredibly passionate about. I could keep it up, but why should I do that to myself and make it so I am unable to fully give myself with enthusiasm and energy to the shows I really want to do? Also, how will I be able to do more free art if I have to rely on art to eat?

My art fairy friend tells me that this is a very wise thing to recognize and that I've saved myself much stress and life trauma by realizing it now. Thinking about it, I am greeted with a feeling of relief and an overwhelming sensation that this is right, because it gives me a freedom to create without worrying about the business end of it. Funnily enough, by doing less I am then able to give and impact more. But it's odd to see a viable career burgeoning (in a field where this is difficult), and realize that it's not what I want. I think I had to see that it was possible. I just don't think what it'll take to make a living there is worth what it will cost. Not saying I don't want to do theater, at all. Not saying that I don't want to do theater professionally. (See notes on ideal lives in the previous paragraph.) Just saying that I don't want having to survive on it to make it sour for me.

With this realization I feel myself opening up in ways I haven't been open in a while. I feel like blogging again. Perhaps this was the thing I've been trying to figure out for the last half a year, that I had to go away to understand. I'm making it out and embracing life again, and it feels good.

I am what I am.

Today (well, technically yesterday, as of the posting of this blog at around 1am), is National Coming Out Day. What I've come on the blog to say today, finally, is something that some people have known for a long time now, some people have probably suspected, and some people have no idea about: I am bisexual.

I have known this for a very long time. I remember being confused in elementary school because I knew there was straight and I knew there was gay but I didn't know there was anything in between, and I knew I like both genders. It was around seventh grade when I learned bisexuality existed, and I came out to my friends shortly thereafter. My parents a bit later (they were great about it). I went to an arts high school, and just started out of the closet there and there was no problem. By the time I got to NYU… well, I was in NYU Drama, probably the most LGBT-friendly place in the country. The place where this has been the most tricky is at church.

I have been lucky as far as my church and issues of sexuality. Bon Air UMC, my church in Virginia, has always been really good about talking about the issue, especially when it has come up as an issue for the denomination-wide General Assembly. Being able to talk about things like this is key to moving forward as a church, as a society, and as a faith. Being able to listen to other people's points of view, having a safe space to raise questions (this goes for both sides… it irks me to no end when "liberals" refuse to listen to points made by "conservatives" as well as the other way around). I came out to a good amount of my youth group on one trip to Lake Junaluska for Music and Arts Week years ago, and instead of shying away, they attacked me with questions about my girlfriend with great enthusiasm, the same way they would have attacked me with questions about a boyfriend.

I know the scriptures. Trust me, I know all of the scriptural arguments and can counter them with other scriptural arguments like a trained swordfighter. (It's been the same arguments for ten years of my life.) What I can say from my point of view is that, nope, this isn't a choice, if it was a choice, I would have made an easier one, growing up in the South. I am attracted to who I am attracted to. Gender is secondary. (I am the least concerned about gender of everyone I know. Lots of artists are very into gender as theme or a major part of their work. I am not. People will say, "This is CLEARLY about the gender politics of.." and I will have had no thought of that. Down to me often looking androgynous.) And I cannot, for the life of me, believe that a loving God would condemn me for something that is natural.

What disturbs me greatly is the fact that many people who are not heterosexual are blocked out of the church. We have been met with hostility, with quotations of fire and brimstone. The messages towards non-heterosexuals as a whole have not been messages of Christ's love--not the Christ who would eat with the prostitutes, not the Christ who would save a woman from being stoned. Not the Christ who preached of loving others instead of condemning them. If there is one thing that Christ teaches, is that is God's love is for all people, and that we are called to love everyone. Period.

The sad fact is that the message of THE CHURCH as a whole is so negative while I know that this is NOT how every church or every Christian functions. I went to a Baptist church in Ithaca that had recently officiated a gay wedding and said a particular prayer that day for the coming of the day when all God's children would be accepted and affirmed in all churches. There IS a place in churches for us, but it's often so hard to find it. And the toll on that for people who desperately want to be connected, involved, who are looking to be more alive in their faith is actually tremendous. Friends have often sent their confused, non-hetereosexual Christian friends to me to help talk out their confusion, and it's tragic that people feel like they are cast out, not just from the church, but from the entire Kingdom of God, for something that is out of their control. This talk of "curing" homosexuality is absurd. You can "cure" anything, you can deny something that's natural all you want but that's not doing anything except suppressing something that makes you, you. Instead of celebrating the life God has given you, you spend your time denying it and living a lie--and THAT is the sin. I am tired of watching people destroy themselves, be it by denying a part of them or by believing that who they are is unworthy or considered disgusting--for the faith that I love so much.

I am deeply devoted to my faith. (To the point where I specifically did not date for a a good while because I was instead using that energy to further my relationship with God.) Now, I am also dating an incredible woman who has done so much for my faith and helped me further understand the nature of God. I am a Christian, and I am bisexual, and it's sad that people think that's an impossible combination. I am posting this not as a cathartic moment for me. Coming out is always a process--especially where I'm from, you're straight until proven gay, so despite the romanticism that surrounds "coming out of the closet! living freely!", it's a constant, lifelong process. I am posting this today to say, by example, that it IS possible to be a Christian, to be involved in the church, and not be heterosexual.

If there is going to be any change, churches are going to have to be outspokenly accepting and affirming. With the reputation of the church as far as this issue goes, it is not enough to be quietly welcoming, or have a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. (I've even had hesitancies in admitting my sexuality to those from my churches, and I come from very open and accepting backgrounds, unlike many.) It is, in fact, we in the church who are responsible for sharing God's love. It's a light we cannot hide under a bushel just because they have a lifestyle we are uncomfortable with. That wasn't something Christ ever allowed himself, and he doesn't let us off the hook, either.

If anyone has any questions or wants to talk about issues of faith and sexuality (from any angle), please let me know and I'd be happy to talk. This is not an issue that's going to be resolved any time soon... so let's just start talking, because communication is the only we're going to get anywhere.

I'm ready when you're ready for me.

I am writing this blog sitting in Washington Square Park, back here in New York City, where I am, at least, semi-permanently. I'll be gone the week after this upcoming week, back in Virginia for a time, before finally completing the move to my lovely apartment in Bushwick, with its yellow walls and balcony and two incredible roommates.

What can I say about this summer?

In some ways, this summer was what I expected. I was familiar with the program, and knew many people who'd been to the Hangar, worked there, etc, and so came in with high expectations that were met and exceeded. I learned a lot about design, about working with all kids of people (not just ones with my training), about what kind of perspective and ideas I tend to have as a designer. I did a lot of shows in a short amount of time (which isn't exactly new for me), and consistently put up work that I was proud of. I learned when to bite my tongue, and when to speak out.

I spent a lot of time outside, swimming, exploring waterfalls, and haunting cemeteries. The saying on the t-shirts is, "Ithaca is Gorges", and it's true. Ithaca is both gorgeous and full of gorges. A friend and I were trying to find Carl Sagan's grave, and took a wrong turn and ended up here:

Like… basically in the suburbs of Ithaca. Just chillin'. Being majestic. No big deal.

I went to a party for the Rocky Horror cast and crew (our final mainstage, I assisted the sound designer) at a lakehouse on a transcendentalist commune. Riding boats around the lake, swimming, lazying about eating good food, waiting the sunset. I saw so many amazing sunsets this summer. One I was so amazed by I called my dear friend Barbara and left her FIVE voicemails freaking out about it, and ran halfway across the Ithaca College campus trying to get a better view.

In other ways, this summer was not what I expected at all. It was a highly emotional summer, which I suppose is to be expected when you put a lot of artistic, impulsive people together for a summer, isolated in a beautiful, strange town, but usually I am not one of the people caught up in the drama of that--this summer I was. Which would not be so strange except that, for the past couple years (really, since around the time I started this blog), I have been in what I have referred to as, essentially, my nun stage. Where my energy has gone, largely, towards my relationship with God as opposed to seeking out relationships (of any sort) with other people. Not to say that I cloistered myself away and didn't talk to anyone, no. But diving into ritual? Yes. Self-denial? Yes (insofar as self-denial teaches self-control, which I definitely need more of). And the focus of my relationships with other people mostly became not depending on them, but being there for them. Give everything, expect nothing. (if you have no expectations, you can never have a disappointment - Passion, Sondheim)

And this was very good for me, because it hugely expanded my capacity to care for and love other people. Because that is also how you love God. By loving others. And by taking the focus away from me and what I could get out of relationship, I could give so much more. And I have found myself caring much more deeply than I could before.

I could have stayed, happily, in this unofficial nunhood, but God had other plans, and through events that happened in the later part of this past semester, I felt myself being pushed towards other people. Not away from God, but towards others, towards letting others affect me more again. I think it has to do with vulnerability, about needing to be more vulnerable to care more. I think it has to do with the fact that the ego can actually be your greatest ally, if you align it right. I think it has to do mostly with the fact that there is ALWAYS something to be learned through experience, and emotional experiences with other people in particular. And, apparently, people feel more comfortable opening up to someone who has also shared their problems with them. So, in this summer, I've been moving back towards people in a way that has been wonderfully rewarding, incredibly terrifying, and astoundingly emotional. And I didn't expect that. I didn't expect to almost cry during tech. I didn't expect to be exploring and doing fun things with other people on my days off. I didn't expect that leaving people would be so hard.

Leaving Ithaca was distressing. My dear friend Barbara and I often intone, "If it doesn't hurt, it didn't matter," but that doesn't stop it hurting. I fell in love with the place, and the people. Many already in or moving to New York, but there's something about that summer experience that will never be recaptured. And with no time to process what happened, I felt like I did leaving Ghana--suddenly ejected, left to figure it out when I don't even know that "it" was.

What do I want? Where am I going next? These are questions I don't really know the answer to. I know literally, I know how I'm getting money to eat this month, I've got some shows lined up. But beyond that? I have no idea.

Well, that's not entirely true. People try to ask me these questions theatrically… I have no idea how to answer them. But the reason I'm here is not to make theater, the reason I'm here is to care for people. That I know. (that is something I tend to do through theater, but theater is the means, not the end.) And on that front, I learned a very important lesson this summer.

Many people, as much as much as they secretly want to be loved and cared for, will not accept it easily. They don't trust it, they think you must want something from them, they think they don't deserve it. (I am guilty of all of these. It's that whole, "Why is love so easy to give and so hard to receive?" question Sondheim, again, poses in Passion. I am so stubborn it took me several weeks to accept help from a friend who was offering to help me carry the absurd amount of equipment I was using for her show.) And I spent a lot of time wondering how to deal with this, with people who won't accept love (aka: people like me… I'm working on it!), and praying about this in the cemetery behind my house one day I felt an exchange of energy that can be best expressed in dialogue:

God: Love them as much as they will let you.
Me: And secretly, love them more?
God: Exactly.

I started with summer with the question of, "How do you love when you don't want to?" Confronting the situation that sparked that question further, I think it's less about love stopping or failing (after all, betrayal only hurts because you love that person), but rather that the channels to be able to give and receive love becomes blocked. And it takes a long time to open them again, and it is okay to step back and say, "I still love this person, but it's going to take me a while to be able to open those channels again. And that's okay." It's working towards being able to connect with them again. Maybe never in the way it was before, but there is still healing to be found.

I think the life of a Christian is the life of being so open to whatever love others need and are able to receive, that you have no choice but to be swept up in it. Personally, emotionally. One of my newfound friends gave me this quote, "If you search for the awakened heart, if you put your hand through your rib cage and feel for it, there is nothing there except for tenderness. You feel sore and soft, and if you open your eyes to the rest of the world, you feel tremendous sadness. Your heart is completely exposed. There is no skin or tissue covering it; it is pure raw meat. Even if a tiny mosquito lands on it, you feel so touched. Your experience is raw and tender and so personal." I think that's it. That's the kind of heart you need to have, which means you're in for a wild ride in life.

I came back to the most loving apartment possible, with freshly baked banana bread (with strawberries in it!) waiting for be on the stove. I jumped into rehearsal the day after I got back. I'm shaken on having left, but getting through it alongside others who are similarly shaken. And sitting here in the park, listening to a musical duo playing nearby that consists of a bagpiper and a beatboxer, I must admit… this is not a bad life to come back to.

This room is a womb to me.

Earlier this summer, one of the directors I'm working with, sensing that I was religious, asked me about my relationship to religion. I responded, "It's the basis of everything I do." She was surprised. People are often surprised by this because their associations with religion (as opposed to spirituality) are exclusion, distance, hypocrisy, and a holier-than-thou attitude, which are not things I like to model. After trying with a good amount of success to explain my faith to her (God transcends specific religious boundaries, we use those boundaries as language to be able to talk about that which is beyond language, etc etc etc), which she understood, she started to ask me why I still bothered with the church as an institution.

That is an absolutely legitimate question. There are many people who deeply believe in God, but who have left the church. Because of hypocrisy, because of real harm that the church has done. I always knew about this, but moving to New York definitely solidified it--there are many people who have been scarred by religion, who have been branded with shame and guilt so ruthlessly that of course they don't want to set foot in a church again. They have seen people who don't even attempt to live what they preach and expect that their confession on Sunday morning absolves all sin and they can go on living just the way they want to because they've got a "Get Out of Hell Free" card. The church has some atrocious acts in its history, and unfortunately, those atrocities still continue.

So, why am I still in the church?

We had to move out of our Ithaca College housing, and now us designers are living a short walk from the Ithaca Commons (essentially, downtown Ithaca). Where we're living now is what I call the "Ithaca Church District". On my block is a Christian Science church, a block away from me is a United Methodist Church, two blocks away is First Unitarian Church, and three blocks away is a park that has a church on nearly every corner - Episcopalian, Presbyterian, and Baptist. I peeked onto the website of the UMC church last night, and discovered that today's service would be a Taize service.

The Taize community, for those who don't know, is a monastic community in France, whose focus lies largely on hospitality and community life. Taize has become a spot for people of all different cultures to pray, study, and worship, with pilgrims coming from all over the globe. Now, it is known primarily for two things--its outreach to young adults, and its music. People ages 17-29 are invited to stay for a week or two at Taize with a suggested donation of 6-8 Euros per day (that includes meals an accommodations), to meet and study with the brothers and sisters there. (This means that before I turn 30, I will return to France to go to Taize, as well as visit Chartres again.) How I first learned of Taize was the music. Taize's services feature both music and silence heavily. The music is a meditative, repetitive, almost chant-like music (see here), which, being easy to learn no matter what language you speak, is able to bring together people from different cultures and backgrounds. Being the child of two church musicians, I know Taize music quite well and of course if there's a Taize service happening a block away from me... I am there.

I wandered into the church, where the prelude was a piece called "Singing Bowl Mediation", played on an electric piano instead of a singing bowl but which still managed to still the pre-church chatter. At the passing of the peace (which I've noticed to be an intense time in every single church I've been to in Ithaca), I had lovely conversations with the two people who I was sitting beside--one of whom does Production Management at Cornell and the other of whom is going to Rocky Horror (which I assistant sound designed) at the Hangar tonight. After a brief explanation of the Taize community and the style of worship we were about to embark on, and some beautiful thoughts on silence, we began the service. We sang six of these songs, repeating until they naturally faded out, and each song was bookended with silence. Readings from scripture were interspersed throughout, as well as an opportunity to light candles in prayer.

I have been to a good number of Taize services in my life, and they have always stood out to me as services of healing. I remember one in particular, the first time I was ever at Montreat, as a conferee for Worship and Music in 2003, which was evening prayer, being a transformative moment for me and some rough things I was going through at the time. Taize services have a way of creating stillness. The mantra-like repetition, the vibrations moving throughout the room, the unity created by everyone singing together in such a way, work on one's soul in a way that brings such peace. This was, in fact, exactly what I needed at this moment in my life, amidst the confusion of this summer, and after an exhausting tech week.

Afterwards, I sat during the postlude talking to one of the women sitting next to me. We spoke about how moving the service was, and we talked about how all these different denominations and religions are leading to the same place. She shared a story of being involved in a Buddhist ritual and how beautiful that experience was, and we spoke of the Spirit moving in all things.

This is why I don't leave the church.

For one thing, being raised in the church, having worked for the church, and having been to churches all over the world, I have met too many people who are in the church for exactly the right reasons, who strive to live in a way that is open to all, who take inspiration from scripture to be more generous, loving, kindhearted people, to possibly condemn the church outright. I have seen religious organizations take strong stands against injustice, I have witnessed their waves of outreach in response to disaster and tragedy, I have watched as they've honestly struggled with the question of how to live a life of Christ's example as times continue to shift and change. I have seen too much good come out of the church to write it off. Unfortunately, it is the bad that is quickly publicized and never forgotten, but there is good there. There is much to be proud of. Is it perfect? No. But that is all the more reason to not abandon it, and help it to grow in the direction of Christ.

For another, it is beautiful to be able to come together in community like this. I am not a particularly social person--it takes a lot to drag me to parties and often I'd just genuinely prefer to be alone, but the communal nature of a church service is truly what brings me back again and again every week. When I told that same director that I was unavailable for anything on Sunday morning, she assumed it was because I needed to sleep in until I said, "No, I have to go to church." She asked of that "have to" was some kind of thing about saving my soul, a requirement, and I said, "No, it's for my own sanity. I can not go to church, but I'll be a much more pleasant person throughout the week if I do." And it is true. I started crying during the first Taize song today, and it was not the tears of an emotionally manipulative service (trust me, I've been to those plenty of times and I detest them), but rather tears from the beauty of all of us, in one space, singing and praying together. I am so blessed to be able to, no matter where I am, come to a place where I can be with other believers--even if we actually have vastly different opinions, even if our visions of God are vastly different, we agree on a language to speak together for that hour in a celebration of that essence that will always be impossible to define. Perhaps that language seems overly simplistic to some, but I have found that the most simple statements are often also the most complex, and I think the essence of God is one of the most simple words in the English language: "is".

And then there is the final reason I won't leave the church. After the prayers today, we started singing the song "Veni Sancte Spiritus" ("Come, Holy Spirit"). (you can listen to it here.) This was the one song we were more "taught", layering the harmonies on top of each other, with the occasional soloist. Something happened at the moment when all the voice parts had been layered in, and we were all raising our voices--in this fleeting moment, I was absolutely convinced of the existence of God.

I am a person of strong faith and conviction, but part of the definition of the word "faith" is a lack of proof. God's existence or lack thereof can never be proven. I know this, this was the reason for my period of agnosticism. And that is absolutely fine. In fact, I think this is necessary for a health faith. Do I believe God exists? Yes, of course I do. I do not know in what form--God is clearly too big to be limited to an old white man with a long beard in the sky. But I acknowledge that I believe this on faith.

Except for these moments, which I've had both inside and outside the church, where suddenly it all becomes clear. In these "thin places", as people have said, where the line between the earthly and the divine almost disappears. I cannot describe what it is, because it goes beyond language. But for that fleeting second, I experienced the essence, knew that God was, indeed, in this place. God was the singing. God was the people. God was the building. God was the air. God was our breath. And God always is... but it is often hard to see that. But how glorious are the moments when we do. And I, for one, will continually search for them... in nature, in others, and even in church.

I wonder as I wander...

"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." - Hebrews 10:31

I have not been blogging a lot this summer, and for that I apologize. It is not that I've been too busy, and it's not that nothing's going on. It's that I've found myself in an odd transition period and cannot find a way to have everything settle enough to blog about it. Strangely enough, it's not really the transition out of college that's getting to me. I'm doing quite well with that, actually. It's moving towards the next stage in my faith journey. God reveals the least He can, just enough to know the very next steps, and these steps are leading places I never would have thought. Not that I know what those places are, even. The steps are just not what I was anticipating.

I am frustrated at proselytizing preachers who will tell people that coming to God will fix all their problems. I don't understand people who claim that your life gets easier once you have given it over to God. Hebrews is right… it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, because the living God will take you places you never anticipated or wanted, the living God will have to do more than you thought you could, which is both incredible and terrifying. The living God is a tricky one you can never, ever predict, and that uncertainty can be unsettling, so the lesson then becomes how to trust, and how to walk blindly.

It's funny that when I started this blog over two years ago, I named it after a verse entirely about this. John 3:8. "The wind blows where it wants to. You hear its sound, but you don't know where it comes from or where it is going. That's the way it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." It's that feeling of blowing in the wind, not knowing where the next gust will take you, and I have not hit the ground enough to blog regularly.

One of the questions of the summer is, "what is it you actually want to do?" The answer being, of course, "I want to serve God," but that's generally not the answer that people are looking for, especially the non-religious theatrical folk. In my first meeting with the third director to arrive, we were getting to know each other and she asked that question, and I didn't really give an answer. I avoided it, because the real answer was, "I don't know." Listing a career choice doesn't feel right for me (never has), and for a while I was just feeling lost as to what it was. How to answer that question.

The great thing about this summer is that, in the midst of this, I'm surrounded by other people, with similar interests, and completely different viewpoints. From backgrounds which are not mine. It is incredible, to be able to talk with these people and find my own mission starting to flesh out. And especially as I've met people I've collaboratively clicked with (the "we're going to make art together for the rest of our lives" people), even as the wind blows me places I'd never thought I'd go, something about it makes sense, and it becomes easier to trust.

A couple weeks ago, I was trying to answer that question, the "What do I actually want to do?" question, after getting to know people who have both made my life more confusing and more clear, and here is what I came up with.

I want to make music.
I want to make music using every sound and every voice in the world.
I want to turn daily life into music.
I want to sing praise.
I want to heal others.
I want to make people feel more emotion than their bodies can hold.
I want to confront people with life, so that they may be unafraid to live it.
I want to teach people that nothing is ordinary, least of all themselves.
I want to get the entire world--mountains, valleys, fields, deserts, lakes, oceans--resounding in praise.
I want to create art that is visceral, that gives a gift of release to the audience.
I want to love everyone, no longer passively, but passionately, genuinely, and generously--and use my life and my art to express that love.

Selfishly, I want to spent my life sitting in the palm of Your hand.

My Lord

My Love

My Light

My Life

So.

That's where I am. Life is terribly confusing but it is all God. All of it. So, I'm breathing and taking each step as it is given.

Love without reason, love without mercy, love without pride or shame.

Love isn't so convenient
Love isn't something scheduled in advance
Not something guaranteed you need for fear it may pass you by
You have to take a chance
You have to try it out
What's love unless it's unconditional?
--Passion, by Sondheim

Four shows have gone up. I've learned a lot, done many things I haven't before. The first show was creating a diverse and magical wonderland through mostly found sound in the first KIDDStuff production, Alice in Wonderland. The second was making the forest of Marivaux's The Dispute come alive with live sound created by the actors with sticks, leaves, rocks, and the architecture of the theater itself (also a strategically placed desk fountain). If You Give a Pig a Pancake was the latest kids show--that script has a song written into it, the lyrics in the script, but for reasons that are still confusing, we couldn't get our hands on the actual music that went along with it--so I composed the music for these lyrics, which is a very peppy, catchy showtune. Currently most people at the theater hate me because it's in all of their heads. (I didn't know I could write a catchy song. actually.) So I also composed bits of underscoring based on that tune to highlight different sequences in the show. The fourth was Is Very Good Story of Ukrainian Heroism, is a devised piece about children in an orphanage who have unheard of physical deformities as a result of the Chernobyl disaster. That's mostly original composition and a good amount of emotionally-used explosions.

I'm starting on several other shows right now: Click, Clack, Moo, another children's show, directed by someone I've worked with in NYC, actually... Willy Wonka, which will be a cast of children and that's going to be a feat... and Beggar on Horseback, the final "Wedge" show (these are the more experimental shows) which will be... more original composition. Composition is not always the realm of a sound designer, unless they're up for it, and I said yes early on so now people are very much using me for that. It's fun. To be more precise, for Beggar on Horseback I'm live recording, editing, looping, and mixing original composition from violin, on stage, wearing a lot of black eyeliner. (I'm always interested to see how different directors use me.)

One of the reasons I fell in love with design was the opportunity it provided for love. While, of course, as a director I do what I do out of love, there's something gorgeous about listening to a director describe a vision, and then using my own thoughts and ideas and expertise to expand that, help realize it, dream further, to care for a specific part of the collaboration so deeply, to take that over so the director doesn't have to obsess over it. It's a certain kind of care that requires you to be generous with yourself, you care, your time and I love it.

I learned a lot about care on the last two shows. Things tend to change a lot during tech, which is when we see finally see everything together and in the space, and it's the time that's the most trying in any process. For one of the shows, we'd had things pretty set by the time we got into tech, but after our dress rehearsal it was clear that certain things needed to change. This actually involved me recomposing at least a third of a show. In under an hour. At this point, it would be perfectly acceptable for me to do what I could, find something that would work for each moment, and move forward. But I've been trying to challenge myself to be a more generous designer, and I managed, in about half an hour, to push myself to have multiple options for nearly every moment in the show that we'd decided to rework. I have never worked that hard and fast in my life before (and I scrambled the rest of the time, trying to program in all the changes we'd made, quickly running out of time), but it was absolutely worth it. I was proud to be able to give options in even that situation. What it came to was generosity. To be so generous with my time and effort and love that I pushed myself farther than I knew I could go. Partially being prepared to be flexible, but mostly, generosity.

Later on that day, in tech for another show, I had to say, "No," to a director. I. HATE. Saying. No. This gets me into trouble sometimes because I overcommit (which is how I ended up working on 13 shows last semester), but it takes a lot for me to say no to a director in tech. To the point where I was actually agonizing about the fact that I'd said no throughout the next day. I'd only said no because, for this show, we'd be backtracking way too far in the creative process to make that change, as well as not having the time to properly tech that section. And it killed me, but I know that, out of love for what the final product was going to be, it was the answer I needed to give.

I guess most people would come here for the opportunity to practice their art with few distractions and more support than we often get in small theaters in New York City, to meet people and make connection, to get experience. And yes, I'm here for those reasons. But for me, the opportunity to be challenged to keep caring, to expand my capacity to love, is just as valuable. Because while I work as a designer, as a director, my true job, the reason I'm here, is to love people. To love everyone. Plain and simple, job description of a Christian. And I take that extremely seriously. Theater puts a lot of people in high stress, emotional situations, and therefore is a great place to put this into practice and expand the amount you can love. Because it is possible for that to grow, if you make an effort.

The thing that has ceased to make sense to me is why you wouldn't push yourself to give. Unbounded generosity. I mean… I guess I see that it's tiring. Fine, it's grueling, and potentially insane... but it's absolutely worth it. Why not love all the way, in that gritty, inconvenient, terrifying way?

Love without reason
Love without mercy
Love without pride or shame
Love unconcerned with being returned
No wisdom
No judgement
No caution
No blame...

(also Passion, because Sondheim is a genius. Duh.)

Source of light

I was in New York City this weekend, dealing with some logistical things and visiting people and taking a break. One of the directors I'm working with asked if I was going to go to Central Park to see the fireworks. Nope, I said. I did not leave Brooklyn at all on July 4th. I went to a BBQ in the late afternoon, had a couple of glasses of sangria, saw people I hadn't seen in months, ate good food, relaxed. Then a group of us walked through Bushwick to another friend's place... where, after eating MORE good food, we rushed to the roof after the sun set to see what we could see.

The roof was full--many people from that building had decided to party on the roof that night, but it was not at all overcrowded. But rather, there was a buzz from people and excitement and celebration. Two of the residents of the building formed a band, and were playing live music there on that random roof in Brooklyn. And there were guerilla fireworks going off everywhere. Every direction we looked. Despite the "Fireworks are Illegal" signs that had been posted everywhere, people were gathering in the streets to shoot rockets into the sky out of celebration. Not really a patriotic celebration, but rather a celebration of LIFE. Of existing, of being alive and able to celebrate in that moment.

And that is how I spent the 4th of July. Sitting on a rooftop in Bushwick, with good music, good food, and good company, talking about art and how we graduates are moving forward and how grateful we are for what we learned and how useful and important it is, with a panoramic view of fireworks that were not designed to be impressive, but instead recklessly set off in pure joy of living.

I don't see how anyone with eyes could possibly limit God to a church building, when He's staring us in the face so obviously.

Let me be used.

"It’s what great artists do. They suffer and feel more within the human condition than others. They’re not better for that, just more sensitive, and there’s a burden to that. They feel the more painful aspects of life and set about to help it, heal it, turn dark into light. I believe that’s what Stephen Sondheim’s mission is. It’s what Shakespeare’s mission was — to illuminate our thoughts and struggles and bring about the possibility of getting the most we can out of a day as opposed to least in this brief moment we’re here."

- Mandy Patinkin

One of my dear friends shared this quote with me in light of the New York Philharmonic concert version of Sondheim's musical Company being shown in movie theatres nationwide. I have been an obsessive Sondheim fan since my sophomore year of high school--collecting every cast recording possible, reading as many of the books on Sondheim as I could get my hands on, spending all my time (literally) analyzing his work--due to my obsession with Sweeney Todd that started when I was 12. (Which means, hey, our 10 year anniversary is coming up this Halloween.)

Without going on a long rant about how much I love Sondheim and his work and his characters, I'll say that reading this quote was funny for me. Of course it's Mandy Patinkin, who has been a major Sondheim actor and supporter, who said this, because often Sondheim is critiqued for being distant and unemotional. (These critiques are stupid for so many reasons, but, again, I'll spare you my critique of the critique.) When I have told people that my favorite musical is Sweeney Todd, people will often talk about how dark and morbid that is, whereas I see it, and pretty much have always seen it, as a musical about love, and even hope. That there is a light in the midst of all that. It is not negativity and destruction for their own ends--but ultimately, confronting them because they are realities, and giving us a beginning to heal. Perhaps this resonates with me in particular because I've gone from being extremely cynical to extremely optimistic--and those two don't actually feel dissonant to me at all. In no way was any of that time I spent hating most of the world "wasted time", because I would not be as insistent on finding the positive as I am today.

Because, here's the thing... there's a lot of horrible things that happen in this world and it would be dumb to deny them. Or the hurt that they cause. But I think the way to actually combat them is to turn their negativity into a kind of healing. Into something beautiful that would not have taken place if they had not happened. (which is never to say that they "should" happen, but "should" rarely helps out any of us, now does it?) How can we transform them? That's actually how you fight the powers of evil in this world. And then, how do we look at the people who have caused tremendous amounts of hurt and truly say, "I love you." Even if that hurt is still there?

I think we'll all look like fools if we do that. But looking like a fool usually seems to be the point. The fool who insists on beauty and insists on love no matter how much they get hurt. That's the Christian.

Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer!

All the recipes on the internet are full of too much random stuff, so I improvised.

JOLLOF RICE, GHANA STYLE

3 tbsp tomato paste

3 tbsp vegetable oil (preferably palm oil)

2 cups broth (chicken or vegetable, your preference)

1/2 tsp cayenne pepper

1 cup long grain rice

1. In a saucepan, heat/mix oil, broth, tomato paste, and pepper. Bring to boil, reduce to simmer. Let simmer about five minutes.

2. Add rice, stir.

3. Cook until rice absorbs liquid.

You can also add vegetables to this. The next time I do it I want to dice an onion into that sauce but I didn't have one on hand. Served best with stir-fried chicken and fried RIPE plantains. You can also do 1 cup broth and 1 cup water for a bit lighter flavor, but pfft.

This is a big deal because I usually do not improvise in the kitchen (cooking-wise I'm generally not that confident... baking-wise is a whole different ballgame), and I've never cooked rice before. I just saw all these recipes and thought, "I've seen people make this. It's not that complicated."

We will now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

My poor Jerusalem

Ithaca is lovely.

Truly. Quite beautiful, though we haven't seen much of that yet as they front-loaded us with design work. The people here are great, phenomenal to work with. I've been in design meetings constantly and that's been absolutely thrilling. I have space, resources, and time to design, in a place that is beautiful, a community that supports the arts, and with people who are inspiring, challenging, and joys to work with. Yup, this situation is quite ideal.

I'm spending my time designing sounds and websites, writing long-winded letters to send across the country, reading, and resting. Trying to rest off the physical and emotional exhaustion of last semester. I am terribly glad not to be in the city for the summer. I might visit later in the summer when the work calms down, catching a ride with one of my fellow designers who's planning on going down to the city every so often, to have a meeting with someone who's in the city for the summer who I could desperately use a conversation with. And maybe to swap out some books. Distance from the city is good right now... it's allowing rest and healing, both of which I need. I read a book, Just Kids by Patti Smith, which was phenomenal. About her earlier days in New York and (primarily) her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe. I highly recommend it (though most of the arts-based theater people reading this have already read it). I'm now onto Me and Rumi: the autobiography of Shams of Tabriz, which is a newly organized translation of the Discourses of Shams-i-Tabriz. Rumi was a wise teacher but no one to particularly pay attention to until Shams came along and inspired him to the great spiritual poet and teacher that he was. Lots can be said about that relationship and what exactly it was. You'll read a lot of Rumi's poetry and it's simultaneously addressed to God and to Shams. (which actually makes perfect sense when you think about the main goal is mysticism). So it seems that, without even meaning to, I brought books that are all about encountering God in relationship with others. Looks like we're there now.

Ithaca College is on a hill, so I was walking home from rehearsal one day and looked out and could see the town, spread beneath me, the lake, trees, just beautiful nature. And I thought about God and I thought about God's incredible love for this world. And I thought about how we do things to hurt each other and how much that must break God's heart, how God must look at us and say, "No, don't you get it? You don't need to do that to each other!" And Matthew 23 went through my head, where, after going on a rampage condemning the hypocritical Pharisees, Jesus said, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing." This is it, this is God's terrible sorrow--God has offered nothing but love for us, that we twist and distort and deny and reject. And we hurt each other in ways that cannot be repaired and want to inspire more hurt.

No wonder all those theologians are so obsessed with original sin. No wonder they want to get back to before that.

And yet... as obvious and painful as this is... I cannot believe that God does not still love every one of us, and I cannot believe that God doesn't have ways that He works wonders through this mess we've gotten ourselves into. And I cannot believe that adding more hate will help matters.

Call me stubborn.

Every goodbye is hello...

Well, I graduated.

Graduations are strange ceremonies to mark the end of things, and the thing about them that's particularly strange is the fact that they have nothing to do with what you just did, as far as their form goes. Particularly for art school students, because while everyone else celebrates the end of papers and exams, we've spent the last four years rolling on the floor, trying to figure out how to make a room feel like it's outside, making strange vocal noises, and being constantly evaluated not on how much we know but on how we function as people. This graduation was particularly weird because the teachers and staff who truly shaped my education weren't part of the ceremonies. So it became a bunch of people I don't know telling me congrats on an achievement when they don't even know what went into it.

Furthermore, I feel weird being congratulated for simply finishing college. That's like being congratulated for getting an A. And A and a degree are useful to have because they're quick marks for employers, etc, but they're not the real reason. It's not about what marker you get but about what you learned. What you experienced. Grades are practically useless in art school, so while we do get grades (because NYU makes us), we get evaluations about out work, out progress, and these are what matter. I've often forgotten what grade I got.

So, instead of patting myself on the back for getting a piece of paper, the only thing that makes sense is to use this moment to look back over the last four years - remembering who I was when I arrived and looking at who I am now and asking how I did. And happily, I can say that I think I did this college thing well. I have no regrets. I don't think I could have done any more than I did. (I mean, really, I worked on 43 shows in 7 semesters.) I stayed openminded and absorbed a lot across the board at the beginning, and then I narrowed my focus to be very specific towards the end in order to create a track for my specific interests. I worked with and learned from incredible creators, both teachers and students alike. I got well acquainted with the New York theater scene and have worked on a good number of shoes off- and off-off-Broadway. I spent a semester living in a place so completely different than anything I'd known, and traveled the world for the first time seeing art and experiencing people. My life took turns I never would have expected and I went with it even when afraid and am thrilled I did. I didn't waste it. PHTS apparently agrees and gave me an award for outstanding achievement in studio, and NYU graduated me with honors and apparently sent me a pretty certificate, which I haven't seen yet as my parents are doing things to preserve it. (My mother said, "Well, if we had given it to you, it's just stay rolled in that tube. "Until you needed the tube for something," my father added accurately.)

There are the questions that come up about what I'm doing after college. These are questions that are hard for my parents to answer as it can be hard to explain what I do and how the theatrical world works. It's rare that you'll have a "steady job" unless you're positioned at a theater company. You're hopping from project to project and trying to line up the next one and all of that, constantly. It's not a steady or stable or easy way of life, but I'm not worried, and here is why:

I am of the belief that theater school is one of the best preparations you can possibly have for life, particularly in our current social and economic state of affairs. Here are some reasons why:

1. Resourcefulness. Theater has always been poor. Theater makers have always been out of work. Most of the theater spaces in New York are falling apart. What this means is, we LEARN resourcefulness. We learn how to use what we have to get a better effect than the one that costs too much. We learn how to look for jobs, how to carve out places for ourselves. We learn how to survive and do what we do in less-than-ideal circumstances. We have to stay infinitely adaptable. I worked a show on Saturday where we had to set up a mixing station for the DJ, which we ended up making out of a piano stand an some scrap wood. We didn't have a pin to hold the piano stand up, though, and when I noticed this, the DJ (also a graduate of my program) said, "This is what your education prepared you for," and I found a screw and wedged it in. The ability to think beyond the obvious and literal and search for creative solutions is key to theater, and is also growing increasingly more and more necessary as our economic systems crumble.

2. Creativity. In theater, we have an idea, we wrestle with it and try to figure it out, and then work to manifest that idea into some physical form. The ability to do this, to move from idea to manifestation, is key to any kind of business endeavor. That's what we do--idea, create. And knowing steps to take in that whole process is particularly valuable. Frankly, that's what business look for when hiring upper-level positions. Taking a project and seeing it manifested.

3. Communication. Similarly to creativity, theater artists are focused on creating a form that best communicates what they want to say. It's not about fitting the idea into a form that does not suit it, but finding a form that does, that will actually get the idea across. And that's the kind of communication we need, desperately, in this world.

4. Collaboration. Theater artists have to work with lots of people to get their piece up. Collaboration is a VITAL part of making theater, and like it or not, you learn how to do it if you truly apply yourself. You learn how to listen to other people, how to take in their ideas, how to ask helpful questions. You learn how to manage people, how to value their ideas and your own, how to work to weave ideas together into something none of you could have created on your own. And you learn that just because something is "easy" does not necessarily mean its better. Sometimes the easiest collaborations produce the most boring product, and you need different voices on the team, one of which is the "mean" one who will say what he/she feels honestly and generously in order to stir up conversation.

That has been huge for me. I came into college not at all comfortable with how to work with other people, avoiding confrontation at all costs. And throughout my time in college I've felt myself getting stronger and stronger, more and more confident, most likely to actually ask a question or talk to someone I don't know, because theater has taught me collaboration. These are lessons I'll be learning my entire life, but I got a very strong start, largely thanks to the incredible people who taught me so much about other people. Particularly, how to care for them. Most of what I do as a director and designer is care. Simply care. And I have learned a particularly valuable lesson in that--true care, true love, is not easy. It's not letting anyone off the hook, because if you did you wouldn't be truly caring for them and their development. Caring sometimes means being willing to be the one who they hate, if that is what they need. I learned more about caring for people from one teacher, who was also the hardest, most brutally honest, you could say "harsh" if you were so inclined, teacher I have ever had, because all of that was to a very loving point, which was my own development as an artist and a person. And because someone was willing to do that, I grew tremendously these past four years. And for that I am terribly grateful.

So, for the question of what this next stage of life holds, I have the literal answer and the Next Major Spiritual Question to Tackle (Because That's What Colleen Does In Her Life, After All).

The literal answer is that I'm writing this blog from Ithaca, New York, where I will be living and working all summer. I am at the Hangar Theater as their Lab Company Sound Designer/Sound Design Intern. The Hangar Theater is a fabulous regional theater that has a jam-packed summer season. One of its main focuses is education, and surrounding that is the Lab Company. The Lab Company is a company of college-aged actors, designers who are recent graduates, and directors chosen by the Drama League (the Drama League Directing Fellowships are incredible opportunities for up and coming directors, and it's likely that I'll apply for one several years from now). The Lab Company gives everyone opportunities to practice their craft, learn from each other and working professionals. Through this, I will be designing eight shows (five children's theater shows, three "Wedge" shows which are more experimental shows directed by the Drama League fellows), and assisting professional designers on 3 of the mainstage shows (a new play, Gem of the Ocean, and the Rocky Horror Show). Outside of work I'll also be helping continue development on a piece I worked on in May when the creators of the piece are up here. My first full day of work was today, and I'll post more updates about that as the summer goes on. Lots to say, I'm very excited to be here, I have to read two scripts for a design meeting tomorrow and I am THRILLED FOR DESIGN MEETINGS I LOVE THEM.

After the summer, the plan is to visit Virginia briefly, then return to New York, work (a day job and) as a sound designer, and self-produce my own directing work. It would make no sense for me to move back to Virginia or really go anywhere else. Grad school is not an option until I've been out in the world more, all of my connections are in New York, and places that will pay me for what I have my degree in and love doing are also in New York. So, that makes sense. I've got an apartment with fabulous rent out in Brooklyn (a 10 minute walk from the only Bojangles in NYC, WIN!), I've got some show offers on the table. It will work out.

Ithaca is a small hippie town nestled in the middle of nowhere in that vast land known as "upstate New York" which really means "any part of New York that is not New York City". So far it actually reminds me a lot of Asheville, North Carolina, a feeling confirmed by the lighting design who is from North Carolina. The arts are thriving. Nature is beautiful (lakes and hills and waterfalls). There are lots of small places to go in town, but nothing surrounding it. I like the isolation. There's something really lovely, after being in the city, to going away, changing your pace, and working out whatever you need to work out.

Which brings me to part two of the summer, which my mother thinks is a continuation of my last blog post. I'm not sure how much I really agree but it's on the subject of love, and the challenges and values of love, which is really what all my blog posts are about, but anyway.

I am starting this summer with a question. How do you love when it seems impossible? How do you love when someone you trust and love does something incomprehensible? How do you love when something rips apart a thing that was once whole and beautiful? How do you love when you watch the hurtful ripple effects of a decision you vehemently disagree with with every fiber of your being? How do you love when you, frankly, don't want to anymore? When it would be so much easier and feel so much better if you didn't? How do you love even then?

Some things happened this week that have violently pushed those questions into my brain. An awful situation that has shaken me and most of my friends to the core. In the past few days I've been more angry, upset, confused, and worried than I have been in a very long time. Because something ripped through the center of something I loved quite deeply, I have seen people act in ways I never would have expected, and people I love have been hurt (and will continue to be as the news spreads). And the thing with me is, you can do whatever you want to me, I have the patience and the stamina for that. But if you hurt someone I love, this Toby-instinct* rages up in me and I could actually murder someone.

*Toby-instinct, referring to Tobias Ragg, that little kid character in Sweeney Todd. Toby is, I think, the purest example of love and devotion and loyalty I have ever seen in art. Toby loves Mrs. Lovett ultimately unselfishly--if it came down to it, if it was better for Lovett if Toby disappeared, he would. It would kill him, but he would. He's SO singly focused, if anything begins to threaten her, protecting her is where ALL his attention goes--and how much he could be hurting himself doesn't cross his mind. Which actually makes Toby the most powerful and the most dangerous character in that show--because you can do an incredible amount of physical damage if you're not afraid of breaking your own hand. A summary of my years of Toby analysis is actually somewhere on Facebook if you're into the whole Sweeney Todd thing. It's from the last time Toby really flared up, in 2008.

So, being in a very particular emotional state, needing some solidarity and grounding, and having gotten no sleep for the past several nights, I did not go to church on Sunday morning. Instead, I went down to Battery Park and walked the labyrinth that's there. It's a small classical labyrinth (as opposed to the Chartres-style labyrinth) laid out with stones in the grass. I sang, a lot, while walking it, which I'd never done before. And I spewed out the situation and prayed desperately for those who have been affected by it. But then on the walk out of the labyrinth, I got to the hard part.

I am not allowed to hate anyone.

It is, actually, against my religion, which we all know I take very seriously.

In fact, I am supposed to love everyone. And yes, that's always difficult because it's hard to expand your care that much, but I have never found that so hard until this moment. Because I don't WANT to love them right now. I would LOVE to vilify and hate and be done with it. But actually, this very strong code I have instilled in myself says that I can't do that. And intellectually, I know that bringing more hate into the world won't help the situation at all. And I know that love does not mean approval, or letting things slide, and love is definitely not letting people off the hook, and there is some way to love within all of this, but emotionally I am not at all there. I was praying for help in trying to love, and it was a physical struggle for me to get the words out.

So here I am now. In beautiful Ithaca, which is particularly good for me as it is away from New York City, the center of this situation. With the question, "How do you keep loving when it is the hardest possible response?" Which is a question that will take much longer to answer and be very hard to put into practice, but I've got to get some kind of beginning. Partially logistically, because I need to be able to look at people in the face and have a conversation by the time I return to the city. What I said to a group of friends as we lent each other our support, wrapped in blankets and crying on a balcony in Brooklyn, was, "I don't know how to even begin to heal this situation." And it's one that's going to need a lot of healing in a lot of different ways, for a long time, so we've got to start somewhere.

Why is love so easy to give and so hard to receive?

I have been away. Doing shows. Finishing classwork. Graduating (what? yeah. I'm in the midst of that now). So this post is long overdue. My apologies.

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’ Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfil the scripture, “The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.” I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he. Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me

.’ - John 13:1-17

Until this Maundy Thursday, I had always read this scripture as "we should wash each other's feet, we should act as servants to each other". Which is, absolutely, a huge part of it. I summarized this for some friends of mine by saying that Maundy Thursday is the day when Jesus passes the torch. He says, "Alright, guys, I've been here loving you and caring for you and challenging you, but I'm about to not be around, so you're going to have to do this for each other now." (that's where we get "maundy" from "mandatum", the Latin for "commandment", Jesus giving the commandment for us to love each other.)

But this Maundy Thursday, I noticed Peter for the first time. Peter, the well-meaning but often misguided disciple who ended up being the rock the church was based on. The disciple with the most character development. Peter who refuses to let Christ wash his feet. And I realized that in any given foot-washing situation, I'm quite willing to wash someone else's feet… but completely unwilling to have my feet washed. I'm not going to inflict my beaten, smelly feet on anyone, especially not someone who I have such love and respect for. Which is exactly what Peter says to Jesus. And Jesus tells Peter, "If you don't let me wash your feet, you have no part in me. In any of this."

It is incredibly difficult to accept love. I think it is often more difficult to receive love, truly receive love, than to give it. Because while giving love is vulnerable, for fear of rejection, receiving love (which is different than reaching out and grabbing love, trying to take love) requires you to allow someone else inside of you, give them leave to affect you intimately--in fact, let go of control. And that's terrifying. I think a lot of us have no idea how to do it. I'm terrible at it. A lot of the people I know who are very good at giving love have a very hard time receiving it. For various reasons. We don't know how, the vulnerability required is scary. Mostly, I think, because we get caught up over what we "deserve" or not. "Deserve" is about as useless as "should". Both "deserve" and "should" are ideas we made up. According to some Christian doctrine, we don't deserve anything. We're all Totally Depraved, we're steeped in sin and deserve nothing, and so (some of us) reject everything that comes our way because we don't feel we "deserve it". Then, there's others who feel they absolutely deserve it and therefore take it ruthlessly. Also not the point.

Christ's coming wasn't about sanctifying us so that we deserved his love or sacrifice. Christ's coming was not a gift of mercy towards undeserving people. Christ's coming was, "Guys, get over that whole thing. Thinking about whether or not you deserve it just isn't helpful. There's life to be lived." ("I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." - John 10:10) Grace is that which frees us from thoughts of what we do or do not deserve, should or should not do, and allows us free movement, choices, mistakes, life. Grace is forgiveness that has already been bestowed. I read some philosophy for a class this semester, Hannah Arendt, who said that forgiveness was one of the ways we were able to make choices. Otherwise the irreversible effect of our actions would seem too much, it would freeze us in our tracks before we performed any action, but it is the existence of forgiveness that allows those strings to be loosened and for us to move forward without fear. I (and John Wesley) would call that grace. Prevenient grace, to be precise.

There's something about not accepting love that easily becomes romanticized. Starving artist who won't let anyone in. Wearing the scars of your self-deprecation. Dealing with your own problems, washing your own feet. But the fact of the matter is, no matter how much love is in the world, if we can't receive it, it doesn't matter. And that's the true problem. When we don't receive love, wearing our self-sufficient badges proudly, we are nullifying the presence of love in the world. Yes, we could always use more love in the world, but if we can't receive it, it doesn't matter. That's the story of the crucifixion. A man coming in and loving, deeply, truly, wholly, and the people he was trying to love rejecting it, lashing out against it in anger, screaming, "CRUCIFY HIM! We can't handle that!" In The Problem of Pain, CS Lewis speaks of God's love in The Problem of Pain, in a way that I've become obsessed with: "He has paid us the most intolerable compliment of loving us, in the deepest, most tragic, most inexorable sense." And it truly can be an intolerable compliment we try to scratch off of our skin.

I can't believe that anyone is truly evil. I just can't. I have to assume that anyone who commits atrocious acts either hasn't been given the love that would have prevented that, or hasn't known how to accept that love. And so the love can never land, change, transform. It is negated. And no matter how much love I try to give to the world, I'm not helping if I can't receive love. I am, in fact, making the problem worse, and have no part in all of this, as Jesus says to Peter. He's teaching us not only to love, but to be loved. Not only to give, but to receive. Because the fact is, we have to be able to do both, because each one is dependent on the other. It's the only way this world will begin to heal.

More from me soon, but someone linked me to this blog post about Osama bin Laden's death, and it says everything I would want to say on that subject.

Body, mind, spirit, voice, it takes the whole person to sing and rejoice

Friday I realized that the two concepts I most obsess over, that I spend so much time trying to figure out, "infinity" and "unity"… are the two words that are used in setting levels for sound. (unity is "0", a magical concept of when input and output are the same, infinity is when there's no sound) Of course.

Saturday I learned: Care means not giving up when everyone else has.

Sunday was Palm Sunday, the weirdest Sunday of the church year. Palm Sunday has to get you from joy and celebration through the Passion (since these events happen in the middle of the week but we can't trust people to go to church on the weekdays.

Palm Sunday is Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem. Jerusalem, during Passover. The political situation was charged, there were people piling in from everywhere, looking for someone to lead a revolution. Into this comes Jesus, riding on a donkey, not a warhorse, which is the first break of expectation (I mean, really, a donkey is awkward). But still, they shout praises and throw palms down and strip off their clothes to make a Biblical red carpet.

Thus begins Holy Week, my favorite week of the year, the week at the end of Lent where the whole Christian story really happens. I'll be updating you on where we are in the story throughout this week. Holy Week has come at the last of my 7 straight weeks of tech (ANY YOUNGER ONES WHO MAY BE READING THIS BLOG, SAVE YOURSELVES AND NEVER DO THIS), where I am exhausted and therefore in need of much church. And luckily, I now have more and more church than I used to...

Many people who read this blog have most often seen me in a choir loft. With both of my parents being church musicians, I've been singing in choirs for as long as I can remember, consistently, through my first semester of college. Choir camps nearly every summer since… 2nd grade?, weekends of larger choir festivals, singing with some pretty big-name directors/composers in the church music field. I grew up with church music, not "contemporary Christian", but Rutter, Britten, Mozart. I LOVE this music, and I love singing in choirs. Choir was never an option for me, growing up. Every Sunday I had choir. No question. And I was the smart aleck sitting in the back row in youth choir because I knew most of the anthems because I'd been hearing them my entire life, sure, but I did love it. We can very easily track my interest in speech back to choirs. Pronunciation was a strength of mine, getting the exact shape of the mouth for the vowel. Singing in church choirs is joyful and extremely comfortable for me. It's a place and situation that has very specific rules and behaviors which I know intimately. And there is nothing like lifting your voice alongside others in praise. Choirs were my first real experience with collaboration. You blend, you listen to others, you don't try to be noticed, but you also have to sing out and enter with strength and hit those consonants or else it will sound flimsy. The choir creates a whole that is larger, and that whole is the goal of everyone involved.

I was in a choir through Tisch my first semester of college, as a 2 credit elective, but after that, I wasn't able to commit to the time a choir needed. So I have sung at Bon Air whenever I've been back in Virginia, but mostly sat at church in New York listening to beautiful choirs and singing hymns with particular gusto. And while I've been singing hymns with particular gusto, a woman at my church noticed me, and noticed my tendency to sing the alto line, and started talking to me about joining the Parish Choir. Having been on the other side of this equation at Bon Air, I was both highly amused at being approached and heartbroken to say that I could not join. And throughout the years, this woman has seen me and mentioned the choir, assuring me it was very casual and didn't take up a lot of time and I didn't even have to come to rehearsal on Wednesday nights if I could just show up before the service on Sunday morning. Being a child of choir directors, I disbelieved this, knowing that rehearsal was important.

In the moments when the two of us would run into each other this semester, she would mention rehearsal at 8:15am on Sunday, but never Wednesday. I started to wonder if they had stopped rehearsing on Wednesday nights. About a month ago, the week after she tried to recruit me yet again, there was an announcement in the bulletin saying, "THE PARISH CHOIR WANTS YOU!" which said that rehearsal was Sunday, 8:15am. After a couple weeks where I was operating a show in a church and therefore had to be on call in case that church was confused as to what we did with the sound system, I found the woman during coffee hour and said, "Next week. I'll be there."

And thus, I joined the choir.

I was nervous coming into the church early that Sunday morning. I'm confident in my choir-singing abilities (I better be, at this point), but any new situation sends me into panic, really. But, of course, I was welcomed with open arms. It's a small choir that mostly sings hymns during communion at the early service, very casual, very welcoming. The woman had already set aside a robe for me. We warmed up with "O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing", which is one of my favorite hymns, and having the opportunity to sing with other people in this setting again was incredibly moving.

It's a lovely group that I'm so grateful to be a part of. Odd how getting up supremely early is more restful than sleeping late on Sundays. Beautiful.

Not fear

Sister Wendy Beckett. Consecrated virgin, hermit, and art historian. Hearing her talk about art and sensuality is incredible (though that's not the focus of this video). Here she says some fabulous things about fundamentalism and why we go to church.

Love unconcerned with being returned

Yesterday I learned:

Love is its strongest (and most useful?) when it is directional.

Like most things, I suppose.

I'm often overwhelmed with feelings of love, gratitude, etc. and I have no idea what to do about them because I don't know how to express them. I don't have anything to direct them towards. No vessel to pour them in.

But man… if I can direct it towards making you muffins, or fixing your sound system… prepare to be overwhelmed.

Which is why I wrote this blog at 1:13am, having just gotten back to my apartment, exhausted, but very happy.

It's been one week!

oof, I'm behind.

Tech. But I am approaching my last PHTS tech week of the semester, and this last one should be easier. This week is a bit trying. I've been in tech for the past... 5 weeks, really. I'm getting a bit tired.

SO.

Wednesday I learned: For a good time, approach the next piece of art you encounter as a conversation between you and that work.

Thursday I learned: JUST ASK. If you don't ask, people will think you know, and then it gets awkward for everyone if you've been pretending to know but, when the information becomes necessary, you don't. (this is rather huge for me, as I'm so often scared to ask questions.)

Friday I learned: Not knowing can be terribly exciting.

Saturday I learned: Half an hour spent outside doing nothing in a park makes the next 3 hours of work much more productive.

Sunday I learned: It's a joy to be able to help others. To be qualified to help others, to be equipped to help others.

Monday I learned: Sometimes releasing your feelings (particularly anxieties and stresses) to another person who wants to be there for you is actually extremely helpful.

Tuesday I learned: Similarly: we don't have to carry everything ourselves.

Wednesday I learned: It is vital to know what you can and cannot do at a certain point. (I think of this in contexts of productions, but it's relevant for the larger sense too.) You pick your battles, and you fight them hard, and if they're easily won you pick more. But if you try to fight everything, you will win nothing.

I have 3 major posts to make. Soon. Wrapping up techs, figuring out post-college life (putting down a deposit for an apartment today, hoping all goes well--trying to rent an apartment as a graduating freelancer is a headache).

Somebody tell me all there is to know

Today I learned: there is nothing that is not of God.

Oh wait, I learned that a long time ago. I learned that during the first conference I worked at Montreat back in 2009 when I came to understand the Doctrine of Divine Sovereignty.

I learn that all the time.

But here's the thing about knowledge: you are never done with it. It is never, "Oh, I've got it, let's move forward." Not once you get past memorizing times tables. It is moments of clarity, bursts of understanding, that we then complicate and dance with and lose and regain and then burst again. We are never done with it. Our relationship to everything we've learned changes with each new experience, so we will learn the same things over and over and over again in new lights with the same joy of discovery.

Do it in the name of living

In the last few days I have learned a lot of things. They've been jam-packed both literally and emotionally.

Thursday: Competition can very easily turn into two people with similar interests learning from each other, if you navigate it well.

Friday: I had a very long conversation with a good friend of mine stretching quite late into the night/early in the morning, during which we passionately debated pretty much everything to be debated and traveled through nearly the entire spectrum of human emotion. The tidbit from this conversation I'll share here was:

Her: You can't love everyone, even if you say it's your job.
Me: Yes, but I can't be okay with NOT loving someone. I can't say, "Oh, I don't love them, that's fine."
Her: But still. You're not Jesus.
Me: But we're all called to be Christ to the world!
Her: Colleen, if you die for my sins, I will RESURRECT you just to kill you myself. MY SINS ARE MY OWN. YES, I'M QUOTING PATTI SMITH AT YOU!

I was thinking about this, the "my sins are my own" vs. "my sins are God's" and what I think it actually is is, "our sins are each other's". We are responsible for each other, for each other's wellbeing, for each other's development, for each other's lives. What Christ left for us, the Holy Spirit coming down during Pentecost, was, "Okay, you have to do this for each other, now. Love each other as I have loved you."

Saturday: Sometimes, being around people without any agenda except hanging out and being together is just as restful as sleep. (this is not to dismiss the importance of sleep, which I am well aware of. but I'm not used to being social.)

Sunday: Just take the scary first step, already. You'll be happier for it. (I will expand on this later. Sunday was thrilling.)

Monday: It's possible to make time for things you think you're too busy for if you care about them.


Last night I got 8 hours of sleep. It was awesome. 4 of my 10 shows are done (I was pretending it was 9, but really, it's 10.) After this week, 6 out of 10 will be done. Phew.

There is one foundation

Today I learned:

...well.

Today I laughed, a lot, as I was walking home from rehearsal, exhausted, casually pondering the self, the value (yes) of acting with self-interest, self vs. others, etc., etc. And I laughed because self is another one of those arbitrary distinctions we make up. Like race, and gender, and sexual orientation. And we (including me), spend so much time fussing about those differences we forget that they are not the point. We get caught up in the difference, this vs. that, when in actuality, nothing is VS anything at all, and continuing to think of it that way is not going to help us.

Reality is, in fact, much simpler. So simple it can, in fact, be extraordinarily difficult to believe. God is One, God is All. And if we want to personify God as an old man up in the sky, I imagine Him chuckling at us as we wrestle with language and each other trying to figure this out when it's staring at us from every single corner. Because it's a truth often better expressed in image, sound, art, than explained in words. I can try to explain it, but that frankly won't do any good.

Comprehension is only useful if it has to do with living.

ps: bed before midnight bed before midnight i'm so excited!

What do you see?

Today I learned: Resist God less = love life more.

Weird, ineffable moments regarding God, the world, and unity. While doing things as simple as walking down the street. One of my mentors once noted that I have these experiences and it's not like, "I mediated for six months eating only a small bowl of rice a day and then this happened," but rather, "I was walking down the street going to class and looked up and there was an overwhelming experience of God and the ultimate unity of the world, and then I went on with the rest of my day." In a way, I'm struggling in my Jewish mysticism class because I am expected to be more surprised or bewildered than I am. Paradoxes don't stress me out. I'm not troubled by God being both concealed and revealed, or the nameless-which-is-reached-through-a-name, or circular ladders, or all division actually being unity. That makes more sense to me than nearly anything else. So as the teacher tries to get us to wrestle with and debate these concepts, I'm almost at a loss. Because what I think is, "Well, yes. Of course." How can one NOT see God in all of creation? How can we say that anything is NOT of God?

Hymn we sang on Sunday:

How shall we love Thee, holy, hidden Being,

If we love not the world which Thou hast made?

O give us brother love for better seeing

Thy world made flesh, and in a manger laid:

Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Thy will be done.

That's it. I'm incoherent. I love God a lot. It's easy to have know the concept of, "God is in everyone, in everything," but it's much harder to apply that to life on a day-to-day basis. I can get enormously frustrated with myself about this. Today I asked, "When am I going to put what I know into my life?!" And God said, "When you truly love me."

I don't know how I let you so far inside my mind

Hello, world!

I am back in business, having just finished the awful "being in tech for two shows at once" week. But now I'm free, I turned 22 today, and I'm onto the next round of shows.

But right now, I have some catching up to do:

Thursday I learned: Everyone comes from some place, and if you disagree with them, fine; but try to figure out where they're coming from.

Friday I learned: Sometimes what people really need is simply a presence in the room to show that you care. Don't underestimate the power of that.

Saturday I learned: You must, must, MUST know and understand when things are not your fault, so you don't beat yourself up over something you had no control over. (even/especially when others don't understand that and want to beat you up.)

Sunday I learned: That, yes, I do have limits.

Last night, one of my shows ended, and I finally felt like I could stop futzing with another show of mine that's running. After leaving strike, I felt relief, massive amounts of relief, and the stress started pouring off of me physically, leaving me quite fragile. I got back to my apartment and ceased to function. Moving a little bit, then stopping and staring. Managed to clean, but at great effort. Lit the Chartres candle and stared for a long time. All fine, all totally fine, just exhausted and in need of a bit of recovery time. I hadn't felt so weak, physically, emotionally, mentally, in a long time. It's good, because you know you've done something. In a way, it's invigorating. But building in that recovery time is necessary. I've got a rather intense summer coming up (designing 8 shows), and my mentor, who once did that same summer program, told me, "Be sure to build in some time after the summer to rest and let what you've learned hit you, because it goes so fast and you need that time to figure out what just happened." Wise, and absolutely something I wouldn't do unless someone told me. Trying to implement it, with a possible trip down to Virginia in early fall (because if I'm in New York I will NOT rest). Unless I get a job offer that's too good to refuse.

So yes. Limits exist. But I think limits exist to be reached, and that way they can be stretched out. Go for it. Build in the recovery time, though.

Today:

Today is my birthday. Weird. I'm 22, which means I have nothing to look forward to until 30. But 30 will inevitably set on weeks of panic, so really I have nothing to look forward to until I turn 38, when my birthday falls on Easter. I didn't want it to be a big deal, but Facebook has revolutionized birthdays. I was supposed to go to a rehearsal tonight, but got an email from the director (who I'd recently friended on Facebook) wishing me a happy birthday and saying that she was only working on the two scenes I'd already seen a million times so it might not be that helpful for me. (I think she felt weird about me coming to her rehearsal on my birthday.) So I stayed in, cooked myself a birthday dinner. Saved my last Cadbury creme egg for the occasion (thanks Lindsay!) Reading Brian McLaren's new book. Catching up on work. etc.

The whole "getting presents" thing has died down (though there are apparently some new Sondheimian releases that are headed my way--which means I'm reverting to being 15 years old again--and my roommate has something mysterious arriving soon), which is fine by me, but the fact of a birthday is like a day where people particularly acknowledge your existence (generally as a positive), which is actually a more meaningful gift in and of itself. It's nice to know that there are people who are genuinely happy you're alive.

As for what I learned: I have a tendency, a habit, of being self-deprecating. (I knew this already.) But, frankly, that's really disrespectful to the people who DO think good things about me, because that's just smashing all their opinions and calling their thoughts invalid. And it is doubly disrespectful towards God for doubting the inherent value of His Creation.

So: humility must come with self-respect, not self-hate. Tough for me because self-hate is a very comfortable place for me to live, but... since when am I called to anything comfortable?

In the words of the brilliant beautiful musical Passion:

Why is love so easy to give,

and so hard to receive?

But though I want to live,

I now can leave

With what I never knew:

I'm someone to be loved--

and that I learned from you.