capable.

this past week, i was asked to help out backstage for a musical my work* was putting on. i have fond memories of  The Music Man. though i never participated in a stage performance of this musical theatre favorite, i watched it on dvd endlessly, my dad always humming behind me. the school performance was condensed - only an hour long.  it was a bullet list of main points and songs therefore it was no surprise when the storytelling proved bankrupt of artful development.
but it's okay, they are kids for goodness sake!

i showed up monday evening with no idea about what i was expected to do. two summers ago, i was asked to sit in the front row and cue lines when needed and cue choerography when the loud first grader was shocked by how bright the lights are and how he couldn't see mommy. but for that show, i attended all rehearsals. i wasn't sure what i would be assigned to do for these final three rehearsals and the almost-here six shows. the director - also the fifth grade teacher - walked me to the soundbooth and said i'd be stage manger. i would "call the book." i would learn the show before thursday's audience arrived. learning the show, for me, meant knowing when lights, curtain, mics, and music should be on, open, off, etc.

on hearing her expectation and instruction i had two thoughts:

nice. 

and 

what?

all and all, it was fun. it required organization, a feel for timing, the ability to process and respond to multiple variables the entire show, and a relaxed attitude.**
i put mics on kids, replaced batteries, and repeated the most powerful words all night - "standby" and "go."

brushing my teeth after a successful opening night, i realized that i don't have one thing in particular that i want to give myself to. i enjoy a lot of things. singing, writing, reading, design, organization, children, planning. i am a prepared and dependable individual who can see all of her interests contributing to one another, who can see herself doing three different things (and getting paid for them) at the same time for the rest of her life. however, there is part of me that is buckling down to become a master. no, not get my masters (that will come later?) but excavate my school resources, make appointments to meet with masters of a kind, and look over a few things until they are automatic, ingrained, imprinted.

during college i juggled the schedule of barack obama. i was, admittedly, overcommitted. i excelled at getting-things-done well. i received A's, approval from my supervisors, and was entrusted with (too) much at my internship. i am no master of my area of study, though. i mostly just crossed things off my to do list without absorbing subjects deeply enough to remember specifics after the "due date." however, this was my college experience: i become a more solid, anchored person who is honest and can say no.

The Music Man reminded me that i am talented, that i can apply my skills to many situations, and that i love musicals. that last one may have no relevance in my future. but it's true.

The Music Man mostly made me feel capable. and hungry to master something so that, in the future, i can be more so. and since i've been so scared of growing up, sitting behind the glass of the sound booth, dim lights, friendly banter and the directors' confidence felt so inexplicably good. like things might all work out some how. that i might get a side job here and another job here and i could be just as fulfilled as the doctor who accomplished an eon of schooling to check my reflexes. or that i could be a doctor. i forget which one.


*a k-8 private school. oh, the stories i could tell!

**working on this. i know sometimes i can be a frenzied presence. when josh called me a "stress case" sophomore year, my quick heart knew he was right. when i encounter people i want to be a calming presence. for example, the director seemed to be unphased by missing props, nervous fidgeting, and forgotten lines. she was self-possessed. she drank her diet coke leisurely. i took note and tried with every shivering bone in my body to follow suit.

more than bright, clear moments

every five years super bowl sunday is more than half-time productions, over-sexualized commercials, and my dad clapping fervently at the television (even if his cowboys fell short of actually competing in this senstionalized three hour event).  my birthday was february the third. when i was thirteen i wore baby blue pants and brought donuts and milk to church before a superbowl celebration where i would make efforts to ignore that damn pigskin that stole my day. when i was eighteen, my mother took me to see Wicked because she knew i would be ignored. my twenty-third birthday was different. i watched the superbowl. i sat on the couch with the feller and joined in unison with my dad when that one guy didn't catch the ball. i didn't learn any names of players, but i was able to enjoy the day without it being about me per se. i did wake up to red velvet cupcakes courtesy of my dad. his kind gesture was unexpected - his mother died in january. he has been sick and understandably not himself. it was nice to see him step outside of his fog for a day. what made the first day of twenty-three so lovely was that it was so fittingly understated. no big shenanigans here. cozy socks were enough. homemade sliders were enough. family was enough. we played frisbee at the park and it was enough.

that evening the feller and i went on a walk after purchasing our favorite ice cream cones. walks, for us, are a regular thing. our relationship took form on the sidewalks of our favorite old town. 

the conversation that night made a sad turn too soon for me. sadness because, though i've always known it, i am a nervous individual and many things scare me. i am working on vocalizing my opinions and feelings. you see, my words are dismissed at home. perhaps that is why i took to writing so young. a paper will never refuse ink. the conversation asked my opinion, my thoughts and, well, i was afraid of them. afraid to vocalize my fears.

lately, pressures of pending "grown-up" decisions have overwhelmed me. so, i picked up my pace when they became the topic of conversation. and because all things are connected and touching (spaghetti brain, jonie calls it) and because i am also nervous about my beauty, my gifts, and relationships i resigned to an impenatrable room of concentrated emotion. it is second nature to withdraw into myself. lord, have mercy. my steps reflected my thoughts - thrusting forward impetuously. my voice was raised and distant and teary. we walked in silence for too long. i was disappointed and angry that i had to acknowledge such sad things on a day of celebration. really? the last hours of my birthday and i am crying? it didn't feel fair. it didn't feel good. nothing was resolved when we said goodbye. we conceded that this sucks, that we love each other, and that we would talk the next day.

before we saw eachother the next day, 

i came across this:

it was perfect and precisely what i needed. 

i've had enough!

fear pushes away the good things. it erects walls in the quest for self-preservation. it assumes impending danger or pain, regardless if it is real or imagined. 

i will say that the threat that vulnerability poses to the self is a real thing worth considering. 

opening up oneself to the love of others is opening oneself up to the possibility of injury. 

speaking as one who has been injured, my awareness of the pain 

that can result due to the carelessness or stupidity or selfishness  

of others whom you have trusted

is heightened. 

so, i am nervous. and i am sad because i am nervous.

no one wants to live a nervous life.

i recognize that fear introduces instability. this instability sabotages forward motion. loosed, it is unwieldy. it requires me to escape to the bathroom during sushi with friends whispering to myself through deep breaths and almost-tears:

you can do this, you can do this, you are beautiful, you are loved. 

it is hard to fight alone. 

i was reminded this week that scripture, that an experience with God is transformative.

but life with God requires more than bright, clear moments of His word and presence. 

it requires the dailyness of relational care, of life lived with others.

i need the support and help and kindness of dear people in my instability.

i need truth in my ears and from the mouths of others.

their love, the face of God, gives me courage.

cheers to a year where the "small things" are enough.

cheers to a year noticeably marked by courage and not fear.