[This post may end up living here, but since these thoughts are so tied-up in my work-life, I'm publishing on Best Available, as well. At least for now.]

Divergence is the Problem. The problem is not that I’m THIS way or THAT way, but rather, it is INCONGRUENCE between the hopes I have for myself and my actual behavior, that is at issue, here.

I have always heard that when it comes to having and wanting, that a person should want what they have, rather than have what they want. Actually, both sides hold merit for me, but being able to see both sides only further complicates the issue. There are only two options, if I am to attempt to narrow the gap between what I WANT for myself and what I actually DO in my life:

1) WANT LESS BY BEING HAPPY WITH THE STATUS QUO
At first glance, the ideas of being at peace with circumstances and being more accepting of who I actually am, feel like very sound advice. As if the counsel came straight from Miyagi or Master Oogway. Possession of those perspectives would promote inner harmony and quell the dust storm in my head.

But then I think about the people whom I admire, and how they push themselves beyond their limits and always accomplish more than they set out to do. How can I affect change if I’m okay with the way things are? I feel like I’m chasing my tail, here.

The other option, to close the gap between intention and reality, is to:

2) CHANGE MY BEHAVIOR
Well, here’s where the discussion comes to a grinding halt, because if I could change my behavior to be more what I want it to be, there would be no issue.

So we’re back to the first thing.

WANTING LESS
The unfulfilled desire for... whatever it is. You fill-in-the-blank. Any Buddhist will tell you that a person needs to examine their lives without judgment. That an exploration of the root of a person’s behavior should be done from the standpoint of curiosity. Okay. Perhaps “acceptance of the status quo” is the wrong phrase, then, if I still want change to be the end result. How do you ponder the discrepancy between action and intention without having an opinion about it? Or is having an opinion and having a judgment two different things? Maybe what I’m talking about is the difference between a cerebral examination versus an instinctual, emotional one. Answer the curiosity. Why do I do that? Why DON’T I do that? Really. Which answers to those questions make sense?

LURKING SEMANTICS
Perhaps there is a lurking variable muddying the waters, here. If I use the word “intention” as a straight substitute for “desire,” then I am assuming they are synonymous. However, it is clear that, more often than not, THIS is where the disconnect actually happens: between what we TRULY WANT and that on which we INTEND TO ACT.

Hmmm. Deep. Better crack out a Buddhism 101 textbook and study this a bit. I’m feeling slightly over my head in these pondrances. I know a few good friends who might have some wisdom on this, in the comments section.

In the meantime, I’m never one to say that there’s only one way to skin a cat (what a terrible saying!). So, whilst I chew on the problem of reducing my desire for change, while still retaining the intention of change, there still exists the best advice I’ve been given yet, where this is concerned:

ASSUME THE POSITION
I originally learned this when I was a directing student at a local playhouse. This method is a way for an actor to get closer to the truth of a character, when they’re “just not feeling it.” Assume the position, even though you’re not inspired. You may just surprise yourself and find that the inspiration comes only AFTER the posturing. Rehearse in the correct shoes. Put a pebble in one of them to remind you what your character’s bad ankle feels like every time you put pressure on it. Sit the way your character would sit after hearing such terrible news... Assume the position, the acting will come.

I’ve seen this idea work in real life, as well. For example: I want to be a person who practices yoga regularly. What does a person who does yoga have? What do they wear? What do they know? Start there. The doing will follow. I may not do yoga every time I put on my yoga clothes, but there is a higher likelihood that I will, if I do. I may not end up GOING to a class, but if I research the schedule, there’s a much better chance that I might. I should be okay with taking those steps that I DID take. Those are good things that are not diminished, just because I didn’t end up actually practicing yoga today.

Of course, if your vision for your life is quite different from the life you currently lead, the idea of assuming the position might feel overwhelming and downright impossible, should so many changes be attempted all at once. That’s where priorities and baby steps come in. Let’s not try to change the world all at once. Just pick up your own trash. That’s a start.

That’s where my Approximation Epiphany comes in.

APPROXIMATION—MOVIE MAKING AS PARADIGM
In April of last year, I wrote Adventures #33—wherein I discovered that the moviemaking process is a great life-lesson, owing to the fact that—in the most rudimentary fashion—we rough out what we hope to get in the end, and then week after week, we keep replacing parts with new bits that are closer to the director’s intended final product... until we have the real thing. I won’t repeat the whole post here, but it had a lot to do with our practice of generating moving, editorial cuts from static storyboards and later, from previzzed shots.

Tying in with the whole approximation theme, or maybe as a means of illustration on the point, is the concept of Potato-heading that I shared with you in Adventures #44—wherein a 3D model can be effectively modified by replacing distinctive aspects with slightly modified ones. The core of the model is still the same, but it begins to look different when this is done. And that’s a start.

HAPPINESS
This post began as contemplation on happiness—or rather: the resultant unhappiness that comes from wanting something to be different. The idea of change, and how so many people are consumed their whole lives with wanting life to be different than what it is.

As a big proponent of growth, enlightenment, and evolution, I seek to encourage change rather than stifle it. But for most people (including myself), the unfamiliar is a source of at least SOME anxiety. Change is uncomfortable. And hard. We had no choice about it, as we grew up from childhood, through adolescence and into adulthood. But that change is foisted upon us by nature. It’s inevitable and out of our hands.

It’s how to perpetuate that journey throughout adulthood that is at issue. How to embrace an evolving world and how to adapt with it. How to reach your goals before you blink and realize you’re 10 years older and not any farther along in your life.

Personally, I think the answer may lie in a self-fulfilling prophecy—a chicken-and-egg issue, having something to do with happiness... With being happy and having well-being. I think somewhere in the mystery of accepting current circumstances without judgment, with loving yourself just as you are, there will be enough momentum in the wisdom of that moment to propel you forward... to assume the position, swap out one tiny potatohead part, and take one baby step at a time.

Here’s to happiness... and here’s to change.
.

All this time I’ve been wrong. I’ve longed to reclaim that woman I once was. But really, that would mean moving backwards. Not that there aren’t certain aspects of my former self worth revisiting. But honestly, this shouldn’t be about reclamation at all. It’s about reinvention. How to live in the now, how to propel myself into the future.

How do you begin to reinvent yourself? A few people are masters at it. Madonna, for one. She’s been doing it for 25 years, at least. But this isn’t about her. It’s about me. It’s about us. The non-celebrities. What do the rest of us do? What does one DO to reinvent? How do you start? How do you follow through?

The answer is simple. Or rather: simplistic. It’s back to the best advice I’ve ever heard: Get a chicken.

That’s the first line in a 100-year old Jewish recipe for chicken soup. It’s so profound, I started a blog by that name, just over a year ago. It doesn’t have many contributors or many posts... but I think that it’s partly due to the fact that Get a chicken is so damned hard to remember to DO.

So how am I implementing this profundity? To be sure: one small chicken at a time.

Problem: Even if I have had a chance to exercise, I have been reluctant to do so. And not because it’s going to hurt.
Solution: Figure out why. Aha. Get a chicken. I need new sports bras. Done.

Problem: Why am I having trouble enjoying living in the house I love?
Solution: Figure out why. Aha. Get a chicken. The minimal amount of places I have to put things are chockfull of things I don’t use any more... or right now, at least. My home has ceased being functional. I need to edit my stuff. Done. (Okay... doing... Really!!! I’ve started. It’s hard, but awesome.)

Problem: I have to do laundry again.
Solution: Get a chicken: Go on a shopping spree from everything to blouses and jeans to underwear. Done. (Okay, maybe this is a bad example.)

Problem: My life is speeding by, but I don’t want to compromise my career.
Solution: Get a chicken. This chicken is one day at a time. I don’t have a lot of answers for this one, but it has to do with leaving work, regardless of my feelings of guilt. (I’ll work on the guilt, next.)

Problem: My best friend has cut me out of her life.
Solution: Get a chicken: Try to fix it. Done. Okay, get a different chicken: Move forward. Time is too precious to waste on drama.

Well, where does the reinventing come in? I think it reveals itself in the chickens. What are our choices to move forward? How many solutions can there be? Perhaps many... but the tell-all chicken-choice in each case will begin the vine charcoal outline of that woman I will be. That woman I am now. It’s hard work to fill in the detail, but that will come. Reinvention is a process; not a destination. There is no end to reinvention, only forward momentum.

And so it goes...

So here is the thing. I had this idea, basically an anthropological thought, that there is this reason that we love to see a crackling fire.

Really, who doesn't love to gather around a fireplace? And even better if you have a yummy mug of something (some of you will read that as a little hot chocolate in your Bailey's some will think of tea... whatever floats your boat...)

But the point is that we are (sorry, its inescapable) drawn to the flame. And my theory here is that the "crackle and pop" and the cheery flame are so inherent to our sense of home and hearth, safety and well being from waaaay back in the cave. I mean. Its dark at night out there in cave man land, right? No light pollution, just the yawning dark full of beasties who’d sooner eat you than look at you.

But the beasties are scared of the fire, and the fire makes the cold and dark go away, and hey, it also makes whatever poor creatures that wander too close taste pretty darn good.

Now, we aren't exactly roasting suckling pig in the hearth anymore, but we used to! All the way into the 16th century, the "Great Hall" with its rush-covered floor would host the main dish of the evening, and then later serve as a convenient urinal.

A survey of Victorian English homes (mid 19th century) showed that the English would rather have an open, drafty, inefficient fire place to heat their home than the new steam heaters of American invention, ostensibly because no one wants to gather around a noisy steam radiator, yet a whole host of people will gather close around an open flame for fellowship and novel reading, &c.

The first house I ever bought was in Monrovia, Ca, and I liked it a lot until I saw the fireplace. And then, well. I was sold. I didn't even need to look at the rest of the house. A huge opening, handsomely framed in between double hung windows and a built in wood-pass cabinet, the fireplace was edifice with incredible hand made Bacheldor tiles.

Conversely, when we moved to Montana last November (where, one would think, a fireplace would be more important, it being -12 degrees more often than the balmy 101 of Monrovia) the house we ended up with had a huge, hulking, black, squat FURNACE taking up what felt like 1/2 the living room. It looked like IT would eat you sooner than look at you. Yes, it didn't help that it's 70's brick surround was then lovingly protected by a brown padded pleather, um, protector, (Bra? like on a sports car, only, you know, NOT.)

BUT my point is that I hated my house. The whole thing. From its horrid spiky plaster ceiling to its faded yellow linoleum kitchen floor. And especially that evil wood burning furnace.

So we hightailed it down to Shadow Hearth and Home here in Bozeman, and we picked out a red Vermont Castings stove with a glass window so we could see our cheery fire. They even gave us a little potpourri steamer to put on the top and humidify our little domicile with, and a fire screen to snap on the front (making the stove less than 1/2 has efficient, but providing us with the sound of the fire, the "real" fire experience.

And guess what? Just that, the ability to sit around the fire, made us love our now "cozy" little dwelling. (It also saved us about $575 a month in electric bills, by the way). Yes, we still have the peeling linoleum, the bad floral wall paper and the scary spiky ceiling. But now, we have a light to keep the beasties away, and something to roast them over if they get too close, and all is right with the world.

Something happened this week that raises two entirely different issues for me. They are intermixed, intertwined, and inextricably linked... but I need to write about them separately, so as not to lose any of the lessons. The first issue is THIS post: Of skydiving and parachute packing.

Getting into the plane.

I received a phone call on Monday night, around 8 pm. To my cell phone. I was still at work. It was one of the producers from a previous film on which I’ve worked. I couldn’t imagine why he was calling. This is a very powerful man who has produced big, big movies for 25 years. I hardly ever spoke to him, when I worked on his movie and couldn’t imagine why he was calling.

“What can I do for you?” I kept asking.

After a lot of confusion and repeated asking, he finally said that he was very attracted to me... and wondered what my situation was. I needed to get off the phone—and quick: 1) I was in an office with a bunch of people (who could only speculate as to my utter confusion during the call), 2) This overture came SMACK out of the blue like a freight train, without warning or instigation, 3) I did not think of this man, whom I respect greatly, in any sort of romantic or sexual manner. He was much more like a Mr. Gower the Druggist or some father of a friend. Certainly not anything more.

So I got off the phone, physically shaken and quite unnerved, but not before he gave me a number at which to call him back. The number would only be good until Wednesday. This was Monday night.

I did not sleep. I only spoke with three people about him... and dammit, no one would tell me what I wanted to hear. [Huzzah to friends and family who tell you the truth and what may be good for you, rather than what is comfortable or what you want to hear!]

I was encouraged by everyone to not only call the man back, but to actually have dinner with him. This is NOT what I wanted to hear. What if this encourages him? Sends the wrong message? It’s a waste of time because I’m not interested in older men and that’s not going to change...

No, they all said... why not broaden your horizons, think outside the box, and all manner of other clichés, albeit very valuable pearls of wisdom. At the very least, a lovely meal and some practice dating will come out of it. (I do subscribe to the philosophy that one can never have enough practice dates.)

One of my dear friends—the only one who actually knows this man, also encouraged me to call him back and to see him socially, at least once (even knowing exactly who he is, and all). She called it an “adventure.”

And then it struck me: I NEED more adventures in my life. Wow. For sure. All my excuses—as reasonable and rational as they seemed to me—only served to promote my ruts (see previous post!). It’s only dinner, for God’s sake!

Of parachute packing.

The continuum of pessimism, skepticism, realism, and optimism is a difficult one for me to navigate. Oftentimes my pessimism masquerades as skepticism... my skepticism as realism [optimism being conspicuously absent, I realize].

In any event, even with all the adventure talk... this whole thing just didn’t sit well with me. Something seemed suspect. I had hardly ever spoken to the man. Never was there an inkling of interest displayed to me, in public or private. It had been a very long time since I’d worked on his show and it baffled me that I was getting this call now, after so long. Maybe he was calling me when he thought I was someone else he remembered. And... the most suspicious thing of all... I thought I remember his being married. Maybe his wife was out of town, or he was in town away from his wife... and he just flipped through an old crew list to find someone he could mess around with, and came to my name. Of course the only way to have my questions answered was to return the phone call...

The end of the story goes like this. He was:

• Married
• Definitely knew who I was and was calling ME on purpose
• Took the news that “I don’t do married” with grace (I didn’t tell him I was not attracted to him or that I don’t see anything ever happening between us. Cowardly? Yes... but I hate hurting people’s feelings.)

He was...

• Contrite about his call: an attempt to retain a gentlemanly air
• Repeatedly inappropriate, after I was clear about my stance (This keeps coming back to haunt me when I replay the conversation in my head. Ewww. A slap-in-the-face reminder of what it’s like to be objectified.)

And...

• Respectful in his farewell

I’m SOOO glad I called him back. All my questions were answered. And I kept my word that I’d return his call... I handled it well, and left it on a note where I wouldn’t be embarrassed if I had to encounter him again in a professional setting.

So the packing of the parachute has to do with that bit of healthy skepticism that you must take with you, as a woman. You still need to get in the plane and go up in the air. You still need to be willing to jump and actually go through with the jump, once in a while... But ya gotta be vigilant. Alert. Aware... that things may not be what you hope or what they seem. You need to be prepared. Ready to handle a Plan B with aplomb.

Parachutes won’t do any good, of course, if you wear them whilst sitting on your couch at home. You DO need to go out and get involved in life. Have an adventure! It’ll be GOOD for you! But pack your parachute.

I’ve been thinking a great deal about the importance of ritual. Not religious ritual (like baptism) or societal ritual (like shaking hands), but personal ritual. I’ve been wondering which aspects of a behavior determine whether it’s ritual or rut... And how I can possibly develop more rituals and fewer ruts in my life.

This has all come about because lately, I’ve been thinking about the Big Picture. Granted, not the global, world-issues Big Picture, just MY Big Picture. The same thought keeps coming back to me: I lived my first 40 years largely as a leaf, blowing about in the wind. Like that bag in American Beauty. While its dance was beautiful, in a way... it was not self-determined. I want the next 40 years to be lived on purpose. How do I do that? And how can I start now?

One of my most surprising observations about this whole ritual thing is how much easier it was to establish new rituals when I was on location, as opposed to being at home. And, the corollary: how easy it is to slip into old habits, once back at home. [It makes sense that there is concern for addicts or alcoholics who successfully gets straight or sober some place other than where they live... and then eventually have to return home to old triggers.]

So anyway... Ritual. Rut. I guess the difference is twofold: rituals are performed by choice and are psychologically, emotionally, or physically beneficial, whereas ruts, on the other hand, are not executed so much on purpose, as they somehow come about mostly by default. That, and they may not be exactly great for you.

I think ritual is important because it lends predictability, structure, and things to look forward to—to our otherwise harried, demanding, and random lives. I’m not advocating all-structure, all-the-time or anything. But I do know the perils of a life devoid of ritual... and it is fraught with procrastination and rut. At least in my experience.

I’d like to say that my rituals are more active and crunchy... but alas, they aren’t (yet). Here are some rituals I HAVE managed to cultivate:

• Every day when I come home from work, the first thing I do is put on my pajamas. Maybe that doesn’t sound like a ritual... but when I started thinking about things I do regularly that I enjoy, that’s definitely one of them.
• Every other Saturday, Catharine and I get manicures and pedicures. A time to relax, be pampered, catch up... and we come away with the cutest toes ever!
• A ritual I absolutely adore is going to the outdoor screenings at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery during the summer. There are all sorts of mini-rituals that go into this regular event, including the collection of picnic dinner items and the precision methodology by which one gets the perfect spot on the lawn.
• When I’m NOT working, I have been known to take myself to brunch on the weekends: just me and whatever novel I’m currently enjoying.
• Gardening used to be a cherished ritual of mine, but now my house just looks barren and abandoned. Maybe after this show ends, I’ll be able to start a new garden.

I’ve just realized in trying to make a list of my rituals, that I really don’t have many. How very telling. This is not good. When I imagine the rituals of others, things like a daily, morning run (something hard for me to fathom, I admit), meditation, feeding the ducks on Thursdays, after-dinner strolls with your family, poker night, date night... and the like are what come to mind.

My list of ruts is long and embarrassing and includes things like:

• I’m happy to taste any new flavor of ice cream (I love to try new flavors!), but when it comes to ordering, it’s always Mint Chip. Always... and...
• My fear of insomnia keeps me from going to bed when I’m really tired. Is that a rut... or just something totally mental that I do?

Anyway, I don’t want to sully this post with MY list of rituals and ruts... I’d like to hear about some of the rituals that you hold dear and why YOU think ritual is important to your life. How do you think we can instill more meaningful rituals into our lives?

Er....hello! Can you see me???

Adjunctgirl

I got a very peculiar message on my cell phone tonight. It was from our VFX Supervisor. Now, there is as much to learn from the FACT of the message as there is from my REACTION to it. It was truly one of the most heartfelt, appreciative thank yous I’ve ever received... and I’m a little beside myself about it:

“...Hi, [Deirdre. Miles], here... I was just counting my blessings and you are among the blessings that I was counting... and it suddenly occurred to me that I’ve probably never actually said that: How much I appreciate the job that you do, the way you do it, the personal endurance... your willingness to support me no matter what I need, the way you show up for [Kayliegh], the way you contribute to a job that’s been unbearable for all of us, at times. And I thought it was important that I let you know... that I notice... And that I appreciate the hard work and the spirit that you bring to the job. So... that’s it, really. That’s the reason that I was calling...”

Here is the wisdom I want to put forth: I always thought that “count your blessings” was that sort of phrase... something that people say when they feel like knocking on wood. Not a real activity that is done consciously and specifically. This man takes time in his life and actually counts his blessings. He enumerates them to himself. My own interpretation of this—the vision I have in my head—is more of a meditation... but honestly, it doesn’t really matter HOW one does it. All I know is that attempting the practice once or twice wouldn’t hurt me. I might even decide I want to do it regularly. I have a hunch that there’s great merit in the endeavor.

Here’s the second thing that occurred to me: Miles shared his appreciation aloud. There are many times I feel warm fuzzies or great admiration, but these feelings just occur to me and that’s it. I let them lie. I realized, as I was listening to the message, that I hardly ever receive such verbalized appreciation... and I bet most people don’t. No one ever hears it enough—that they are doing an amazing job or that they are an extremely valued employee or even just that they bring a positive energy to a situation. I should try to have a more generous spirit and a more gracious presence among my friends and coworkers. I am going to try to look for opportunities to tell people when I appreciate them.

One last thing I learned—which has more to do with the experience of my cultural socialization, than anything else: The fact that I found this outpouring of gratitude peculiar is profoundly telling. It shouldn’t be such an unusual experience to receive praise and thankfulness. Life is hard enough. So we need to change our thinking on this. It’s sort of a CHICKEN and the EGG thing (how very apropos to this blog... LOL...) Anyway, if we feel that giving thanks and praise to each other is odd or not something to do regularly, then we won’t do it, will we? But if we change our thinking on it—try not to see it as such deviant behavior—then maybe it would happen more often. Just a thought.

I’m going to count my blessings, tonight. Literally. I’m going to try to enumerate some of them. How exciting to discover such a valuable, obvious thing. I feel a little silly that this was a revelation to me. Oh, well. That’s what this blog is all about: Get a chicken.

It all sounds so simple, doesn't it? But we all know that the more simple something sounds, the more things can go wrong, the more difficult the execution, the more ability to be baffled and confused.

But there's really no time for all of that now.

First, we have to get a chicken. After that, we'll just see where it all goes.

~C~

I'm here. I brought chickens (though they're egg hens not soup hens). I am thilled to be invited and look forward to seeing what happens around this
blog.

Whenever Jack Grapes sends out an e-mail about the schedule for his next session of classes, he ends up writing very long, intriguing e-mails. This last one has spawned a new life philosophy for me... a mantra, even!

Here are 2 paragraphs that I particularly enjoyed...

From: Jack Grapes
Subject: Advanced Classes for the Fall

"...But you know, you can find poetry anywhere, even in a recipe for chicken soup. So Melville starts Moby Dick with "Call me Ishmael." Three unforgettable words. Poetry. For me, the greatest lines of poetry are pretty simple, no more than three words. How's this for a line of poetry, no more than three words: I'm reading a recipe for chicken soup that was published in a book that's about 100 years old. It's an old Jewish recipe book. The first line of the recipe is this:

"Get a chicken."

I don't think I've laughed so hard in a long time.

After a long bout of laughter, I knew I'd read something profound, if you really think about it. We all have our recipes for what we want to do, the book we want to write, the poem we want to make, the symphony we want to compose. We all forget the first thing. We're so intent on doing it sometimes, that we forgot the most important thing of all.

Get a chicken."

I know my best friend, Catharine (of Catharine Chronicles fame), agrees with me... so does Mama Kate—that this is a breakthrough in perspective. So simple. So elegant. So plain. So clear. So perfect. Get a chicken.

So today, this blog is born. Devoted to the straightforward, the obvious, the witty pearls of wisdom—specifically those passed down or discovered by the women in my life—those pearls that we think we know, but always forget. Herein lies our Reminder Blog. For those things we need to live by, but can't quite seem to hold in our heads.

**sigh** "Of course! Get a chicken."