Amy Lu's View

Happy World Theater Day, especially to all the awesome theater-loving people that I have worked on shows with and those who have seen our shows.

This year it feels particularly right to observe World Theater Day, as this year marks the 15th anniversary of when I got involved with community theater with our church’s production of “Our Town.” Okay, technically, it was church theater, but church is a community, and clearly the key point is that it’s not professional theater. 

I love theater. I love seeing it, and I especially love being in it and acting. 

Yes, I love acting, and…it really does a number on my self esteem. I could lovingly chronicle and explore all my acting related self-doubts and anxieties, but that would be pretty boring (which may not stop me in the future). They basically boil down to “Am I any good at this?” and “Will I ever get to this again?” (Okay, I will also give a shout out to the “Why do I always move like a muppet?” denunciation.)

I am definitely experiencing the “Will I ever get to act again?” worry/fear/terror at the moment. I want and need to acknowledge that, and hopefully, being honest and putting it out there will make the anxiety a little less scary. 

But I don’t want to think about my acting future right now, or my fears about it (or the lack thereof). I DO want to stop and reflect on the past 15 years, and really savor how blessed I’ve been, all the amazing experiences I’ve had, and the wonderful people I’ve met, and all the things I’ve learned–about acting and life–and yes, my accomplishments (and tell those voices that say “But yeah, you could have done better!” to f#$k off. I can be rude to my inner critics, right?)

What I have learned about acting and/or myself as an actor:

• Acting is very physical. You don’t just use your mouth to say lines–it’s a whole body endeavor (which is tricky for someone who doesn’t have much body awareness and their default way of moving is to flail like a muppet.)
• Acting isn’t just standing/sitting/flailing around waiting for your turn to talk. You need to listen to the other actors, and react and respond to them. 
• You shouldn’t just learn your lines and only know your cues (see above about waiting for your turn to talk). Your whole performance will be much more effective if you are familiar with the whole play and what is happening in every scene. (I’m NOT advocating diagramming every scene like my talented friend and fellow actor, Pat, although I applaud that this works for him). You especially need to know what the other characters are trying to do in the scenes you’re in, in case someone changes or drops a line, so that you can carry on. 
• Blocking. Oh, blocking. As someone who doesn’t know how they move through space in real life, and gets easily bored by details, I am very spacy about blocking. I could go here, I could go there…and yet, I might get really annoyed and confused if another actor changes their blocking. 
• Emotions. Wow, those are tough. In acting, and real life. My very shallow understanding of the central question inspired by the technique of  “Method Acting” (getting new attention because of the recent book, “The Method” by Isaac Butler, which I, of course, have not read) is do actors have to actually feel what the their characters feel, or just act like they do? I never fully feel what my characters feel–but I don’t think I usually fully feel what I feel. My real Amy emotions are mitigated and controlled by my internal critic  gatekeeper–and shaped by my inner monologue. And crying? Yikes, crying–again, I rarely cry in real life, much less on stage, #GermanMidWesternLutheranByBirth, so does my acting suffer because of that?

Hmmm, this didn’t turn into the celebration of the last 15 years that I was planning on, but getting to do something for 15 years that has caused me to think and ponder and struggle and grow, is definitely something to feel thankful for. 

And no matter how insecure, or vain, I may be–there is no question that I have met incredible people these last fifteen years because of theater. I’m pretty sure I’ve said that before, but this is something I’m okay with being repetitive about. People who are talented, and hard-working, and patient, and funny, and brave, and silly, and dedicated, and supportive. 

Maybe what I’ve really learned, and what I really want to celebrate, is how miraculous it is that people can come together and create theater. And not just the actors and the playwrights and the directors and the crew–but the audience. 

Most importantly the audience. In person, or virtual, you really are the most important piece of the puzzle–and not just those of you who give me positive feedback. 

I just had a blog fail.

Okay, “fail” is probably a little dramatic, but I definitely committed a blog blunder. 

What, you may be wondering, did I do? Did I publish something insensitive that might get me in trouble with people I work with, or worse yet, something that would get me in trouble with Chad?

No, but I did blog about a topic I’ve already blogged about. And I don’t mean I just revisited familiar content territory– I knowingly and unapologetically often write about running, drinking, StanLee, drumming, etc., so that’s just a given (I only have so many life experiences to draw on). 

I usually do a search of my old blog posts to make sure that I’m not writing about exactly the same thing, or if I am, that I at least include an acknowledgement that I’m writing about something again. I often even include links back to previous posts. My librarian mojo shines through and I cite myself. 

This was a blunder because I unknowingly blogged about a very specific topic–letter writing–that I wrote about just a few months ago. On March 16 of this year (my last blog post before this,) I published the post “Boxful of Letters” and on September 4, 2021, I published “Wait a Minute, Mr./Ms./Mx. Postperson.” (Is it possible to plagiarize myself?) 

Okay, these posts were actually six months apart, but I don’t blog all that often, so six months isn’t very long in blog time. AND I not only wrote about the same topic, but the same incident–going through old letters I found while cleaning out some of our junk. AND…this is the worst part…I used the exact same photo to illustrate both posts.

If it wasn’t for this photo faux pas, I might just be able to shrug this off without mention. (No, I’m NOT going to post the photo again!) Afterall, letter writing is a big topic, and the format of the posts are definitely different, with the most recent cleverly written in the style of a letter. That one is part of my “Frog and Toad Challenge” and the older one isn’t. 

And good news/bad news–no one seemed to notice (which yes, probably means very few people are reading my blog). I even got more comments (as in any comments) when I shared my recent blog post on Facebook. So maybe the second exploration of this topic was more in engaging in some way, so worth a revisit? 

I do, after all, contradict myself in these posts, in one saying “Maybe people feel safer or bolder when expressing themselves in a letter, as it is a solitary experience–you can’t see the other person’s reactions and they can’t interrupt you,” and in the other, “Maybe we can be more vulnerable in letters?” Or perhaps that’s just two different ways of exploring the same idea, which is actually kind of cool. I admit, I like seeing how September 2021 Amy and March 2022 Amy compare. Maybe this blogging about the same thing on a six month cycle could be a worthy intentional practice?

But as I clearly did not intend to post about letter-writing twice in one year, I feel I need to own my mistake and examine it for any life lessons. Why did I do this? Is my memory that bad? Was I/am I drinking that much? Am I so frazzled and disorganized that I just don’t know what I’m doing?

Or…worse yet…HAVE I JUST RUN OUT OF ANYTHING TO BLOG ABOUT?

These are probably all contributing factors, and they are all rather disconcerting, but I am obviously worried about not having anything to blog about. 

Which is another reason I decided to blog about this blog embarrassment–I can’t pass up on content! (Yes, stealing this idea from the podcast TBTL in case anyone recognizes this). How meta is blogging about how my lack of content leads to more blog post content!

As long as I’m willing to blog about the silly things I do and goofy mistakes I make, I’ll never run out of things to blog about. 

And I think I’m just going to stop worrying about content recycling–afterall, if I can’t remember or keep track of what I write about, it’s not that likely that anyone else will be able to (or care to). Please consider this a blanket disclaimer that from here on anything you read in my blog is something I’ve probably already written about. Perhaps it will just be presented in a wittier or more inightful way.

Recycling, even content recycling, is good for the environment, right?

Dear Toad, 

How are you? I am fine. 

I’m writing you a letter because I am inspired by the Frog and Toad story “The Letter.” I have a goal of writing a blog post based on every one of the Frog and Toad stories. This is my 14th post in the challenge!

You may wonder what a blog post is. Basically, it’s a letter posted on the internet to anyone who might read it, not necessarily to a specific person. 

You may also wonder what the internet is (a bunch of tubes?) If you do know what the internet is, then you may wonder how a letter is different than an email. Mostly it’s different because you have to have a stamp to send a letter, and it can take a few days to arrive. So you have to be more patient when communicating via a letter, and sometimes more organized. 

Letters are also often handwritten, rather than typed, which is really awesome because handwriting is a very tangible expression of a person. Having a handwritten letter from someone can help you feel closer to them, even if you are separated by distance and time. 

I am also inspired to write this blog post because February was International Letter Writing Month. Yes, I had hoped to write this post in February because now it is mid-March, but you seem like an amphibian who isn’t too strict about scheduling. 

I don’t think many people write and send letters anymore because there are so many more communication options – not only email but text and messaging and so many others. But I am old enough (or maybe I should say SO old) that I’ve lived a fair amount of life during a time when letters were a pretty important way to communicate. 

Letters were very important to me when I was twenty years old (don’t know if that sounds old to an amphibian but it sounds very young to a middle aged lady) and I was an exchange student in Winchester, England. It was my very first time away from home for any significant amount of time, and I definitely got homesick, and I especially missed my mom and my boyfriend, Chad. 

Luckily, they both wrote to me, and my mom even wrote to me every day! My mom’s letters were often just fluffy recounts of her day, and she didn’t have to write very much because she had large handwriting so could quickly fill up paper, but I loved getting them in the mail (getting mail was very exciting!) and they made me feel loved. 

Now that my mom is dead I really treasure them. (Sorry if it feels harsh to you, Toad, to say “dead” but I really don’t like the euphemism “passed away.”) Actually, I should be brave some time (and a little drunk) and read them again. Why do I need to be brave (and a little drunk)? Because re-reading those letters will probably create a lot of feels. I’ve only re-read them once in the twenty years since she died and it was a beautiful experience, but very intense and made me miss her more deeply than I do on a normal basis. 

I also received (and presumably sent) letters around that same time period when I was “at home” (either at college or at my parents). I found those letters this summer when I was attempting to de-clutter and was quite surprised – I had no idea that I had received so many letters back then! I assume that I wrote a similar amount, and I even found some drafts that I had written and never sent. I looked at all those letters and they brought back several memories – good, interesting, and just weird. I’d also forgotten how close some of my friendships were then (thanks for all those letters, Jennifer!)

I’ll confess, Toad, that I even threw some of those letters away (I was trying to de-clutter, after all), including one by a friend that still irritated me, even thirtyish years later. Actually, I think it annoyed me more now – my friend was offering “feedback” on a column I had written in our college newspaper and his critique included the term “femi-nazi.” I have no problem working up moral outrage so there was no need to hang on to that letter.

I’ve even had some pen pals in my lifetime! When I was a teenager, I somehow got connected with a fellow U2 fan, Sheri, and we wrote to each other about how much we loved Bono and about our pets. And my brother got me a pen pal, one of his fellow soldiers who was happy to get mail, even from someone’s little sister.

Today I don’t write that many letters (as we’ve talked about, there is texting and emailing to use instead) but I do frequently send letters and cards to my friend Pat, and she faithfully sends letters and cards to me. I love getting mail, and I love getting Pat’s correspondence, and I love how thoughtful and comprehensive her letters are. Pat shares everything from her philosophical insights to her memories to recounts of her daily activities and interesting things she’s read and watched. (My correspondence is much more haphazard and shallow but Pat deals with my limitations). 

I think that may be the best thing about letters (and cards and notes), Toad – how intimate they are. Maybe it’s just a preference or prejudice of a middle aged lady, but letters feel so personal, even when they are just recaps of mundane life. Maybe there is something about the physical act of writing and reading it, or the timing of letters–you just can’t get immediate feedback, so that affects what you write. 

I really didn’t start to understand Chad’s feelings for me until we exchanged letters. 

Maybe we can be more vulnerable in letters? (Even if we’re still boring and weird).

Oh my, Toad, this is a long letter/blog post. It is not nearly as succinct or eloquent as the letter Frog wrote to you:

“Dear Toad, I am glad that you are my best friend.

Your Best Friend, Frog.”

I’ll try to emulate your letter from Frog. 

“Dear Blog Reader, I am glad that you are my best blog reader.

Your best blogger, Amy.”

I admit it. I’m a little desperate. I did something I’m rather embarrassed to go public with.

I Googled “birthday blog prompts.” Ideas that I discovered (and rejected, at least for now) include “Recap your birthday celebrations,” and “Celebrities you share a birthday with” and “Birthday dinner make-up tips” (I’m not even quite sure what that means). 

Why have I taken such drastic measures? Because I can’t think of a birthday-inspired blog post. Yes, I realize I am under no obligation to blog about my birthday, but I love my birthday and I love blogging, so I feel like I need to do this. I want to do this, and I should be able to. 

But I have already written several posts about my birthdays, so I’m out of ideas. I’m competing against my younger self. 

Hmmm, there probably is something there about aging and thinking about how I have changed through the years. And yes, I do have many thoughts about aging–mostly that I don’t like it, because I have an expiration date. But apart from that, I’m content with being in my 50’s (okay, I will point out early 50’s). Our society seems to give the message that older people are less “relevant”–whatever that means. (Less vital and interesting contributors to culture and society? I don’t think I’m any less relevant now–or maybe I should say more irrelevant– than I was when I’m younger.) 

But I am different. So maybe there is something to explore about how I compete, I mean compare, with my younger self. 

Luckily, I’m not aware of feeling that different physically than when I was younger. I’ve been blessed with good health, and I wasn’t exactly a paragon of a healthy lifestyle when I was young. I haven’t had too far down the physical prime ladder to fall. (There’s no dramatic story there, I was just a young couch potato who ate even more processed foods than I do now). 

My eyesight is sometimes a pain in the ass (I need readers and can’t read in low light, ahem, restaurant menus I am talking to you), but since I was extremely nearsighted when I was young (before I got Lasik) it’s now just problematic in a different way. 

And I will indulge in a rant here about a disconcerting physical change…in the last year my pointer fingers have inexplicably bent inwards. No, it’s not extreme, but even Chad has noticed and verified this. They don’t hurt and my hands don’t seem to function differently, but I don’t like it. It makes me feel (emotionally) unsettled. So yes, I will mention it to whatever appropriate health care professional I happen to see next. 

Of course, I look different, too. The usual–more wrinkles, more gray hair, some overall droopiness. Most days I can adapt a “whatever” attitude to these changes. I can even usually tell myself that it’s not about looking good for 52 but just that I “look good,” even though it’s different than a 22 year old can look. (And, although I look conventionally less attractive than I used to–regrettable fashion choices aside–I usually feel better about myself and how I look now).

Physical changes are the most obvious, but how is my personality different? Do I interact with others and the world in different ways? 

I think so. I hope so. Younger Amy did the best she could and certainly had her charms, but I think I’m more confident, more patient, more honest, more open, more forgiving (of myself and others) and more willing to feel my feels and respect the feels of others. I’m less anxious and fearful and judgmental and snarky. I have a better understanding of how people are more complex than I used to realize. 

I am saddened because I think I’ve lost some shininess, some exuberance. I don’t think I can throw myself into something like I used to. 

Paradoxically, I think I’m both more and less hopeful. 

Saying I’m “more” something doesn’t mean that I AM something. Or not completely something. I definitely have much more potential and space to grow when it comes to being confident, patient and all that. 

That’s one of the blog prompts I came across, variants of “What have you learned since your last birthday”(which feels redundant since I just considered that at New Year’s) or “What have you learned in your X numbers of years” (which feels rather pretentious). But I have learned/am learning that many things are not “this” or “that” but manifest on a continuum and vary by circumstance. 

In other words, sometimes, with some people, I’m compassionate, or more compassionate than I likely would have been ten years ago. Not nearly as compassionate as I could be. And on any given day if you get me at the “wrong” time, if I’m tired or distracted or hungover or just plain grumpy, forget compassionate–I’m just going to be bitchy. 

This summer I unearthed a figurine from my childhood that commemorates my birthday month, color and gemstone (aquamarine). It’s rather ridiculous–it’s a girl wearing a big flouncy dress with her hair up in a very fussy do. Not the type of thing I would voluntarily procure now, but I loved it then and I love it now. I’m sure I got it when I was very young from my mother, maybe we even bought it together at a Ben Franklin’s store. It reminds me of who I was and how I was loved. 

I’ve changed quite a bit, and hopefully will continue to change in years to come, but I always want to remember and be grateful for that–especially the people I’ve loved.

Maybe next year I’ll blog about birthday makeup (spoiler alert: lots of teal eyeshadow!) And I DO share a birthday with Ira Glass. 

I ran today for the first time in 2022! More than that, this was my first run since Dec. 24, 2021–over TWO MONTHS ago!

It feels really good to run again after so long, and reassuring to know that I still can run, but it was also disheartening. I just did a short run–a little over 2 miles–and my running was slow and awkward. 

It’s not surprising that this was a lackluster reboot of my running–that’s just how running goes after a hiatus. While my cardio condition is still pretty good as I’ve been riding the stationary bike instead of running, running is a whole different game–physically and mentally. I need to get my muscles and mind reacclimated. Yes, I think I am (or will be) sore after only two miles!

I haven’t been running because I don’t do outdoor winter running. I just don’t feel safe running on even small amounts of ice without falling. (I’m also not super fond of being cold, either). In the Before Times, I would do at least some running on the track at the gym, but I haven’t felt safe at the gym this winter, either. (Hopefully the gym will seem like a better option soon). 

And it probably has been good for me to take a break from running, or at least not a bad thing. I am getting to still get some cardio exercise, and I’m mixing it up a bit both physically and mentally. And I get to watch the cats cuddle and wrestle when I’m working out in our basement. 

I know that if I’m patient and persistent, my running will get better. In fact, that is one of the most valuable things about running–it’s taught me to trust in the process of training and slow improvement. It’s taught me to have some faith in myself. 

This faith and trust doesn’t make my anxiety and impatience and self-doubt go away. It doesn’t silence the inner voices that complain that the paths will never be clear enough for me to run comfortably, or that I’ll never be able to run a mile relatively easily in less than 10 minutes. 

It’s an underlying feeling of angst and antsyness that makes me feel bad and even slightly guilty when the latest issue of “Runner’s World” arrives or the host of our favorite podcast talks about the 10 Mile race he just ran. 

The unease is still there. Those voices are still there, but I’ve learned to recognize that they are spewing exaggerated fears without giving them too much attention. I’m pretty confident that spring will eventually come. It’s pretty likely I’ll be able to run under 10 minute miles again–and if for some reason I can’t or don’t, so what? I’ll keep running. 

I’m going to need to have extra patience and optimism because today probably isn’t really the Beginning of My Return to Running (cue triumphant and inspiring music)–it’s more likely to be the prelude or the preamble or the preface. Wintry weather looks like it’s going to continue for a while yet. 

I’ve even mostly accepted that I may not be able to get enough running time in to train for a spring race (assuming that I’d be up to dealing with the hassle of actually getting to race in-person again). 

After all, I do already have enough medals and racing finisher shirts to last a lifetime. Okay, maybe the shirts won’t last (or fit) forever, but I definitely have enough medals to decorate several Christmas trees. 

Our congregation officially said Goodbye to our church building today. We’ve sold our building at 6565 Oakley Drive, Fridley.

We’ve sold our building so we can look for a different building that’s bigger, more accessible, more flexible, and that better meets our needs. It’s a positive and exciting step. 

Of course, it’s also a bittersweet transition. Just because our building wasn’t meeting our needs, it doesn’t mean we didn’t love it. We loved it as a community and as individuals. 

Chad and I have been attending MSUS since 2004 so we have so many memories of services, events, and experiences at the church located on Oakley Drive, that I can’t even hope to make sense of them in a blog post, much less make them interesting (obviously that doesn’t mean I won’t try).

My memories of the Oakley Drive building are also inextricably linked to my memories of theater. In fact, this is the 15th anniversary of the beginning of my theater journey (outside of high school) and it began at MSUS with a production of “Our Town.” (Yes, I played Emily at age 37). 

Since then, we’ve done so much theater at our church building on Oakley Drive–both with church productions, and when we were able to rent (on very generous terms) the building for productions with Applause and Duck Soup. (My theater friends who’ve been involved with shows at MSUS are bound to have some feels about us leaving our building, too). 

I don’t think I ever would have gotten into community theater without MSUS, and I probably wouldn’t have had nearly as many or as meaningful theater experiences without it. We did a performance of “Talley’s Folly” in 2013 at MSUS the day my dad died–something that I totally wanted to do and that felt right and important for me to do. 

We also had important personal events at MSUS, and were able to use it for parties and celebrations. We had our 10th Anniversary Vow Renewal, our 40th birthday party, and our 20th Anniversary party at the Oakley building. I think some of our family and friends who shared these events with us will also miss our church space. 

And where to start with all the memories of teaching Religious Education? Yes, there were more than a few moments of “unease” (okay, terror) trying to keep elementary-aged children actively engaged and mostly under control. My fondest memories are of spending time with the young adults of the church, especially of making collages with our “Turtle” class (a class about home) and any time I got to embrace my maternal side and make frozen pizza for the teens. 

I will always laugh when I think about chaperoning an overnight for teens and falling asleep while they were watching “Team America.” Yes, that probably IS an inappropriate movie for the situation. When I woke up minutes/hours later, the credits were playing and the music to the highly inappropriate movie theme song “America, F%$k Yeah!” was on a loop, but I was too tired to get up and try to figure out how to stop the DVD. (Don’t worry, all the teens exposed to the movie are, as far as I know, now all well-adjusted and highly functioning adults so we did not scar them for life). 

I laugh when I think about Chad and I trying to explain Christianity to the teens and kids in our various RE classes, based on our fuzzy memories of childhood and differing experiences of Catholicism and conservative Lutheranism. (Turns out my Bachelor’s Degree in Comparative Religion wasn’t as helpful as one might think). What DOES Easter have to do with Peeps, anyway? 

I’m also thankful for the youth in a recent (perhaps the last?) class we taught that were patient and bemused as a class on spirituality and social justice in popular music often devolved into “Chad and Amy try to remember the 80’s.” (I’m still hoping for this podcast). 

I loved getting to read stories to the children (and adults) of the congregation during services. It was always a treat to get to dust off my youth services librarian skills for a mini-storytime. (Favorite MSUS storytime book: “LIzard’s Song” by George Shannon). 

We’ve experienced so many emotions at Oakley Drive–joy, boredom (#AnnualMeeting), grief, and everything around and in-between. I discovered at our church how profound and moving a Memorial Service can be–not just a rote exercise, but a true celebration of an individual life in all its complexity, a time to mourn and say goodbye and celebrate the accomplishments and challenges of a unique life.

I’m so thankful for all the people, young and old and in-between, people connected to MSUS and those that weren’t, that we got to interact with because we had that building on Oakley Drive to call our own. Some we just knew for a while, some have died, and some (like Deb who I hope doesn’t mind a shout out) are still our bestest friends. 

The building at Oakley is also where I’ve got to see Chad develop and shine as a lay minister (no, that’s not an official designation but I’m using it anyway). Chad has moved and inspired and challenged me (and I’m pretty sure many others) with his thoughtful and insightful sermons/talks, delivered with humor and passion. 

And yes, I have often been just about to burst with pride sitting in the second row watching him, although I’m not sure pride makes much sense since I haven’t really contributed to his success (besides staying out of this way on nights such as this when he is working on tomorrow’s sermon). Okay, maybe I’ll give myself a little credit for occasionally inspiring him with something I did actually learn from my BA in religion. 

Well, it’s cheesy, or at least predictable, but the song “Closing Time” is now running through my head (it really is a great song no matter how overplayed) and appropriate: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” 

It’s an end, but also a beginning for us as a congregation and as a community, as individuals and friends. 

After our goodbye celebration at the Oakley church today, I left with a bottle of cheap champagne, leftover from some church event. I don’t know if I’ll ever drink it (not because I”m too discerning for cheap champagne but I don’t know how to open a champagne bottle) but it seems like a fitting memento for our dear little church–celebratory, aspirational, unpretentious, full or promise, and a little challenging.

It’s really quite amazing that a relatively small building (at least as far as churches go) can hold so many memories, hopes, and love. Blessedly, the human heart can hold even more. 

I can easily fall prey to expecting the worst. Overall, I think I’m an optimistic person, but I can get wrapped up in What Ifs–as in “What if this awful or annoying or stupid thing happens?”

I was certainly on the What If Express recently after our server gave our credit card to another couple. Yes, we actually ventured out in the world and saw a fabulous concert by some of our favorite musicians (Dan Chouinard and Prudence Johnson) at one of our favorite local establishments (Crooners Supper Club).

We had a truly lovely, and hell, I’ll even admit it, romantic evening. Fabulous music was heard, tasty food was consumed, festive drinks were imbibed, and sentimental emotions were felt.

But things took an abrupt turn when we realized our server had given our credit card to another patron, who had already left the premises.

I don’t want or need this to be a rant against our server or Crooners. We all make mistakes and I’m certain he did the best he could. We adore Crooners and are looking forward to going there frequently if Covid hopefully stays relatively quiet.

However, I did get pretty snippy when our server said “you’ll just have to cancel your card.”

I still can’t think of a way to respond to that suggestion that is close to PG-13. Just cancel our card?! JUST CANCEL OUR CARD?! Yes, it is a signifier of our cushy life but we have SO many services and subscriptions connected to that credit card. Canceling that card would be a huge pain in the ass.

But we had to cancel our card, right? We had no choice, right? I mean, WHAT IF our server gave our credit card to an elderly drug cartel kingpin (we were definitely among the youngest people at this concert) who decided to use our card to fund a weekend of debauchery? Or WHAT IF our card was now in the hands of someone with an Amazon addiction? Or what if it was given to someone well-meaning but clueless who dropped it in a snowbank, and THEN it was picked up by a drug cartel kingpin…

The disastrous scenarios felt endless, but surprisingly, I was able to silence the catastrophe script room long enough to consider that the folks who got our card would probably realize it when they got home, and furthermore, they would probably want to return to Crooners to get their card.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have a way to get in touch with the current owners of our card. I made sure Crooners had our contact information, but that was all we could do.

We had a decision to make: Did we go ahead and immediately cancel our card, or did we wait and hope for a good outcome?

I had to fight against my instincts, but we decided to be hopeful and wait…at least for a day or so. It was a rather restless night for me, but Hallelujah, the next morning we learned that the folks who had our credit card contacted Crooners and said they did indeed plan to return it…but they were going out of town for a few days.

So, more waiting. More trusting.

Last night we got our credit card back. I am so relieved and thankful and heartened that we were able to trust in strangers to return our card. Now, this trusting was made easier because we could easily check our card balance while our card was out of direct possession and make sure that there weren’t any suspicious charges on it.

We also found it easier to be more trusting than we, or at least I, would normally be because we felt a kinship with our fellow Crooner’s audience members. That’s one of the things we love most about Crooners–the community of music lovers it brings together. Even if we didn’t know who had our card, we felt like we knew them in a sense and that our shared love of the music of Crooners created a connection with them.

And yes, I’ll admit, all my jokes about elderly drug kingpins aside, we were more inclined to trust the people with our card because we assumed they were senior citizens. A completely unfounded stereotype–I wouldn’t trust senior citizen Donald Trump with our credit card–but there you go.

In an attempt to lessen the tediousness of this tale, I’ve omitted descriptions of all the frustrating communications (or non-communications) between me and Crooners. (Chad thinks I’m being too critical of them, and yes, the staff we talked to were always very apologetic and polite and we did get some free drinks for our trouble).

I don’t think I was/am overly critical, but my storytelling would be amiss if I didn’t mention that I did share some overly dramatic communication (via email and voicemail) with them.

I sent them an email with this gem: “I can’t overestimate how much anxiety this is causing us. Our Discover card which you gave away is automatically set up to pay EVERYTHING for us so we will have to spend countless hours trying to cancel and reinstate payment.”

Hmmm, I think I meant to say “overstate” rather than “overestimate,” but hey, festive beverages HAD been consumed at the concert. And yeah, capital letters is never a good look. Chad also took issue with “countless” hours but I stand by that because I am really not good at math.

I stand by my overwroughtness, though…it’s very on brand for me. I have a tradition to maintain. Before we were even married (so in the days before email) I sent the Columbia House Music Club a very strongly worded letter about how they had morally offended me with their terrible customer service (I don’t remember the specifics of their crime). I DO remember that I signed Chad’s name–something he did not appreciate (hey, the club membership was in his name).

At least this time I owned my dramatic customer service correspondence and left Chad out of it.

Mark Twain said the famous “Dance like nobody’s watching…” quote? Really?!

I’ve heard this inspirational exhortation a million times, and just assumed it was an anonymous and rather cheesy feel good saying invented by a marketing team to put on coffee mugs and wall hangings. Not that it doesn’t have merit. In fact, I Googled it because I wanted to make sure I had the quote correct to use in this blog post (which yes, is going to be about dancing). 

“Dance like nobody’s watching; love like you’ve never been hurt. Sing like nobody’s listening; live like it’s heaven on earth.”

-Mark Twain

But Mark Twain said it? Okay, I haven’t put my librarian powers to rigorous use on this one so maybe my Googling isn’t accurate, but it certainly seems the case. Wow, this does not seem like a Mark Twain saying to me (not that I’m a Mark Twain expert or anything but…)

Well, wherever the advice to “Dance like nobody’s watching” comes from, I’ve been doing it every day for the last month, since January 13. And it’s been easy to dance like nobody’s watching, because nobody IS watching. 

I’m not sure why I started what I now consider my Daily Dance Break, except that I’ve been thinking for the longest time that I should do more dancing. This has especially popped into my head as I’ve been spending so much more time at home during the pandemic, and I’m sure I’ve been inspired by hearing and reading about others dancing in their kitchen. 

I definitely do not consider myself a good or confident or graceful dancer (especially when it comes to something that’s choreographed). I’m not a particularly expressive or creative dancer or sexy dancer. But, I enjoy it, as I suspect most people do, or would, if they weren’t worried about how goofy they looked while dancing. 

So I make sure to dance around our dining room or living room or through our kitchen when I’m alone (except at times when StanLee is present). Sometimes I crank up the speakers; sometimes I put on my earbuds and sequester myself in my home office/spare bedroom. 

But…even though no one else is watching, I’m often still watching and judging myself. So I try very hard to focus on the music, and how I want to move to it, no matter how silly or simple my dancing may be. I try not to worry about “getting exercise” and just moving and being grateful for the ways my body can move. I try not to think about whatever else I should be doing. It’s as close as I get to a type of meditation.

My hope and goal is to dance to one song every day. (Sometimes I have an “bonus” song). So far, I want every day to have a different song which I’ve been tracking in a spreadsheet (although my bonus song could be a repeat).

Picking a song can be tricky. There are so many classic songs I love that have special personal meaning for me, but I want to expand my musical horizons, too. I don’t want to just be on a nostalgic kick. Plus, I tend to gravitate toward the singer-songwriter genre which isn’t necessarily the most conducive to dancing. 

Sometimes, I want to pick a song to fit a certain mood or a theme or a holiday or something timely. 

My very first song was a classic, “Rock Me Tonight” by Billy Squire. I think I got the idea because Billy Squire had recently come up on our beloved TBTL podcast. Recently, I discovered The Current has a “Music You Should Know” list which has definitely invigorated my Dance Breaks and helped me discover some new music. 

I don’t want to get too worked up about how long I will keep up my Daily Dance Break streak, but right now I’m pretty committed to it. Currently I have four daily routines/practices/rituals (not counting those related to eating or drinking): cardio exercising, journaling, Wordle and the Daily Dance Break. I really like having my small goals and challenges–they give me structure and a sense of accomplishment. 

I’m tempted to blog about my daily Dance Break Song choices, but not only do I not have time for that, that seems a little obsessive, even for me. Maybe I’ll occasionally blog about some highlights. 

I’ll just focus on making time (and energy–yes, sometimes I do feel tired to dance, even to a singer songwriter tune) to dancing to at least one song every day. 

Like nobody’s watching.

Or, better yet–like several people ARE watching but they unconditionally think I’m a talented and graceful and beautiful and sexy dancer. Even if I mostly hop and flail my arms and toss my head and generally dance like a muppet. 

1/13/22	Rock Me Tonight	Billy Squier
1/14/22	Hollywood	Carseat Headrest
1/15/22	Skinny Love	Bon Iver
1/16/22	Many Times	Dijon
1/17/22	A-Flat	Black Violins
1/18/22	Deacon Blues	Steely Dan
1/19/22	The Less I Know The Better	Tame Impala
1/20/22	Stolen Car	Beth Orton
1/21/22	Man on the Moon	R.E.M.
1/22/22	Something I Should Do	Nada Surf
1/23/22	Be Here Now	Mason Jennings
1/24/22	Werewolves of London	Warren Zevon
1/25/22	She’s A Rainbow	Rolling Stones
1/26/22	Now is the Time	Jade Bird
1/27/22	Myriad Harbor	The New Pornographers
1/28/22	Stand for Myself	Yola
1/29/22	Ten By Ten	Rex Orange County
1/30/22	Stay Positive	The Hold Steady
1/31/22	They Called It Rock	Nick Lowe
2/1/22	Year of the Tiger	St. Vincent
2/2/22	Write a List of Things To Look Forward To	Courtney Barnett
2/3/22	Feel the Way I Want To	Caroline Rose
2/4/22	Year of the Cat	Al Stewart
2/5/22	Strange Girl	Laura Marling
2/6/22	Softly	Arlo Parks
2/7/22	Running Up That Hill
2/8/22	Atoms Never Die	Adam Levy
2/9/22	Enough	Samm Henshaw
2/10/22	Rhododendron	Hurray for the Riff Raff
2/11/22	Steppin’ Out	Joe Jackson
2/12/22	Passengers	Aoife O’Donovan
2/13/22	More Pressure	Kae Tempest
2/14/22	Love is the Law	The Suburbs
2/15/22	Don’t You Forget About Me	Simple Minds

I’m wondering about wonder.

Yesterday I came across the essay “The Wonder of Reading Children’s Literature as an Adult” by Sarah S. Davis. The title immediately grabbed my interest as I’m a big fan of reading childrens’ books. 

As I perused the essay, I was most struck by this line “To seek wonder is an act of bravery.”

Whoa…bravery? I had just been reading how 2022 could be seen as a time for bravery and courage–it’s now the Year of the Tiger according to the Chinese Zodiac, and the Tiger potentially symbolizes bravery. Mind officially blown. 

Sarah Davis’ essay explores how children’s literature and fantasy/sci-fi in general open us up to wonder through exposing us to worlds beyond our normal experiences. I’m pretty down with that. I’m a geek because I love the sense of wonder the genre generates. Not surprisingly, I have a well-developed suspension of disbelief muscle. I love musicals and have no problem with people bursting into song.

I’m definitely sold on wonder, especially as experienced through fantastical stories. But how do I cultivate wonder in my mundane, everyday life?

Maybe I should back up a bit…What is wonder? I often casually equate it with curiosity (“I wonder why StanLee ate that?”) but I think it’s so much more. Curiosity may be a component, but to me it suggests…awe, delight, gratitude. 

I can’t experience wonder without paying attention and being present. I’m not going to be aware of the amazing colors of the sunset or the softness of my cats’ fur if I’m too distracted. 

I’m definitely sold on the value of wonder, but why does it take bravery?

Sarah Davis also writes: “We need to prime ourself to look at and experience our world through fresh eyes, to accept the inspiration that wonder creates, to brave the scary thought that anything — safe or otherwise — could happen. To seek wonder is to be vulnerable, to risk hurt and pain, to go beyond the logic of the world we know, to chance that we’ll run up against evil.

ANYTHING can happen–fun, boring, sad, amazing, painful, profound, goofy. 

This new year of 2022 really does seem like a very appropriate time to open up to wonder. We’re very aware that we don’t know what’s going to happen, but wonder can be waiting for us, whether we’re getting all dolled up for a night out around other humans, or snuggling up with our pets in our comfy pants. 

Wonder is an act of courage because it may not last and we end up feeling and looking silly. Wonder opens us up to acknowledging not only things that delight us, but also things that scare us. Wonder makes us treasure our world and our everyday gifts, and the more we treasure these ephemeral things, the more we’ll hurt when they are inevitably gone. 

One of my favorite Christmas songs is “I Wonder as I Wander,” as performed by Ed Ames. It’s a beautiful, but very somber, almost depressing song. But I wonder if I can find everyday inspiration in it? I certainly do my fair share of daily wandering, if not literally–although I do a surprising amount of wandering around our relatively small house–but figuratively in my thoughts and emotions. Wandering seems like a side effect of distraction, but perhaps I can combine wandering with intentional wondering? 

I hope in this new year of the Tiger I’m brave and increase my capacity for experiencing wonder and all the joy, awe, vulnerability and even fear it brings.

But I’m never going to stop wondering what StanLee just ate.