Amy Lu's View

Ten years later, it ended where it all began: with a floral loveseat.

That’s a rather innaccurate opening line, but I like how it sounds, so I’m going to go with it. Hopefully, explaining its inaccuracies will help me convey some actual content.

The “it” in question is my “career” as an actress in community theater. The loveseat was a set piece for the first community theater show I was in, Duck Soup’s “Moon Over Miami.” I played Darla, the “young” newlywed (rather a stretch at 39). As Darla, I spent quite a bit of time, sometimes seemingly an eternity, hiding behind the loveseat with my on-stage love, Sam, (played by Chad, of course).

Ten years later, that very same loveseat was again a set piece for  “Broken Hill,” the last producation I was just in. This time, as the character Claire, a young and middle-aged love interest, I got to actually sit on the couch. Turns out, this was much more comfortable than kneeling behind it.

Behind the couch, May 2009

On the couch, June 2019

Time to tell the rest of the story: “Moon Over Miami” was not my first post-high school theater endeavor. My theater-as-an-adult origin story actually begins with our church’s production of “Our Town” in 2017. I even had a female lead role as Emily (yes, also rather absurd as I was a 37-year-old playing a teenager).

I don’t in any way want to be dimissive of our church’s “Our Town.” It was a deeply-meaningful and influential experience, that really did change my life. And it was a good show–we made people cry and feel many feels. But I totally dropped the ball on observing the 10 year anniversay of “Our Town,” so I’m making a rather arbitrary distinction between “church” and “community” theater. Plus, I didn’t get really active with theater until I did “Moon Over Miami” with Duck Soup.

So I am NOT going to miss this personal anniversary and chance for self-reflection (and yes, self-congratulation), at least by blog. Not going to miss my chance to stop and take a moment and say, “Holy crap. I’ve been doing this since 2009. That’s 10 years and 46 (approximately) shows.” I even have my resume to prove it.

How can I not revel and wonder? I had no idea ten years ago where my theater journey would take me…all the hours, all the rehearsing, all the memorizing, all the obsessing, all the self-doubt…and all the love. The love for the wonderful, amazing, talented people I’ve worked with who’ve become my friends, and the audiences who have given up their time to be part of something we create together. Everyone on either side of the stage who has been willing to be vulnerable and bold and audacious.

And I have learned more than I ever could have imagined…about acting (I still have tons to learn, but have gotten much better in spite of getting in my own way) and theater and myself. And just fun, random things..like what a “bad lie” means in golf and what Bergdorf’s is.

Now that I’ve more fully explained the “it” and the “beginning” and “the loveseat,” is it really the end of my community theater career? The dramatic side of me (which obviously, is often in charge) sometimes thinks, hopes, and fears so. Maybe I should just quit while I’m ahead. It’s likely to be all downhill from here. After all, what are the chances that I’m ever going to get cast in another role as rich and rewarding as Claire? And wouldn’t it be nice to have more of this “free” time thing? I could go out more, and actually attempt to read a book or maybe even clean the house. Plus, it’s so nice to not be constantly trying to cram lines into my head and to not feel guilty when I just listen to the radio.

The most powerful voice telling me that “it’s a wrap” wonders how I will ever live up to my performance of Claire. Shouldn’t I just quit while I’m ahead? And it seems like there should really be a word for this fear of not living up to past accomplishments. It’s more than just the standard Fear of Failure, but yet it must be pretty common. FOAP (Fear Of Already Peaking) or FONLU (Fear Of Not Living Up)?

Despite the soul-searching and doubts, I’m not ready to end my involvement with community theater. But I do think it’s worthwhile to think of this as the end of a chapter, and a good time to reflect on what I’ve learned and celebrate what I’ve accomplished.

Maybe I’ll be more selective about what roles I take on, and more careful with how I allocate my time. Maybe. Hopefully I’ll continue to appreciate the opportunities that come my way and continue to try and learn from whatever experiences I’m having.

Most of all, I’ll appreciate (and drink with) all the wonderful friends I’ve made…and try to avoid roles that require me to hide behind furniture.

Today was Global Running Day, so I must blog about running.

I’ve blogged a lot about running and the various races I’ve run, but lately I’ve been thinking the most about the races I haven’t run.

Specifically, the last two races I’ve registered for, the Get in Gear Half Marathon and the Women Run the Cities 10 Mile. It’s with a mixture of shame, defiance, and rebelliousness that I announce that I bailed on BOTH of these races because of cold and rainy weather.

Com on, the Bib was even Purple!

The shirt PROVES I’m a runner, right?

I don’t think there is a quick or simple way to tell the tales of how I agonized over the decision not to run these races. Actually, I decided relatively far in advance not to run the Get in Gear because the forecast was for a crappy morning days before the race.

The decision only got painful when the forecast changed late in the game and it just felt too hard to change course: We hadn’t picked up our race numbers, we hadn’t gotten our supplies together, etc., etc. (preparing for a race does take surprising amount of advance effort) and yes, we had consumed an unwise amount of alcohol the night before the race. So we didn’t run the Get in Gear, even though it didn’t rain, and we felt like wimps.

Oh well, I tried to tell myself, the registration fee was cheap, my training hadn’t been going that well anyway, and I had another race coming up in three weeks: the Women Run the Cities.

So when the forecast for that race was also icky, I decided not to rush to judgment. I resolved that I would be prepared to run until the last moment.

But the last moment approached and the forecast got worse and worse…there was even a hypothermia alert. And I almost was swayed by a version of the sunk costs philosophy: I had already missed one race, and this race was much more expensive.

Finally, I thought about how I had signed up for the Women Run the Cities because it was supposed to be empowering and fun. Now you might be saying, “Isn’t the point of running any race to have fun?” and I answer that there are many meanings of “fun.” Races are usually much more about achieving a personal challenge…and the post-race bragging rights and celebrations.

However, the Women Run the Cities was supposed to fun in the more traditional sense, and I didn’t think I would enjoy any post-race celebrations (drinking) if I had to stand outside in the rain.

This epiphany dawned: It would actually be more empowering NOT to run the race and make myself suffer. I knew I could run 10 miles (okay, I didn’t actually know how fast under race conditions) but the biggest challenge for me was to let go of a plan (and a registration fee).

“Letting go” is a recurrent theme of the play I’m currently in, “Broken Hill” (yes, please, for the love of whatever you consider holy, please come see it next weekend). I am such a “J” (from the Myers Briggs personality test) that “letting go” is extremely hard. As family lore goes, one of our mom’s guiding principles is that YOU DO NOT QUIT. You may do a shitty job, but you do not quit. Plans are made, plans are followed, whether they are for dinner or relationships or careers.

This mindset has served me very well in most instances, but there are also times, as my “Broken Hill” character Claire chants, “It’s okay to let go.” Not only okay, but a wise gift you can give yourself and others.

Even though I did not run the Women Run the Cities 10 mile race, I did get the shirt, and I’ve already been proudly wearing it. Normally I would cringe to wear a shirt for a race I didn’t run, but 1) this is a super awesome shirt and 2) it reminds me of all these other life lessons I’ve learned.

This is all well and good, but I am still a bit adrift with this limbo I’m in of NOT having run a race in several months, and not being officially in training for anything (already having decided to take a break from marathons this year). I do not want to get burned by signing up for another race that gets squelched because of weather, but I am acting as if I am in training for the 4th of July Red, White and Boom Half Marathon.

Am I still a runner if I’m not “in training”? I ran for many years and many miles without the goal of completing a race…what was the appeal of that? This was even before selfies and Facebook and cool/funny/ironic/retro t-shirts that declare “Runner Runner Runner.” Can I go back to that?

Hmmm, it might be a take on the old “Serenity Prayer”:

Grant me the wisdom to be a tough, tenacious badass when I need to be and a hedonistic chillaxer when that’s more awesome, and the wisdom to know the difference (or at least what will result in better social media optix).

How did Chad and I celebrate our 24th wedding anniversary? Unfortunately, we belatedly discovered that is the musical intstrument anniversary (although we’ve probably been celebrating that for years). But we did present a church service exploring love as a choice.

“People come to me with questions a lot at work because I’m kind of known as the expert on marriage at the office.”

I think I did a double-take when Chad said those words to me almost 20 years ago. At the time we had been married about 5 years, and while I thought we had a pretty good marriage, I couldn’t really imagine that many people coming to a rather introverted and traditionally masculine thirty year old guy for touchy-feely relationship advice.

As Chad continued talking about his work as a lawyer, I quickly realized he meant he was considered an expert on the legal aspects of marriage, and divorce. This made much more sense to me.

Decades later, on the eve of our 24th anniversary, I told that story at the Nora Unitarian Universalist Church as the opening of the Sunday service Chad and I presented. We were there not as self proclaimed marriage–or divorce–experts, but simply as fellow Unitarian Universalists who have done a lot of reading, listening, watching, performing, thinking, speaking and writing about love. So we shared some of those pieces of art, literature, and pop culture, with our fellow Unitarian Universalists.

We also shared some of the unique perspective Chad has gained through his work as a family law attorney and his observations of relationships as they evolve and end. Chad has also had the joy of officiating at several marriages (thanks to my groundbreaking skills with the internet and a credit card that I wielded to sign him up as an officiant with the Church of Universal Light) so our service included a piece he wrote for our friends’ Megan and Allan as their marriage was just beginning. 

We think romantic love is an interesting topic to explore, but we didn’t want to limit our service  to love between or for other people in just the romantic sense. We also don’t want to think about just the feelings or experiences of love but what it might mean to consider love a choice. 

I have a tatto–temporary, not real–on my forearm that says “Choose love now.” I first wore a “Choose love now” tattoo back in October of 2017, when Chad and I were acting in a play called “Panache.” So I recycled material from a post about that, “Panache is Scrumptious.”

“Choose love now” was the perfect motto for the mismatched lovers we played in that romantic comedy. Both of our characters learned they needed to stop living in the past, trapped by loss and grief, to take a chance on a new romance.

But choosing love can be about much more than a romantic relationship. Many of us are experiencing, or will experience, times when we aren’t romantically in love or loved by or love adjacent to another person, but that doesn’t mean love isn’t for us. We can “Choose love now” by being willing to take a risk and live a life of passion, dedication, and openness, possibly including but more expansive than romantic love. Choose to love life, and what you are, and who you want to be. Choose to love it today in all its imperfections.

As we were trying not to just focus on the fact that it was our anniversary, we did NOT read one of our favorite reflections on long-term relationships. But since this is my blog, I can include this from “The Sparrow” by Mary Doria Russell:

“Lemme tell ya something, sweetface. I have been married at least four times, to four different men.” She watched him chew that over for a moment before continuing, “They’ve all been named George Edwards but, believe me, the man who is waiting for me down the hall is a whole lot different animal from the boy I married, back before there was dirt. Oh, there are continuities. He has always been fun and he has never been able to budget his time properly and – well, the rest is none of your business.”

“But people change,” he said quietly.

“Precisely. People change. Cultures change. Empires rise and fall. Shit. Geology changes! Every ten years or so, George and I have faced the fact that we have changed and we’ve had to decide if it makes sense to create a new marriage between these two new people.”

And Chad and I have kept on choosing that it makes sense for the new people we are constantly becoming to create a new marriage. We don’t go for the idea that “We were made for each other,” (way too much like destiny/fate for my taste) but we believe we have chosen to continuously make ourselves for each other.

There is a completely different blog post in that idea, but some of the top ways we’ve chosen to change together include running, brussell sprouts, bourbon, and Unitarian Universalism.

We ended the service with the Greek myth of Baucis and Philemon, which we learned from the play “The Metamorphoses” which we recently saw the Guthrie. Baucis and Philemon are a virtuous couple who are turned into trees

I really hope you will come and see the upcoming play that I’m in, “Broken Hill.” We have performances June 13-15 at Dreamland Arts in St. Paul.

That’s probably the most straightforward opening to a blog post I’ve ever written. No attempt at humor or cleverness, just a simple, sincere request: Please come see my show.

Of course, I have wanted people to come see every one of my shows, even the ones I haven’t been so sure that I’ve wanted to be in. Honestly, I want people to watch everything and anything I do that can nominally be considered a performance: “Hey look, AMY MADE COFFEE!”

But my narcissism aside, “Broken Hill” is special. It’s a brave, beautiful, bold piece and I get to play one of my favorite, if not THE favorite, characters I’ve ever portrayed: Claire.

I first met Claire seven years ago, in June of 2012, during the first incarnation of  Broken Hill. Don’t let the passage of those seven years fool you, Broken Hill, and Claire, (and me?) are very different now than when they first hit the stage. The complete history of “Broken Hill” (to date?) is actually too complicated for a mere blog post, but this is at least the 5th iteration of the show (continuous improvement!–IT/government humor). Or maybe it’s the blending of two distinct shows (“Broken Hill” and “Bird Icon”) where the second show was inspired by the first.

Why has Broken Hill had such a long and complicated history and how have I been fortunate enough to be a part of it? Call it fate, destiny, or God’s Will (yes, I’m being a smartass as all those ideas make me cringe) but I landed the role of Claire after auditioning for a local (now defunct) company and met the playwright, Jim. That started a friendship that led to a historic theater partnerhip, in my mind, at least. A geologist by day (now retired), Jim is an extremely talented local playwright who has been generous and brave enough to entrust his works to Applause, the theater company I now most often pour my heart into.

I enjoyed playing Claire in the first Broken Hill, but I primarily connected to that version of Claire by crimping my hair (yes, the show was set in the 80’s). But by the time Claire emerged in “Bird Icon,” I felt she was me. As I described the experience of playing Claire in an earlier, and I might I say highly moving, post, “I feel a big responsibility and pressure to get Claire right. If I can’t play a spazzy woman dealing with the death of a parent,  what role can I play?” (Keep or Toss).

Of course, Claire was never just spazzy (or grief-stricken or artsy or ethereal or demanding or sultry or depressed). She’s been, and is, all these things, and more. She’s a fully-rounded (not fully-figured) multi-dimensional character. She’s so me and so NOT me that playing her is a profound experience.

Besides my love of being Claire, (is there a word for when you are in love with your character? No, no narcissism here), “Broken Hill” feels momentous to me because:

• It’s been fascinating to see how Claire, and Broken Hill, have evolved during the years, and I’m so amazed that I’ve got to be part of the collaborative process. Usually we just get a script, have one run of the show, and that’s it.
• We’re bringing to life (yes, a cliche, but so appropriate for this) the work of a local playwright (and friend). Knowing the real, live, actual person behind our show? Wow. And yes, it’s also a little terrifying…what if he hates what we do with it?
• Chad is starring AND directing in “Broken Hill” which is an amazing emotional, intellectual, spiritual, and time commitment, and, he’s damn good.
• Chad is directing me and co-starring with me in a show with some pretty intense–in a multifaceted sense of the word–scenes. (Maybe I will find a PG way to blog about the sexy pizza scene experience but probably not). We always have our fair share of backstage drama when we work on something together, but we’re taking it to the next level.
• Getting to be part of a fictional couple with Chad is always powerful (They’re Playing Our Song), even, maybe a especially, deeply challenged couple like Claire and Peter (and did I mention the sexy pizza scene?)
• The whole cast, small and mighty as we are, is amazing. Thank you Connor, Pat, and Pat, for taking this leap of faith with us. I’m especially thankful to get to work with my dear friend Pat Bettendorf (who truly gave me my start in community theater with Duck Soup) in an entirely different way (kleenex alert!)
• “Broken Hill” is my tin anniversary show, as I’ve been doing this community theater thing for about 10 years. This feels signficiant to me, and I want to celebrate and commemorate, and what better way than to be in a challenging and moving show? Of course I still have so much to learn, but I am a much better actress than I was 10, or 5, or even 1 year ago.
• I have no idea what the acting future holds for me, (which is always true and part of the reason I die a little inside every time I hear “Oh, I’ll see the next one you’re in”) but it’s highly unlikely there are going to be many, if any, roles as fulfilling as Claire. Trust me, afterall, I have been doing this for 10 years.

“Everybody needs a go-to karaoke song
The one that makes you sing along
So take a sip of courage and just get up on that stage
Forget about your worries and just let the music play
Everybody needs a go-to karaoke song”–Sister Hazel, “Go To Karaoke Song”

In my last blog post, I wrote about how brave I was when I went ziplining on vacation in Costa Rica. Now time to turn my attention to another brave accomplishment: karaoke.

I will digress a bit to set the stage. I’ve never been on a cruise, but I hypothesize that our experience of staying at a resort was a lot like being on a cruise on land. So like a cruise, every night there was entertainment: a live band played from 8:30-9:00, then there was a dance show from 9:00-10:00 on a different stage across the courtyard, and and then the band did another set from 10:00-11:00.

Our first night we were confused and annoyed by this entertainment. Was it a dance drag show? What was up with Latino Beatles cover band? And most importantly, how f#$%!n late was the band going to play because we were old, and tired from traveling, and there was no way we could NOT hear the band from our room. And yes, it was all so cheesy and we were smuggly superior to it all.

Luckily, it didn’t take us too long to get over our old, “we’re too sophisticated for this” selves. (Knowing that the band stopped playing at 11:00 and that we could comfortably sleep/pass out at a respectable hour helped). By night #3 we were eagerly looking forward to the resort’s entertainment. As amateur musicians, we especially appreciated the talent, musicianship, and heart of the band members who gave their all to entertain distracted and frequently drunk resorters. We tried to figure out the rhythms of latin and Caribbean-flavored music over rum and guarro (NOT mixed together).

We also developed a deep an unexpected appreciation for “La Bamba” and “Hotel California.” We heard “La Bamba” every night at the resort, except for the “I promise I will eventually get to it Night of Karaoke.” Okay, one night the band didn’t actually play it but it was a part of the dance set. Our band Pigeons from Hell actually played “La Bamba” last summer at our one–and rightfully only–Quinceanera gig, and Chad sang lead, so he was able to expertly sing along in Spanish.

We also frequently heard “Hotel California, ” although not every night. No, I don’t know why this particular song was so popular at a Costa Rican resort…for some reason were the musicians mocking the conservative Christians of my childhood who proclaimed the song Satanic?

But Sunday must be the night the professional musicians and and dancers at the resort have off, because Sunday was KARAOKE NIGHT.

My first reaction when I learned this was, “I’m so out of there, let’s go watch TV in our room and see if I can figure out an action movie in Spanish.” But I must have been too lazy to immediately bolt, because soon we were watching karaoke.

Post-karaoke selfie in my new dress I bought at the resort.

My inner monologue soon turned into a loop of “I would never do this…could I do this?… I probably wouldn’t be too much worse than anyone else who’s on stage, not that I’m judging them/being a bitch, God bless them for having a good time (oh snap, yes, I’m totally judging them…I could do this…it’s too late to do this…I’m not drunk enough to do this…being on that stage would probably feel amazing…I should do this!”

I finally realized that if I was thinking/obsessing about it THAT much, I should just do the damn karaoke. Unfortunately/fortunately, by the time my alcohol consumption and the logistics of the evening were in the proper mix, I was the very last person to perform. So I had the honor of closing down the show and sing “Girls Just Wanna to Have Fun” to Chad and about 10 staff people.

Luckily, they had my go-to Karaoke song, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” And if you’re wondering if I do karaoke enough to have a go-to song, Chad had the same question. While I definitely had a, shall we say, rather intense karaoke phase, it was more than a decade ago, And while usually weird and embarrassing, my forays into karaoke usually occurred safely at home or at private parties (sometimes regrettably at library/work settings), courtesy of my own karaoke machine.

I think it’s been four years since I’ve done karaoke at all, and that was a sweet but rather misguided duet of Chad and I singing “Embraceable You” (it was TOTALLY in the wrong key). And while I feel like I’ve performed “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” at karaoke at least a couple of time, I can really only remember doing it once at a Snyder family wedding. 

Okay, maybe it’s more a symbolic than actual go-to karaoke song, but I felt I could pull it off. It’s a good choice for me it requires a limited range and I can just stay up high in my head voice, and more importantly, I feel Cyndi’s longing to “be the one who walks in the sun.” So I was brave and faced down my self-doubt and good judgement, and did that karaoke thing. I even danced a bit. And I was right, being on that stage DID feel amazing.

Sadly, there’s no video of it, but perhaps that’s for the best…I can just choose to  believe I wasn’t too bad and that I remember how much fun this girl had.

“Pura Vida” is emblazoned on t-shirts and a plethora of other souvenir items in Costa Rica. It’s a popular saying/greeting/slogan/mantra/catch phrase/philosophy that literally means “pure life.” To pay tribute to the popularity of “Pura Vida,” I want to reflect on my Costa Rica experiences through that lens.

“Pura Vida” usually has a connotation of being relaxed and care-free, but for me it’s more meaningful to think about experiences that were pure and unadulterated by distractions. Experiences where I came closer to being in the present.

When I think about Pura Vida this way, what comes first to my mind is my adventure in zipling: Pure Terror/Exhiliration.

Before we went to Costa Rica I was relatively set on ziplining, something I had never done before and that I found moderately scary. It had the appeal of novelty and excitement. Since I had been very casually toying with ziplining for years, how cool would it be to do it in Costa Rica? It seemed the perfect stretch activity for vacation, something new that would challenge me but not paralyze me with fear. (AND something that didn’t involve water…as I can’t swim— yes I know, gasp, gasp, what?!— I can’t swim so even snorkeling— which I did do in Belize and am glad I tried but don’t really want to do again— is too scary).

Wisely, we committed to a zipline tour early on in our vacation (Day 3) so I didn’t have a chance to chicken out or get too hungover. And it was everything I hoped for: I WAS scared, but as I was ziping through the trees, I was mostly in the moment (beyond the relatively quiet internal voice chanting “You’re going to die, you’re going to die” and then, as I got more confident, the voice chanting “This is going to make an awesome Facebook post/blog!”).

We had the choice of a zipline that would be one long, high zip over the ocean, or a series of shorter, lower zips through the trees. We chose the series of short zips (11?), so I had the chance to freak out during the first few (the downside being that at one point early on I wanted to walk away and I didn’t want to do any more) and then to settle in and enjoy the later zips.

In addition to fear, I had to push through my embarassment: embarassment about my fear, and embarassment that I couldn’t reliably remember from one zip to the next what I was supposed to do. How was I supposed to jump up and get on the line? Why was it so hard for me to jump up—okay, I’m not a body builder, but shouldn’t my upper body strength be more or less in proportion to lifting my body? Why couldn’t I remember which hand was supposed to go where when only 10 minutes had elasped between zips? I even did one of the last zips with my hands in the wrong position, so that I was breaking with my left hand instead of my right (obviously not a fatal mistake).

And why did it make me even more embarassed that the the staff were young, cute, nice men—Young enough to be my sons? Probably because no matter how old I get, I’m always going to carry the awkward 13-year-old girl I was around inside myself, and honestly, I’d miss her if she went away. Despite my/our embarassment, my 49 AND 13-year-old selves really appreciated how patient and competent the zipline tour guides were. Most importantly of all, they were very willing to take photos of us.

The guides also imparted the key lesson of ziplining: It’s important not to go to fast or too slow. It seems obvious that going too fast would be a problem, as one doesn’t want to smack into a tree (okay, more likely a guide, but still not cool and definitely embarassing). But I had to fight my inclination to go to slowly because I was scared and overcautious.

Although going slowly sounds harmless (at least to me), it turns out that in ziplining, it can lead to getting stuck. You could literally end up “trapped” on the line between your starting point and your destination and have to climb backwards up the line. I can’t even imagine how scary, difficult, and embarassing that would be.

I don’t think one has to be an English or Religious Studies major to see the possibilities to turn this ziplining wisdom into an analogy or life lesson.

“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun”–Seasons in the Sun, Terry Jacks

How can those profound words from that classic 70’s song of my childhood NOT run through my head when I think about our recent vacation to Costa Rica? (I’m slightly worried that I’ve already used this song as blog material, but it IS so profound and poignant, and I think I just referenced it in a photo caption: https://wordpress.com/post/amyluedtke.wordpress.com/144. But I promise, I won’t blog about this song again!…at least for 6 weeks.)

Okay, we didn’t have a season exactly, we had a week, but it was a glorious, sun-drenched, booze-infused week that felt removed from our ordinary time and space. So in some ways, definitely a season.

And did I write “booze-infused”? Why yes, and let me explain with three word: ALL-INCLUSIVE RESORT. Three exhilarating and dangerous words. Happily, we made mostly relaxed but wise choices. I gained 3-4 pounds over the week, which I think is evidence that I indulged enough not to feel deprived/stingy but not so much that I now need rehab/detox/fasting (at least not too much more than I usually do).

I can’t possibly experience a week of buffeting (NOT buffering) without thinking about another profound song, “A Little Bit Of Everything” by Dawes.

“I want a little bit of everything,
The biscuits and the beans,
Whatever helps me to forget about
The things that brought me to my knees,
So pile on those mashed potatoes,
And an extra chicken wing,
I’m having a little bit of everything.”

Wow. I almost DID have a little bit of everything (not chicken or other meat besides a ton o’ fish) on the buffet and as much as everything of the week that I could–sun, pool bar time, people watching, ziplining, looking for monkeys and sloths, enjoying awesome and cheesy dance shows, trying to give as much love to the bands that were performing without being stalkers as possible, karoake. AND “downtime” with Chad (at least time I didn’t plan out TOO much).

I actually did NOT have a little bit of every available alcohol, mostly because I’m a snob and calorie phobe (so no-fruity drinks or bacardi) but did have PLENTY of Costa Rican rum (with and without Diet Coke–trying to order Diet Coke in Costa Rica, what an Amy hardship), guaro sours, red and WHITE wine, and gin and tonics.

While I love the Dawes’s song, all this reveling in a little bit of everything wasn’t to forget things that have brought me to my knees out of pain and sadness (or at least not primarily that) but to remember the things that have (okay, metaphorically, or else I would need knee pads) brought me to my knees in wonder and awesomeness. And to experience more of those things.

Now back to a song…I just can’t quote the Terry Jacks’ song without including my brother’s version of it:

“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun, but the cops had the guns, and they shot us in the buns.” –-Seasons in the Sun, Charley Luedtke

Which of course is just a really brilliant, metaphorical way of saying all good things, in fact everything, including time at all-inclusive resorts, end (did I mention we spent a lot of time by and in the pool drinking and discussing “Why Buddhism Is True” by Robert Wright?) Luckily no cops, no guns, but my butt was really sore from an extreme water-taxi ride.

Today turned out to be a self-improvement day. Sort of.

• I ran my “long run” (2 hrs, 15 minutes) for my half marathon training plan. But…it really sucked. My pace was the slowest it’s ever been on such a run, the weather was rather crappy, my heart rate monitor wasn’t working, and I’ve got blisters on my toes (a new ailment).
• I tried to learn a little Spanish using the app Babbel, but my performance was pretty abysmal. I am hopeless when it comes to learning the forms of “estar.”
• I’ve been eating chips nonstop ever since my run, negating any health benefits, and probably not helping with learning Spanish.

Pissed off Sprouty B

Chip debris

Hmmm, I guess a list of three failures doesn’t seem all that noteworthy afterall…and I DID spend some quality time with Sprouty B (one of our poor neglected cats) and caught up on some old saved Facebook posts. (OMG so many recent memories that I’ve already forgotten in addition to profound feels, like the Rolling Stone article about the Best Buffy episodes that reminded me of how Buffy’s mom died just a few month’s after mine).

So did tonight bring me closer to my “Best Self” or send me further away? In my faith community of Unitarian Universalists, we’re a ltitle obsessed with our Best Selves. It’s both inspiring and annoying.

The popular culture (at least in liberal circles) also seems obsessed with “authentic selves.” I’m ambivalent about embracing and embodying my authentic self, too. Is my authentic self my best self, or are they in fundamental conflict? Creative tension?

What if my authentic self is just a bitch?

And then there is the whole idea of “whole self,” or “bringing your whole self to work.” (Have I blogged about this before?) I was super skeptical of this idea when I first heard it. Now I have more understanding that it’s potentially really important for people who have felt they’ve had to hide part of their culture or identities to fit in with the dominant white and straight culture at work. That’s definitely NOT cool.

But really, no one probably needs or wants ME to bring my whole self to work, or anywhere else. I don’t even want that. Yes, I love the idea that you (anyone) would love my whole annoying-ass self no matter what, but still, some self-censorship is good. If you want unconditional love and acceptance, get a pet. (Perhaps not Sprouty B).

How did this rant spring from my self-doubt stemming from a bad (really a series of bad) runs? I don’t know, but the Beatles song “Getting Better All the Time” keeps popping in my head. (And yes, this is a song that takes a light-hearted approach to being a domestic abuser, definitely NOT cool).

“I’ve got to admit it’s getting better (Better)
A little better all the time (It can’t get no worse)”

Well it could get better, OR worse, and vary from day to day. Both the little and the big things.

Maybe what’s most important is that I try to get better, whether or not it’s my most authentic or best self driving the bus. And luckily, I probably don’t even need my whole self to do it (most of me can probably even stay home and eat chips).

I really don’t want to be one of those stereotypical Midwesterners that’s obsessed with the weather. I even manage to (mostly) refrain from Facebook posts about it.

BUT COME ON. THIS FREAKIN’ WINTER. I mean, how many times can a woman run out of salad and/or wine and survive?

So our recent week-long vacation in Cape Coral, Florida, with our wonderful friends the Frasiers, was a gift, a reprieve, a restorative blessing. We experienced warmth, and sunshine, and saw our exposed skin. I even had so much salad that I was frantically trying to finish it off the morning we left by eating it for breakfast. (I refrained from having wine for breakfast).

The only downside of a lovely vacation is that it doesn’t necessarily provide good blog material. Maybe sunblock also blocks writing inspiration. And yes, I continued my tradition of poorly applying sunscreen so that I had sunburn in strange shapes. Perhaps a correlation with how my thoughts take strange shape in writing?

Maybe unhappiness is just more interesting than contentment, or at least many of us have learned to think so. The greatest art is always about tragedy and grief, right? My only vacation tragedy is that I was attacked by f#$%in sand fleas, by merely standing on a beach for 30 seconds.

And I don’t what the deal is with sand fleas, but their bites get worse over time and last forever (mine are finally fading after a week). Sand flea bites are way worse than mosquito bites, and I am a connoisseur of mosquito bites. Even Chad was bothered by the bites and noticed they got itchier days after the initial attack. It’s like the fleas were gaslighting us.

(OMG in “researching” sand fleas for this I just discovered you can get SAND FLEAS THAT BURROW INTO YOUR SKIN TO HATCH EGGS!!)

Oh yeah, and we couldn’t get into a Tiki Bar. Well, actually we got in, but they ignored us and wouldn’t even take our drink order after 10 minutes. To paraphrase an awesome John Hiatt song, “Thank god the tikki bar’s still open, but screw them for ignoring us.”

So except for being gaslighted by sand fleas and dissed by a Tiki Bar, our vacation was wonderful.

Chad has pointed out that I’m not very good at relaxing and doing nothing, but I was pretty close to not doing much on this vacation. I ran, I drank, I ran some more. And yes, this sounds just like my normal life, except it’s basically all I did.

And this vacation drinking was no normal drinking, it was DAY drinking. That relaxed, luxurious, indulgent, “I’m drinking at 2:00 in the afternoon because I don’t care because I’m not responsible for anything” drinking. No one here is responsible for keeping the dog alive or shoveling drinking. Day drinking followed by evening “It’s okay if I go to sleep at 10:00 p.m. drinking” because why even pretend anymore?

I actually DID almost accomplish one very vacationesque activity: I almost READ a whole physical book. This is in contrast to the fact I normally only listen to audiobooks, which I am not at all ashamed of, but it is nice to mix it up a bit sometimes.

We also branched out into some new touristy territory, and visited the Shell Factory and Nature Park with our friend Ken (thanks, Ken, for introducing us to this amazing place!). I can’t do the Shell Factory justice toward the end of a blog post (lots of shells, a huge tacky gift shop, weird creepy taxidermy), except to say that their website aptly describes the place as “dizzying.” It really made me want to revisit another cultural mecca, The House on the Rock. I was also really glad Chad didn’t go look at the snakes in the “nature park” because they looked like they could escape from their “aquariums” at any moment.

“I’m coming for you….”

Check out the cobwebs and peeling ceiling

I really do love being a Midwesterner and am proud to live in Minneapolis, and I even think there are some benefits to being emotionally repressed and passive aggressive. But thank god the Tikki bar’s still open, even if they won’t serve us, and I’m glad we have our Florida vacation home booked for next February!

I basically missed New Year’s this year. We were deeply immersed in “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” rehearsals and even had (much needed) rehearsals on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

So I’ll use Chinese New Year’s as an opportunity to do a little reflecting and pondering. One month into the 2019 calendar year, resolutions or goals just don’t seem like the most useful approach. Rather, 2019 is inspiring many questions, including:

• What will running look like for me in 2019? In 2018, I ran TWO marathons and logged 1700 miles. That makes me feel pretty bad-ass, and a little sad because I just don’t think that’s feasible (or even physically and mentally healthy) for 2019. There’s no question that I’m going to keep being “a runner” (barring unforseen calamity) but how will that play out? I was hoping I would have decided on some goals by now, but I’m still trying to be open to how things unfold. I do have a goal of running at least 1200 miles this year, which is only 100 miles a month, and I’m definitely on track for that. But do I want to run the TC Marathon in October again? Maybe more half marathons? Just try to figure out the Doctor Who running club or just get my past medals properly displayed?
• How awesome will it be to get to play the character Claire again in the new, full-length version of “Broken Hill”? In June I get to reprise the role of Claire, which I’ve played in three different iterations of “Broken Hill” by local playwright and friend, Jim Lundy. Claire is a character near and dear to my heart (she’s hyperactive and talks a lot and has dead parent issues), so I’m terribly excited, and nervous, to bring her to life again. It’s always so hard to say goodbye to a well-loved character, so the opportunity to play Claire one more time is wonderful and a little terrifying. What if I’m not as good at being Claire as I was before? What if having Chad be my director and play my love interest causes too much backstage drama? Should I crimp my hair again to play Claire, and can I still find my 1980’s-era hair crimper? What if I’m just too old to be Claire again? Mark your calendars for June 13-15 so you can catch a performance and find out for yourself. (And Bonus: I also get to act in another, brand new, Jim Lundy script and play Laura at the end of this March!)

• Should I have a “party” to commemorate the 10th anniversary of my participation in community theater? This is an idea I’ve been kicking around for a while…actually, my first non-high school theater adventure was in 2007, when I was in our church’s production of “Our Town,” but obviously I missed the boat on celebrating in 2017. And I think I can justify a 2019 celebration by saying that’s the anniversary of my first non-high school, non-church production (with Duck Soup) and that’s when I really started this theater thing in earnest. I definitely need to celebrate and take stock of this milestone in some way…perhaps just myself with some good wine and bourbon and some blogging, and/or some type of communal activity. If I go the social route, I want it to be a fun acknowledgement of all the awesome people I’ve met through theater, without being a big whoo that is in anyway stressful for me or participants. But as theatrical endeavors make me so wiggy because I have very little control over them (that is, I can’t make people cast me) and full of self-doubt because I never know how good I really am, I think stopping to appreciate what I have done will not only be fun but a good mental health exercise.
• Speaking of self-doubt…what about this new job, promotion thingy? And can I SFW blog about it?
• Will I become a successful pet owner with a well-trained, sleep-through the night puppy and cats who aren’t hiding in the basement?
• Will I ever use Babbel regularly enough to learn at least a little Spanish before we go to Costa Rica in April?
• Will I ever remember that Chad and I DON’T have the same Chinese zodiac sign, and that he is NOT the Year of the Dog? He’s the Year of the Rooster.
• Will I ever stop consuming so many empty calories from chips? I don’t consider wine/bourbon/any alcoholic calories to be empty–they always at least have a story. (Actually, a bag of chips usually has a story, too).