You continue onward

Just over a week ago I spent a Saturday afternoon with Ava DuVernay and Oprah. Granted, it was me and 300 other people in a theater in Hollywood but still, it was an amazing experience. To sit and listen to one of my writing and directing idols was nothing short of fascinating (and as Oprah kept saying, so blown away, we gave up our Saturday afternoon to do it!).

Oprah & Ava

Ava was there to talk about her new television series QUEEN SUGAR. I've been watching the show since it started in September and I'm completely hooked. Laughing, crying, impressed that they've gone to so many places already, it's a family drama that I hope to watch unfold for years to come. But Ava also talked about her start in the business, about her work, about how she has made her movies in her way for herself, and how she's now doing that in television. And that struck me so, her tenacity, her fight to do it her way, because frankly, there is no other way -- at least in her mind. 

As Oprah interviewed Ava, she kept going back to the words, to the writing of everything. It was a Writers Guild Foundation event so this made complete sense but the way Oprah moved their conversation, I couldn't help but think, she gets it. My girl Oprah gets it! The words. They're important. The most important, in this process of film and television. Without the words? Nothing.

Swag from Oprah

QUEEN SUGAR started as a novel. And after a while the novelist, Natalie Baszile, joined Ava and Oprah on stage. They talked about her words and how they were crafted into what we see on screen each week and eventually the three main cast members joined everyone on stage. It was a great afternoon, hearing how the stories Ava and Natalie wanted to send out into the world got created. 

But Oprah kept going back to Ava and her process. How she approaches direction, how she approaches making her own films versus those using others' scripts, and how she perseveres even when it seems like the world is conspiring against her. And then finally Oprah asked Ava for some words of wisdom for all of us sitting there in that darkened theater on a sunny Southern California Saturday afternoon.

Ava talked about how we must tell our stories, how we must raise our voices but then Oprah said, well what if it's hard? What if you aren't getting the work or you aren't getting the job or no one wants to read your writing? And Ava said, simply, "You continue onward."

Those three words have stuck with me over the last week and a half. Life hasn't been all puppies and rainbows over here on Abbey Place.

Yes, things are fine. I'm fine. Angela's fine. But I'm tired of fine. I'm tired of smiling when someone asks what I do and saying, I'm a writer, and them asking what they've seen that I've written and I have to come back with nothing. I say it. I own it. But it's hard.

The two development deals fell apart almost before they got started. I made it to the second round of a couple fellowships and contests but no further. I get some great feedback and then nothing. A friend introduces me to a manager or agent and they don't return emails or don't connect with my work. I post online and nothing. I network and nothing. I'm tired of it all. 

I haven't written anything new in weeks. Yes, blogs and posts but nothing substantial. I've dug myself into volunteering - for Hillary, for Angela, for the homeless - and I've filled the days. I apply for teaching positions and don't hear back. I'm tired of it all. 

And yet?

I continue onward.

I don't know what else to do. I got up this morning, read the news, made a to do list, and settled in at my desk. I've befriended a fellow Women in Film member who's an actress who wants to make a web series so I've been working on that today. I'll do some writing on that this week. I'll pull out the start of a screenplay from last year and decide whether it's a movie or a novel. 

And I'll continue onward.

At some point, decisions will have to be made. Decisions that can only be made by me. I'll have to pick a path to go down, possibly a new path, a new adventure, in a new place, and that will be what happens. I don't know any other way. It's hard. Incredibly. There are so many what ifs, or if justs, that it's a guessing game all around. I realize that every day I get to sit in my chair in front of my keyboard is a very special day and I don't take that for granted. But I also realize that like Hamilton, and Shonda, the urge to #writelikeyourerunningoutoftime is all too real. And I know that whatever happens, I will always write. That will never change. And so? 

I continue onward. 

Life will be busy for the next few months. I'll write because time is running out. I'll keep volunteering. I'll celebrate my family being in Los Angeles for Thanksgiving. I'll celebrate Christmas in Michigan and a brand new year. Another year of yes. Another year of what's next. Because no matter what, you continue onward. Because that's all there is. That and the words. 

This is what 39 looks like

October 18, 2016

I woke up yesterday morning at 6:05am. It was pitch dark out, cold in my bedroom with all the windows open but that good cold where your quilt is enough if you stay inside of it, and my sister was singing Happy Birthday to me at the top of her lungs from the hallway.

This is what 39 years old looks like.

I tied on my expensive running shoes that were an early birthday present from my parents this summer when I was home in Michigan and pulled on an old long sleeved tee and headed out the door. I spent the next 100 minutes walking almost five miles. Listening to a screenwriting podcast and chugging a lot of water.

Then I came home, got ready for the rest of the day, and took this photograph. #selfie #nofilter

This is what 39 years old looks like.

And then I headed out the door. Again. I landed at Hollywood UMC where I proceeded to chat with my friends, get birthday hugs, pass out 118 sack lunches, and be told I looked 25. I left with a spring in my step. Not because of the compliments but because of how busy we'd been, because Pauley had sent boxes with clothes for our guests, because we had a whole new supply of socks to give out, and because we had had a very good morning.

And then I received an SOS call from Angela. She needed help with a grant proposal at school and a deadline was involved. So I hightailed it over there and helped. I helped some more. And before we knew it, several brownies had been eaten, I had gotten several more birthday hugs, and it was time to head home.

This is what 39 looks like.

Angela made my mom's meatloaf. She poured me a glass of wine, I FaceTimed with my parents, I opened gifts from family and friends, and I ate chocolate cake with a side of chocolate chip ice cream. I sobbed over an episode of SCORPION. I laughed over an episode of ATLANTA and then over an episode of FRESH OFF THE BOAT. I texted with friends. I was overwhelmed by the birthday wishes on Facebook, Instagram, email, even LinkedIn. I posted pictures of my food and my cake to Instagram and I washed my face and put on the new nightgown my mom had picked out just for me.

This is what 39 looks like.

I did not read much of the news yesterday, I did not obsessively check Twitter. I did not pay attention to anything outside of my immediate reach. I was able to help feed some people lunch, and so I did. I was able to provide some people with clothing and toothpaste and hugs, and so I did. I was able to play grammar police and write a better sentence that will help a school, and so I did. I was able to crunch some numbers and help with a budget project, and so I did. I was able to work my PowerPoint magic (it's so not magic but people who hate or don't understand PowerPoint always think it is) and so I did. I was able to spend the day doing good. And so I did.

I did not write a new screenplay, or even a scene. But I came up with a title for a new project, while walking. I did not make any money yesterday, and that's alright. Because I think I made a tiny, small, almost-imperceptible difference, and that's all I am looking for most days. My voice was heard, loudly and softly and written down and shared. I was a part of the conspiracy of love that I'm so desperate to belong to (and thank you to all who shared my first vlog - 1,209 people have viewed it! That is amazing!).

This is what 39 looks like.

If you had asked me at 18 or even 25 or 30, what 39 would look like, I'd have had some guesses. And they all would have been wrong. This is not how I envisioned my life. Not that it's bad. Not that at all. I just had no idea this is the path I was headed down, and frankly I don't even know what the next part of the path looks like. I have very little idea of what the future holds for me. I will always be writing. I will always be creating. I will always be helping. I will always be loving. I just don't know what that will always look like. All I know is that this is what 39 looks like right now.

And I kinda love it.

I VOTED!

Me, right after voting!

Yep yep, it's true, I VOTED! I am pretty freakin' excited, I have to tell you. Now granted, it's not election day yet. And yes, I participate in California's permanent vote by mail program, but it doesn't matter. Yesterday, Angela and I sat down and we got out our voter's guide from the state, we got out our notes from the ballot initiative workshop we went to last week, and we got out the teachers' union election guide and we went to work. We studied, we talked, we chose, we marked our scantrons!

And then this morning I drove down to City Hall and I dropped our ballots in the box! It's official! I got to vote for the first woman President of the United States. (I am nothing if not confident in this.) I got to vote to make real change in our country, in our state, in our community. How cool is that?!

I have to tell you, I'm not sure I really ever believed that there might be a woman president. When I was younger I dreamt about it, I wrote about it (a partial, yet abandoned, novel I have is entitled Madame President), I thought about it, but I'm not sure I had the faith I should have. Things were different then (not that they're all that much better now) but now that we're this close...I'm ecstatic!

I'm a part of the process, I'm a part of the solution, not the problem. I'm trying to make a difference. I'm trying to make my voice heard. I just hope that every single person in these United States gets to experience the same type of joy before or on November 8th. I know that people fought for my right to vote, that people died for my right to vote, and I want to make sure that I never take that for granted. That I always exercise my vote and honor those people, particularly those women, who came before me and paved the way.

In the words of Lou Henry Hoover, former First Lady, "That we have the vote means nothing. That we use it in the right way means everything." 

Using it means exercising our right. Speaking our mind. Influencing the outcome. Making a difference. Being a part of the experience. I got to do that today. I did it and then I put on my sticker. And when the woman checking me out at Trader Joe's a few minutes later commented on my sticker, I reminded her to go vote when she gets the chance. She said she would and even wrote a reminder on her hand. Because that's what we have to do, encourage one another to use the vote.

Just do it. I did!

I Will Love

Sunday morning Angela and I headed off to Hollywood United Methodist Church, like we do most Sundays. We settled into chairs under an umbrella in the courtyard and chatted with friends for a while before worship began, then we found our way into the sanctuary and settled in. There was the familiar bulletin, the prayer requests, the usual hymns, and faces of so many friends. Hugs and handshakes. Laughter and love. It was a typical Sunday morning and what drives us to get up, get going and drive a half hour into the city on the only day we can sleep in during the week.

But what happened next was anything but typical. And it's something I just can't shake, four days later.

See, it's election season. (In case you hadn't noticed.) And I'm well past the point of over saturation. I'm emotionally and intellectually spent. I'm exhausted. And yet I get up every morning and I scour the newspapers (print and online). I read FaceBook and Twitter. I check the polls. And then I stew. I wonder what's to be done. What's to change. I fret and I ponder until it hurts. And then I retreat. I dive back into work. I make a casserole. I try to knit a new dishrag pattern (I only know how to knit dishrags). I watch a bad sitcom. I watch ten good sitcoms. I try to stay off Twitter and am unsuccessful. I avoid watching the debates but I read every word about them online. I volunteer and phone bank and have no idea if I'm helping the cause or just filling time. I do other things. I help Angela learn about Common Core. I focus on raising money to fight autoimmune diseases. I make muffins for the neighborhood. I try to stay off Twitter and am unsuccessful. I vow to try again tomorrow. I call my parents. I text friends about the election. I look at the very big, very overwhelming book I checked out from the library. I take A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn off the shelf. I listen to Hamilton for the nine hundredth time. I read Twitter like it's my civic duty. I watch Ava DuVernay's 13th because that actually is my civic duty as a person living in this country. I ask one hundred people if they prefer chicken or tuna or vienna sausages or sardines for lunch. I apologize because we still don't have any hummus to hand out. I dance in my room. I tell the grey cat in the yard how pretty she is. I worry that it will never be alright. That it will never be the same. That it will always be the same.

Back to Sunday. I sat there in our pew right in the middle of my church, between my sister and a good friend, and I was transformed. For fifteen minutes I wasn't over saturated. I wasn't exhausted. I wasn't emotionally drained.

I was encouraged.

I was motivated.

I was reminded...of what it is to be a person alive in this world...of what it is to be a woman...of what it is to be a Christian...of what it is to be faithful.

All of this came from Cory Booker, the United States senator from New Jersey, only the fourth ever African American elected to the Senate. And he wasn't just there to show his support for Kamala Harris, who is running for the Senate. But he was there to preach. And preach he did.

His message shared a thesis that is so missing from our world that I had begun to think it was gone forever: that there is a conspiracy of love and it is through this conspiracy that we can change the world.

Now don't get me wrong, there are plenty of good things in the world, in this country, in my life. I know that. I feel that. I see that. But the bad things often times get together and cloud our field of vision. There's too much to sift through to get to the good stuff. So we don't see it. We don't feel it. We don't know it. Until we're reminded of it.

He preached that we cannot accept tolerance. That simply stomaching the differences in one another is unacceptable. That we have to instead love. Be a nation of love. Be a people of love. Be agents of love. That our love is needed. That our power is love.

And this is hard. For me and I suspect for others. Every Tuesday when I work at HUMC's Homeless Lunch I experience this first hand. Not everyone who comes through our gates wants to be loved. Many are angry and hurt and exhausted and hungry and sick. Some lash out. Some see me as the problem. Some spew hatred with their words and their attitudes and their actions.

And you know what?

I don't blame them.

Life is hard. I'm often hurt and exhausted and hungry and sick. Not in the same way but come on. We all know exactly how hard life is for every single person on this planet. We have to stay alive. We have to try. And it's never easy. Going above and beyond is simply too much for some people. I get that.

And when Senator Booker said that we have an unusual commitment to each other in this world, to join in a conspiracy of love, I wondered what that actually looked like. That the Founding Fathers saw to remind us that we must mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor in the Declaration of Independence must mean something pretty important. We are in this together. We are not alone. And it wasn't just referring to the people who make the decisions or have all the money or sit in the seats of power. It means all of us. Every last one of us.

The guy who walked through our gates Tuesday with blood caking half his face, begging me to give him everything I had because he had nothing, and not being kind to me? He's in this with me. I'm in this with him.

The woman who has told me every week for four years that she's getting her housing soon, and believes it, and hugs me and debates over applesauce, banana or raisins like they are choices on the wine list at the Four Seasons? She's in this with me. I'm in this with her.

The family member who just doesn't get what I'm so riled up about and doesn't understand why I care so much about this election? She's in this with me. I'm in this with her.

The lifelong friend who is this close to disowning me if I post one more pro-Hillary Facebook message? Or one more #awomanwrotethat tweet? He's in this with me. I'm in this with him.

Towards the end of his sermon, because yes, he PREACHED, Senator Booker told us to stand up. He said people will talk about us, people will condemn us, we're gonna be tired, but we still have to stand up. People stood up for us, he said, people fought for us, bled for us, cried for us, scrubbed toilets for us. He quoted King by saying that change is carried in on the backs of lovers. There's work to be done. STAND UP.

At this point on Sunday morning I was in tears. I was clapping, nodding my head in agreement, mesmerized by what I was hearing. "There's work to do, stand up." Don't be someone who sits down. Grab someone to stand up with you. Don't accept tolerance. Be an agent of love. He told us that this is not an election of politics but of purpose.

Purpose. What's my purpose? What's your purpose? What's our purpose?

"To stand up. To speak up. To love," commanded Senator Booker. "How we love in this world will always speak our truth."

I want my truth to be heard. That is why I write. That is why I volunteer. That is why I smile. That is why I hug. That is why I study. That is why I read. That is why I bake. That is why I write letters. That is why I make phone calls. That is why I spend hours working at a middle school that does not pay me. That is why I make time to listen. That is why I try to love. That is why I vote. That is why I fight. That is why I raise my voice.

That's all I am trying to do. In the best way I know. In the only way I know.

I want to be a part of Senator Booker's conspiracy. I want to be a part in the world's conspiracy. Because we are all in it together. In this conspiracy of love.

I will stand up.

I will speak up.

I WILL LOVE.