Asides

On Marriage as a Collaborative Art*

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 10 Comments

Sometimes I really want to be single again.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the man I married.

The Universe brought a man into my life who is almost perfectly designed for me in so many ways. He makes me think: really think. I love talking to him. He challenges me intellectually and emotionally. We both share certain childhood wounds that allow us to have a kind of understanding of the other that is quite exquisite and profound. We “get” each other in a way not many could or would. There is a shared language of our hearts. And there is that physical chemistry as well, that makes for deep passion and sweetness.

But I never planned to marry. To be frank, I always thought I was too f’ed up and so had written it off in my early adulthood.

Then I met the man who was to become my husband. For the first time, I had thoughts that maybe marriage was for me, after all. But I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t in any hurry.

And then, circumstances in my life created some shifts in priority (aka: My own personal Armageddon. My mother and brother died and my whole world exploded.)

And when the smoke cleared, and I was finding my way again through the rubble that was the New World of my life, I found that something in me had shifted.

So when the man-who-would-be-husband made the proposal, I said yes, unequivocally.

But let’s just say that my expectations of what marriage would be were practically non-existent.

I was more than pleasantly surprised. I took to marriage quite well. It astounded me (and still does at times.) It is a mysterious and wondrous thing: creating a home together, a partnership. The closeness. The sharing. The laughter. The tenderness. The challenges. The compromises. The deepening sweetness.

I am also deeply grateful that I have a partner for this part of my life. I have many friends who long for a boyfriend, a husband, a wife. I promise you that I rarely take for granted the incredible gift of this person, this marriage we co-create.

Being an actress, I tend to relate all things back to acting. So for me, marriage is a bit like being in a production of a play you love and care deeply about. You gladly revolve everything around it. You embrace that you are in a collaborative art.

Sacrifices are made willingly for the greater good of the whole. You are willing to live through the hard parts of the process because you know it is all a part of the creation you are making together. You trust in the process. You are diving into the unknown. You expect to feel lost at times because it is in the getting lost that you find something new, together.

You bring your best, he brings his best, and, together, you create something greater than the two of you.

But unlike a production that has a time of completion, a day when you all agree to move on to the next project, marriage is a continuing production. It is an open-ended run.

Those peaks and valleys that are a natural part of it…the moments of feeling lost in the unknown…well, to be honest, there are days when I want to say, “Screw it” and just literally up and leave it all.

Part of the problem is that the Universe was really having a field day when our stars were designed to cross paths. One of the most important qualities that I need and want to have in my life, freedom, just happens to directly rub up against one of the most important qualities that he wants and needs to have in his life. Makes for some critical moments of decision for one or the other of us. And some heated conflicts (aka awful fights.)

I grew up in a household where the father was autocrat. Our world revolved around his needs, opinions and moods. He was a big ‘n tall Texas man with a booming voice. He was intelligent in many ways, but as was true of many of his generation, less so in terms of emotional intelligence.

There was a show on TV in the 70’s, “Wait Till Your Father Gets Home,” a cartoon. The opening theme was a song by the same name, and the visual was of a family anxiously awaiting the father’s return home.

That kind of sums up my experience of our house. But on the TV show, Father was a softie.

Not so in my house. I was always waiting to see whether or not my Dad was mad. He had a mean temper, and a cruel tongue. And he used his physical presence to instill fear in those weaker than he. I guess that means he was pretty much a bully.

Which has always made me wonder what in the hell had happened to him to make him capable of that kind of behavior towards his family: the people he most loved in his life. I will never know. All those who could fill in those blanks are gone now.

I don’t believe it was his essence to be that mean. He learned it somewhere. As is true of many perfectionistic personalities, he was hardest on himself. I’m not making excuses for him. He could be a bastard, and it was not a healthy atmosphere to grow up in, being afraid all the time, walking on eggshells. But I know there is more to the story than just my experience of him.

Having grown up in such an oppressive atmosphere, it is a very high priority for me that for the rest of my life on this planet I not live like that: that I not live on pins and needles, carefully holding my breath around my loved ones, afraid to make a mistake for fear of being shamed and made to feel like I am less than nothing.

Which leads me to value freedom of every kind. Freedom of expression. Freedom to do what I want to when I want to. And that is wonderful, and I honor that about myself. I do.

But. I am in a partnership. And that requires restraint and compromise and taking in another person’s needs and wants and values alongside my own. Sometimes, yes, putting theirs ahead of mine. (No, not in the old-fashioned template of the wife putting her husband’s needs first. But in the way that mature love requires.)

It means being a grown-up. Making The Couple an entity that has a value that is greater than the individual parts that comprise it. Being a kind of parent to The Couple.

Some days, this is easy, cause, well, it’s beautiful. (Remember this song? Well before Mariah’s high notes, there was Minnie…)

Other days, if I am especially tired or spiritually drained, or triggered, to consider compromise can feel like I am on the brink of losing everything that really matters to me. Those old wounds have a deep pull. They cry for me to fight for My Life. Run for the hills. Defend my Precious Freedom. (On no, he didn’t!)

I take a deep breath. Give myself a Time Out. (No, I don’t stand myself in the corner. But I do leave the room, sometimes even the apartment, to go get some air, some space, some present-day perspective.) Remove myself from the situation before I go all Beyoncé on his ass and say things I will later regret. (I am from H-town, after all.)

I go off and soothe that part of my heart: that little girl’s longings for a relaxed home and freedom of spirit and unconditional love. I am the only one who can give that to her now.

I parent my self first, attend to the wound. Then I can bring the Whole Mess that I Am back to the production that is Our Marriage. I am ready and able again to consider his needs, the marriage, Our Couple.

Being a flawed human, I am not always successful at this. When I am unsuccessful (aka I act out,) I take responsibility when need be and work to change my behavior, aka Make Amends. That is parenting too. And when he is ready to forgive me, then there we are.

Ready to make art again. Together.

#marriageasacollaborativeart

 

* Full disclosure: I really needed The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt of “partner” today. Things have been very stressed in my relationship lately. Between our impending new home purchase (and all that brings up and entails) and my “summer of deep change,” we are having growing pains.

So though I wrote this post lsat year, I really needed to re-read it and be reminded of it today.

And though I didn’t think I would ever re-post a post, here I am. My own heart needed to.

 

 

Harmony

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 5 Comments

There was once a cacophony

Of thoughts that were in other people’s heads before mine

A terrible discord of voices

Some loud and bullying, others plaintive and pitiful

Others I could not identify (that was the most frightening of all)

I thought I was losing my mind

But I could not yet hear my own voice

Or discern my own thoughts from the din

So I got very quiet and began to listen to all of the voices, one by one

Until I finally found my own

Now there is a symphony

I still hear many melodies in addition to my own

But there is music where there once was just noise

 

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: symphony

A Foggy Day

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 6 Comments

I am a singer. And I love songs.

All different kinds of music and songs: my taste is eclectic and far-reaching. On a given day you could find me listening to rap, David Bowie and Patsy Cline in the same half hour and loving all three.

That said, I am a musical theatre actress and so of course love all things “musical theatre.” But I have also spent many years performing in the cabaret clubs of New York City, and I think that that medium is one of the most beautiful. The intimacy of the cabaret form is unparalleled.

So I have always had a special spot in my heart for the Great American Songbook.

(In case you don’t know what that refers to, it is loosely defined by Wikipedia as “the most popular and enduring songs from the 1920s to the 1950s that were created for Broadway theatre, musical theatre, and Hollywood musical film. They have been recorded and performed by a large number and wide range of singers, instrumental bands, and jazz musicians. The Songbook comprises standards by George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, and also Jerome Kern, Harold Arlen, Johnny Mercer, Richard Rodgers, and others.”)

Thanks to Lady Gaga, Tony Bennett, Rod Stewart, and other contemporary artists, many of these “standards” are still being brought into the mainstream. And the jazz world also keeps these chestnuts alive and well. They truly stand the test of time.

Because the songs themselves are so well-crafted, a singer can take a standard and bring their own interpretation of it to the mix, which in turn resonates with the listener and their interpretation of that particular singer’s arrangement.

It becomes a live collaboration between the musicians, the vocalist, and the composer and lyricist (even though they may have been long since dead,) which comes to life again and again when performed with an audience or recorded to be experienced by a listener.

One of my favorite standards is called “A Foggy Day,” composed by George Gershwin, with lyrics by Ira Gershwin, introduced by Fred Astaire in the 1937 film A Damsel in Distress.

It has been recorded by a zillion amazing singers. But I felt very connected to the song in a specific way. Together with my amazing accompanist and arranger Rick Jensen (an incredible songwriter/singer and one of the most talented people on this planet) and the bassist Mark Wade, we found our own unique relationship with the song.

We recorded it for a demo CD I made many years ago now, but I still love what we found.

I feel such gratitude to the Gershwin brothers for having created such a classic song that spoke to something in me so much that I had to create my own version of it.

I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do, what to do, what to do
The outlook was decidedly blueBut as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I’ve known

A foggy day, in London town
Had me low, had me down
I viewed the morning, with much alarm
British Museum, had lost its charm

How long I wondered,
Could this thing last
But the age of miracles, hadn’t passed
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London town,
The sun was shining everywhere

For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London town,
The sun was shining everywhere

I am so grateful that music exists, period, to connect me to my own heart, to artists of the past, and to other people, today and tomorrow.

Rebel Without a Cause

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 6 Comments

Confession: I often poo-poo fads or things that get really popular really fast without even trying them firsthand.

I won't go see a movie that everyone is talking about, for example. Like The Revenant. Wouldn't go see it in the theatre.

It is an annoying habit. A strange, stubborn character trait that I both wear like a badge and admit is pretty ridiculous at the same time.

It's like I just have to go the opposite way because everyone else is all-over a thing.

Like when electric toothbrushes came out.

I had so much judgement around them!

I prided myself on staying old school. I harshly judged those who bought them as "Suckers fallen prey to marketing schemes of money-hungry dentists!"

I mean, come on! Does anybody really need a frigging electric toothbrush? Jeez! Lazy much?

And then, one day, years after they'd been out, I tried one.

And I finally discovered what all the fuss is about.

And now, it is one of my must-have items.

I still haven't passed over into the truly high-end versions.

I love a particular brand, the Colgate Optic White Battery Powered toothbrush. (Full disclosure: a big plus is that it matches my bathroom wall color, a detail that greatly influenced my choice.)

And so just as was the case with jalapeños, Diet Sierra Mist, Tab and QuestBars, I became a convert once I actually tried it for myself.

Sometimes, a fad is just a fad. (I finally did see The Revenant and still think it was way overrated and was not happy when Leo Di Caprio won the Oscar that year for it.)

But sometimes, a fad is a fad for good reason.

And sometimes, I eventually "get it," despite myself.

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: toothbrush

That Man Behind the Curtain

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So what? So what if I am not up to “par?” What if I am “substandard?”

What the hell does that even really mean?

When I dissect the judgements I have revolved my life around, it is as if I pulled the curtain back to reveal the sweaty, little man who is the voice of the Great Wizard of Oz.

“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”

There is a Them I have made into a kind of God.

Others against whom I have constantly measured my worth, my performance, my right to be here.

Others who often know no better than what they’ve been taught to believe by the Them that they also believed was The Great Oz.

I’ve pulled the curtain back, and I see what I have been buying into.

It is time to ask different questions. Instead of “What’s wrong with me?” “What can’t I be more like that?” I now ask:

“Less than” …less than what?
“Unworthy of” …as decided by whom?
“Inferior” …to who’s idea of superior?

The standard. Who’s standard? Who sets the standard? The industry? Who is that exactly?

What if in trying too hard to live up to The Standard I overlook or even destroy something that could be truly extraordinary?

Pardon my French, but it has all been one big mind fuck if you ask me.

Well, the fuck stops here.

I belong where I say I belong.

I determine my own value.

I’ve been using the wrong gauge.

I’ve been using the wrong measuring stick, and I’ve been measuring myself against the wrong things. Random ideas I either imagine or have had impressed upon me by others.

No more.

I have another gauge within, one that runs truer than any other, and just like Dorothy’s power to go home again ended up being with her all along, it has been with me all along.

It is my own heart. It is my own unique blend of desire, creativity, will, love, joy, bliss, determination, work, craft and passion.

I belong because I am. And I am. Worthy.

There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word prompt: substandard

Lust Life

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 14 Comments

Much of my adult life has been about coming to terms with lust.

Having grown up in a fairly conservative family with mainly Protestant roots, I learned early on to deny and repress my lust: for life, for sex, for fame, for love, for food.

So much so that I lived a kind of double life from my teens into my twenties.

I hid many behaviors that all revolved around my various appetites. Somewhere in my somewhat stunted emotional development, I had learned that being seen as having a need (be it physical or otherwise) was weak, unattractive.

And so I learned to pretend I did not have them.

And yet, at the same time, I also had a very strong need to be seen as a sexual object. (See Sexual Healing, my previous post on this issue.) This presented quite a war within me. I desperately wanted to be seen and treated like a sexually desirable woman – that was sort of the ultimate need. At the same time, I had shame and embarrassment around this and had strong messaging that that was bad, and that I should be a good girl with no sexuality, appetites, strong opinions or feelings.

And so I pretended to be one one way while in secret I acted in other ways.

I invested a great deal of time into creating the illusion that I was chaste, a normal eater, and had  a very neutral opinion on just about everything. I monitored my emotions and watched myself around people, carefully choosing mannerisms and tones to project a good girl.

Meanwhile, I was living quite another kind of life, a life I hid from my family, my friends. A life of appetite and lust and danger.

There were certainly angels watching over me. I was often in the wrong places at the wrong time. Somehow, I survived.

At a certain point in my twenties, the jig was up, as they say.

My psyche demanded that I heal the split, and I began the process of recovering wholeness again.

Of uncovering my own genuine appetites from a place of love, curiosity and acceptance. Of letting go of the urge to keep my appetites hidden.

I began a process of embracing of my true nature and wants and needs as beautiful reflections of my own humanity. I began the shedding of the shaming nature that I inherited.

An unlearning of the social pressure that happens in middle school to put a damper on enthusiasm, to keep a lid on want to look cool.

I learned to let myself eat as I really wanted to in front of others.

I learned to let myself be seen trying, excited, wanting, sexy, hungry, angry, hopeful, happy, disappointed, frightened, messy, unhappy, empty, full, vulnerable, awkward, lonely, blissful.

I learned to let myself be seen. As I really am.

Today I value the self-honesty that I live from. Truth is of huge importance to me.

Though I am still in awe of the capacity I had within my own psyche to maintain such a dichotomy the way I did – that I could compartmentalize two such distinct worlds at once – I am so grateful that that is just a chapter in my story.

Today, I have one world with many parts: parts that co-mingle and bring me great joy in their diversity.

I celebrate my appetites, I revel in my enthusiasms and passions.

I love my lust. It is what lets me know I am human. And alive.

So today, I try to wear my lust like a smile.

 

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: lust

 

Three

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 2 Comments

Once upon a time there was born a little girl

Who was adored by all, like a precious pearl.

Her two older brothers, announced proudly to all

That they had a little sister now, too busy to play ball!

And so things unfolded, and all was well.

For the next few years or so, things were swell.

Until one day, much to the girl’s chagrin and surprise,

She somehow graduated from adorable to pest in their eyes.

She followed them around and pleaded to no end,

But they’d outgrown her and had other things to tend.

And soon she, too, had lots of friends and things to do.

Each had their own life, each had their own crew.

The years flew by and their lives flew on,

And came the time when their parents were gone.

And though they each had families and lives of their own,

The girl-now-woman came to know that their love was a keystone.

And she held close to her heart the years when they’d been young,

For she knew them to be the love from which all other love had sprung.

 

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: pest

 

 

 

 

Shallow Depths

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 7 Comments

Deep within
There is a certain part of me
Who stills believes
Life would be so much better
If I'd been born beautiful:
A super model, a movie star

Shallow, I know,
But that part of me's convinced
Nothing sways her
She doesn't care that you
Can't cherrypick and you'd get
All their shit too (and that we all have shit)

She is absolutely sure
To be adored for your looks
Would beat the rest
That being loved for a face or body
Is more than enough for her
And she won't hear otherwise

This part of me
Would make a deal with a thousand devils
It would sell my soul
For the chance to find out
If life really is better for the super stars and models

I've given up trying
To win her over to Self-Love Land
She cannot comprehend adult logic
So I hold her hand
And I say "I hear you," then lead her into the deeper waters to play

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: shallow

Braced

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The weight of hidden truths
Bent her spirit years ago

Self-contained pressure
Wore down potential and hope

An undetectable scoliosis of the soul
Left a misshapen heart that strains to beat

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: hidden

Sun Tea

Aside ~ ~ Beyond the Skinny Branches ~ 12 Comments

If my mom liked something, she went all in. She had collections that would have challenged the Smithsonian. Beanie Babies, Spode china, Brownware, cut glass, Santa Clauses, pumpkins, witches, rabbits…anything holiday related, really.

And if she thought you liked something, she'd get it to give to you. In multiple. One Christmas I got 4 pairs of Jellies, a brand of shoe in fashion at the time after I had mentioned in passing that they were cute! I learned to watch saying I liked anything around her.

So it was no surprise that after she was introduced to "sun tea," it became a big thing.

Texas is Southern, therefore iced tea is considered a staple food and flows in every household and establishment. Many folks like it sweetened, but my mom was an iced tea purist. She took hers straight.

Usually, she relied on Lipton Iced Tea, a powder that made instant iced tea. Mix in some scoops. Add ice, and maybe a sprig of mint or a slice of lemon, and you had a delightful beverage to cool off from those humid Houston summer days. No one was making hot tea. Got the kitchen too hot.

Then, one day, some DIY crafty friend introduced her to sun tea.

My mother's life was transformed!

She began buying Lipton tea bags! And a big plastic gallon jar.

To make sun tea: Throw some tea bags in the water, screw on the top, leave the jar in the sun, and voila! Delicious brewed tea ready to become iced tea!

She thought it was the greatest thing. (And you know what? It really did taste pretty darn good.) I remember playing in the yard, running around the strategically-placed-in-the-yard sun-tea-in-the-making jugs many a hot Texas day only to find in the fridge by evening and in glasses on the table at dinner.

At a certain point, those jugs stopped being planted in our yard. Perhaps she lost interest, on to the next big thing. Or maybe, if I recall, she had to stop the tea-drinking altogether because of all the caffeine.

I wonder if anybody makes iced tea that way anymore.

Maybe I will find a patch of sun (on the fire escape?) and make some sun tea in her honor. But it'll have to herbal Roobius…

Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: tea