These Smiling Crying Strangers

She had a ridiculous grin on her face.

Sometimes I wonder why people have an ear to ear grin taking over their heads.

This particular offender walked down the street smiling at nothing in particular, her smile sitting stupidly smack-dab in the center of her face, clogging up the sidewalk as I tried to pass her.

"Why was she smiling to herself like a fool," I thought to myself. Had she just gotten a job? Been proposed to? Found out she'd won the lottery? Heard a funny joke?

And then sometimes, I whisk away my jaded bitter self, and remember that I have, at times, been that person too.

I have been that person for many reasons....because I had just gotten good news, because I had a good date, because I was in love, just scored a lead in a show, someone told me something silly, or I'd seen something beautiful and meaningful---many different reasons had made me burst out into a silly offensive grin that made no sense to other people.

And I admit, sometimes I get very distressed by these people who are smiling. Don't they know they look like idiots? At other times, I think it is magical--their inability to mask their happiness--the sheer gloriousness that is bubbling from within them and spilling out from their cells in an uncontrollable, unapologetic smile.

But what is even more fascinating to me than these random strangers smiling, is our inability as humans to hide extreme emotion. Maybe not all people, I'm sure some people can hide their emotions and put a lid on it. But for the visceral many (or few?), emotion dances upon our faces in ways that we cannot control or are unwilling to control.

The most fascinating of this type of behavior is the person you pass on the street who is crying. Perhaps it is one tear, perhaps it is someone sobbing, perhaps it is the person on the train who is looking down so no one will see their eyes...

The same unbridled emotion that causes someone to smile is the same unbridled emotion that causes someone to cry...It is bubbling emotion, uncappable emotion--but instead of overflowing happiness, it is overflowing sadness. Pain. Despair. Hopelessness. Helplessness.

As I cross these people as they walk down the street, tears sweetly streaming down their cheeks, I wonder why they are crying...

Have they just lost a friend, a parent, a job, a lover? Has someone just dashed their dreams, broken their heart, left them, hurt them....Do they feel as if they don't know the way....Has someone died......Is someone sick....Are they just lost....I see these people and I always wonder what their pain is. I wonder why they walk these streets and grieve. They mourn the loss of something, and are so overcome with their pain that they simply must be present with it.

And in moments of compassion, I soberly understand I have been that person too.

I have been that young woman crying in public.

Perhaps at first trying to hide the tears but then giving in to the emotion, realizing that nothing I can do will stop the tears from their descent. It is in these moments that you give in to the pain and you just let it be. Because at that point, who cares who sees your despair. It is present and it has overcome you and to hide it would hurt even more. So you let the tears fall.

...And yes... It is because a lover has hurt you, left you; it is because family has passed away, it is because your family is hurting; it is because you feel alone or trapped or lost or betrayed. It is impossible to hide the pain, so you don't try anymore. You let the pain exist. This extreme emotion that once bubbled over and made you smile like a fool has now bubbled over and made you cry like a fool.

It is truly devastatingly beautiful. 

Because when you live in the city, you are a soul in transit, and sometimes you must walk with your sadness.

I continue to pass these strangers, and when I see the crying man or the smiling woman, I try to give them my understanding. I silently wish them well, whatever they might be dealing with--whether it is beautiful or devastating.

Because, I daresay many of us have walked these streets, as well. 

And we can only hope that us souls in transit will continue to smile more than we will cry.

Count not thy Chickens

I currently cannot decide if I am incredibly jaded or incredibly wise.

I am caught in thought.

Is it better to be excited until you have a reason NOT to be, or to remain unexcited until you have a reason TO be?

Years of experience have taught me the latter. Does this make me bitter or smart? Cautious or closed off?

I have recently made more of an attempt in my personal and professional life to remain neutral. I have come to embrace the notion that it is not the outcome of an event that steals our inner peace, it is the attachment to certain outcomes that is the culprit.

By attaching ourselves to outcomes that don't occur, we have created a fantasy that is difficult and sometimes painful with which to part.  But had we not attached ourselves to the idea of something before it happened, perhaps then we would not have experienced such letdowns.

Looking back on many past events, it was the attachment to the outcomes that took my peace, not necessarily that the desired outcomes didn't occur.

I, at one point, had the frame of mind that it was silly to only be pleasantly surprised when things did go our way. That cutting off our minds and hearts from the daydream of possibilities was a horrible waste of our souls. Now, a few years later, I look at that former thought as a bit naive and a tad too optimistic. Even though I practice optimism as often as I can, I don't always think it is the course of action.

Because I have seen all too many people have their hearts stomped upon when a relationship didn't take off, when they didn't get that job, and when they didn't get that big part. I've experienced these things firsthand, as well. And just like I have trained myself to go to an audition and give it my all but then walk away and forget about it (because that is the only way us artists can possibly go about our lives and not let the sting of rejection poison our bodies) I feel as though I have trained myself in a similar way to subdue expectation and anticipation in other parts of my life, as well. It is a defense mechanism, of course. So I can protect myself until I have reason to let excitement permeate my soul.

But it is a defense that I don't think is altogether ridiculous.

There's that old saying "Do not count your chickens before they're hatched." That saying has been around for hundreds of years for a reason.

Counte not thy Chickens that vnhatched be,
Waye wordes as winde, till thou finde certaintee.

Thomas Howell, 1570

And I sincerely don't know if this means I have simply grown wiser, or if I used to be eternally hopeful, or if now I am just a jaded old woman.

Perhaps now I just have a more adult way of blending together both sentiments.

Hope and disconnect.

Two totally different frames of mind.

But perhaps they CAN co-exist peacefully?

Because it is not that I have abandoned hope or expectation altogether.

I have just learned to take things day by day. And I don't think that's necessarily wrong.

 

 To see my more optimistic thoughts on this matter from May, 2010 check out
 Great Expectations. 

The Dangerous "What If"

Sometimes we choose one path instead of another. Make strange choices. Do silly things. Take actions that seem right in the moment, but after the fact, lead us down a spiral of self-doubt and regret.

Which way???

*

If I had said this, things would be different.


If I had done that, everything would have worked out.

*





If I hadn't hurt my knee, I would have had a faster race time.

If I hadn't stolen that boyfriend, he never would have broken my heart.

If I'd gotten into UC London, I never would have ended up locked away in Scotland.

If I had taken my cell phone, they would have found us sooner.

If I'd waited longer to sleep with X, we would have dated.

If I hadn't admitted a crush on Y, we could have met up for a beer.

If only I'd made up with her in person before she died...

If I hadn't cheated on my 5th grade test, I never would have lived a life of crime.

If only I had lost ten more pounds...


If only I'd just memorized that entire side....

If only I hadn't bombed that audition....

*
That rogue little "IF" is a dangerous idea to dance with.

Did we do the right thing, say the right thing, make the right decision?

The truth is, we agonize over what we've done and what we've said when the outcome is not what we expected. When we cannot find an answer to explain what has happened, we play the "What If" game. And it is only after our brains have gone through the limitless possibilities that we are able to rest. Our minds are wired to see a better outcome, and because we are all masochistic to a degree, we almost enjoy pressing repeat on scenario after more attractive scenario. We all do this. All of us.

And we only do this when things go wrong. You will rarely see someone who has had a successful outcome mull over his decisions and say, "Why did I do that!"



If Zack asks Kelly out and Kelly says yes, you won't see Zack moping about saying, "I never shoulda let Kelly know I liked her."


Now if Slater asks Kelly out and she says no, it is likely that Slater will be wondering if the outcome would have been different had he done something differently.


But who is to say that the other side of the "IF" wasn't right?


Perhaps it was meant to be.


Perhaps it's not necessarily that Slater should have never asked Kelly out in the first place-- it's not even that he should have asked her out in a less macho way-- it is more likely that Slater's attempts failed not because of something he did, but rather, because it was Zack who was always meant to be with Kelly.

The magical "if" does not exist.

It is something we create to alleviate wonder and prolong obsession.

The "if"game is something we play to distract us from life.

Because the other side of "if" IS life.

And who is to say that these bobbles, these outcomes, these events weren't always meant to happen?



Who is to say that life has not conspired to take us down the path we're currently traveling.

Sure, it is satisfying/torturous to romanticize about the way things could have gone, but the truth is, that's not life. That's daydreaming.


If you look at life from a fatalist point of view, you could have done this or that, but you were really only turning a page in a story that has already been written.


We're just filling in the details however we like.


And,  yes, perhaps we could have said or done things differently, but what if the major points in our lives have already been designed for us and whatever actions we take are the right course of actions because it takes us closer to that next designated point?

What if life throws us this wrench and that wrench at us and puts this roadblock up and knocks us down a few times because those events are crucial in getting us to the next part of our journey?

What if the world is truly knocking us down so that we will find ourselves ready for the good stuff.

So this is what I choose to believe.

And when I find myself playing the "IF" game, I will now say, "Well, then what?"

And then "So what."

The other side of "If" is what's real. It is our fiber, our choices, our mistakes, our paths. And we are meant to be walking these roads.

When things don't go my way, I will no longer wonder "What if..."

I will now say, "What's next."

Because it's coming.

And it's going to be good.

Your Flight Delay Survival Guide

There are certain things that happen to you when your flight gets delayed.

By three hours.

After the initial shock wears off, various other feelings start to emerge. You feel as though you should be allowed to do anything.

You feel somewhat entitled.

Somewhat rebellious.

Somewhat angry.

A little bit…trapped….and yet… a little bit free?

Yes, you have nowhere else to go. You are bound to the airport.

But now…you are free to make your own rules! You’ve earned it. You are both a captive AND an instigator. You, my friend, are running loose in the airport.

So how do you pass the hours?

First things first: Abandon all sense of normal.

You are creating a New Normal.

Welcome! Bienvenidos! Edelweiss! Merci!

Number 1.

Take little fun pack of Jello out of your purse---the one you forgot you stowed in there this morning for lunch---and rip off lid. Don’t even attempt to use lid as a spoon. You are past that. Squeeze plastic container and suck oozing lava-like Jello right from top. Ignore people as they stare. Better yet, stare back and smile. Waive! Enjoy the moment. It is dear.

Number 2.

Spirit Airlines is trying to charge you $40 dollars to carry on ONE little suitcase? Excuse me? Perdon? ARE YOU SERIOUS? When did airlines start stripping you of your last traveling rights? First your water bottle, now your carry-on bag? No. Not today! Go to the self-check in and touch the “0 Bags” carried on button on the screen. Scroll over the “Bags Checked” screen and select “0” on that one too. Print boarding pass. Quickly. Do it.

Number 3.

Get in security line but wait until very big family with sixteen kids gets in front of you. The person checking your ticket will likely be flustered and will now possibly miss words that say “No carry-on” even though you obviously are dragging suitcase behind you. Observe family and sixteen children as they horrify attendant. Nonchalantly stroll up to desk and slide your ticket over to attendant while she is collecting herself… Hold breath, expect to be sent back to the ticketing area…. Get passed through to X-ray!  SCORE! You have made it to Security.

Number 4.

Set off alarms with button on your jeans. Maybe it is your navel jewelry. Put your arms over your head as futuristic laser beam scans your body up and down while, behind wall, little airport men with mustaches comment on how boring your underwear is. Get the A-OK. Put your belt back on. Congratulate yourself all of your liquids made it off conveyor belt even though they were not in 1 qt. baggie.

Number 5.

Now you are in Terminal 3! Find the one person playing ukelele in airport and listen to him strum a happy acoustic version of Outcast’s “Hey-Ya” while foreigners whip out cameras and take precious airport footage. Watch foreigners dance to ukelele music. Dance with foreigners from your corner in mutual spirit. Join foreigners if you are really ballsy. Enjoy the applause. Make decision that Ukelele Guy was really sent from Airport Heaven to entertain stranded travelers.

Number 6.

Buy book. Very raunchy one. Decide against "Shades of Grey" because you are not that desperate. But pick out thriller. Or scandal. Something with murder and sex in it.

Don’t forget the murder.

And the sex.

Number 7.

Go to bar. You deserve a beer. It does not matter it is middle of the week. Drink the beer. Do it. Peer pressure yourself. Make friends. Talk to other people also stranded on their way to Motor City. Or ignore them. Pretend you are a Princess or a Sheik and they are not allowed to speak to you. You can do whatever you like: YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN DELAYED.

But do not be a douche. You can be silent and powerful, just keep that decision to yourself.

Number 8.

Buy salad and sit on floor. Yes. Chair next to thousand screaming babies is comfy and all, but you want to sprawl out. Make very big scene as you shake your salad like a maraca and evenly coat your greens with Paul Newman’s Southwestern dressing. People-watch as you eat your salad. Decide Paul Newman must have been really stellar guy.

Number 9.

Go for walk and try to find Australian accent. Check. Keep walking and look for someone in very trashy looking outfit. Check! Look for Southern girl in bookstore telling cashier she is 22 years old and “Shades of Grey” is the first book she has ever wanted to read. Check.

Number 10.

Saunter on and count number of attractive men you hope are sitting next to you on your plane…

Why are there no attractive men in this airport?

Lower standards.

And, wait for it….

Yes! There are many interesting prospects. Consider walking up to one such prospect and striking up conversation:

“So… Oh, hi there! What? You’re stranded too? Ah, you’re going to Detroit. You know, we should have road-tripped together. It is the Motor City, you know! Lots of engines revving. Damn, we could’ve been there by now… you, me, our Ford... Could’ve been one hell of a ride...” 

Smile suggestively and bat eyelashes devilishly.


Realize you are talking to poster. Note you are insane. Continue on your walk.

Number 10.

McDonald’s makes chocolate dipped ice cream cones? YES. Sprint to counter right before they close at 10pm and beg for one. Take dipped ice cream and sit in empty chair. Really enjoy eating your ice cream cone. I mean really enjoy it. Ignore strange man watching you eat your ice cream cone. Shake your foot up and down. There is music playing. Don't worry only you can hear it. It is a good song. Rock out and eat ice cream cone. Finish ice cream, scrunch up your napkin, and 3-point shoot  paper wad into nearest garbage can. High five random French guy walking next to you as you run through halls like you have just won National Conference.

Number 11.

Sit down and actually wait for plane. Strike up conversation about merits of Mizunos vs. Brooks vs. minimalist shoes with couple across from you that runs distance races. Write a 'How-To Guide' while sitting in your comfy chair. Listen to screaming babies. Learn your flight has been delayed by close to 4 hours because THERE IS NO CREW to fly plane. Crew is missing. Where is crew. Decide Spirit’s promise to give everyone a $50 credit “should you choose to fly with Spirit again” is a bunch of bullshit.

Number 12.

Definitely decide to open a can of DETROIT on lady if she gives you hell about your smuggled suitcase. Realize lady is aware it is 12:30 in morning and she already senses you will open a can of whoop-ass on her so she lets you go through anyway.

Number 13.

Board plane.

Number 14.

Listen to flight attendant do stand-up routine no one wants to hear. Silently curse flight attendant.

Number 15.

Buckle seat belt.

Number 16.
Decide making your own rules in airport when your flight is delayed is only way to go.

Number 17.

Congratulate yourself for eating Jello like rock-star, defying Baggage Laws, and making friends with strangers.

Thank you for flying Spirit Air, and fuck you very much.

We hope you enjoyed your flight!
  

******PS: Those fuckers delayed my flight again on the way back to Chicago. AND made me pay for my bag.

The Nipple

*This is so random and more of an exercise than a finished product*


"There's something wrong with my nipple, honey," she said simply.

"No, there's not, darling," he caressed her face. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true. There's something wrong with it." She pouted and brought her hands to her sides.

"Darling, you're just not twisting it hard enough. Play around with it a bit."

"Oh, like you're the Master of all Nipple Function. I don't want to twist it anymore! It doesn't work."

"Dear, calm yourself down."

"Don't tell me to calm myself. You're the one who got us into this mess."

"Oh, now you're pointing fingers. Lovely. Last time I buy you anything." He walked away from her.

"The old one was fine. Bastard! But no, we need all the new toys. We always have to try all the new things." She took a breath and tried to collect herself.  "Google it?" she suggested sweetly. "There must be loads of videos on YouTube."

"No, I don't want to look up videos on YouTube, that's embarrassing. We're educated adults."

She looked under a stack of newspapers. "Fine, where's the manual?"

"It comes with a manual?" he asked in awe.

She glared at him venomously.

"Come here, baby...I'm sorry."

She crossed to him and he hugged her. "I'm sorry too," she whispered.

"Okay then."

"Okay."

"So when does the sitter get here?" he asked.

"Ten minutes."

"Grand. And where's the old bottle?"

"In the kitchen."

"Okay, we'll give the sitter the old bottle to use tonight and tomorrow we'll return this fancy dumb one. How does that sound?"

"Deal." She curled up on the couch.

He took a seat next to her and they both sighed in relief.

"We've got ten minutes," he said.

 They sat in silence a few moments.

"Porn?" she suggested.

"Sure," he picked up the remote, "Why not."

Random Thoughts Before Midnight---* or "Cinderella's Gonna Turn into a Pumpkin"

Mouse Noose

1. When Mama said 'there would be days like this,' did she know that sometimes tomorrow would still suck a little bit more than the day before? Where's her song for that? Oh that's right, Mama didn't write a little ditty for that. That is why doctors prescribe Xanax. It is also why cookies exist.

2. If I could be a cookie, I'd be a Nutella cookie. With a big glob of peanut butter in the middle. Or maybe a peanut butter cookie with a big glob of Nutella. They both sound delicious. It makes me want to bake. Except I don't know how to bake. No one ever taught me. And I just had two margaritas. And someone who can't bake who just had two margaritas should never turn on an oven.

3. Do Cobblers like cobbler pie? Or do they find it ironic and un-funny. I feel that if I were a cobbler, I would constantly want to eat pie while fixing shoes. I'd also insist my name was Gus. Of note, my Cobbler's name IS Gus. He's not really MY cobbler because I only went to him once. It's just that I feel important when I say I have a Cobbler. So I am possibly a liar. But damn, can Gus can fix a pair of boots.

4. When people say they wish they were a fly on the wall, are they really thinking about the consequences of being a fly on the wall? Life would be forever altered. What if you could never revert back to human form? What if someone smacked you with a newspaper and you scrunched up and bit the big one? What does it even mean to 'bite the big one'? What does 'the big one' even mean, really. Obviously, it's death. But is death like a big putrid sandwich we're biting into? Is it like a big piece of plywood that cracks your teeth open? All of that for a bit of gossip. That is why gossip is bad and why people who watch TMZ should die.

5. When you see sharp objects or seemingly ordinary objects that are somewhat dangerous-looking, do you automatically think, 'Gosh, you could kill someone with that"......? Because I do. Straws? They're weapons. I know so from Physics class in high school. With just the right velocity, you could stab a hole in someone's neck. Said person would die. Tiny piece of plastic you can tie into a cherry stem knot? Well that's a noose for a mouse. It's true. You could hang a mouse with that. Why is that the first thing I think of when I see a tiny piece of plastic on the ground? It's because I'm sick and twisty. Mouse Noose. What about a broken window pane? Obviously an opportunity to off someone like in the movie 'Ghost' when the bad guy bites the big one.

 And that's what you get for fucking with Patrick Swayze.

Ditto.

Gladys

Gladys stood by the living room window waiting for him to come home. 

Her eyes scanned the front yard and she sighed. The lawn was overgrown again. She never did like it when the grass grew too high. She would have to ask the neighbor’s boy to come over and take care of it. She hoped five dollars would do. 

When would he come home? She listened for the sweet and familiar melody of his whistling, but there was nothing. Just a dull and monotonous silence. 

Gladys looked out into the yard again. Her mind started pulsing, exploring the thick towers of green. She started to dizzy herself and looked away.

No, it was better when the lawn was neat and tidy.  She’d call the boy right now. Maybe she’d give him a few extra dollars if he’d take some boxes to the curb. She picked up the phone and briskly dialed next door.

A young girl picked up the phone, “Hello?” The child’s voice was like song, round and musical and innocent.

“Rachel, honey. It’s Mrs. Patterson. Is your Mom home?”

“Oh, Mrs. Patterson.” There was an awkward silence. Gladys hated silence.

“Well? Is she home?” 

“No, no, she’s not home.” There was no music in the child’s voice any longer.

“Of course. What about your brother?”

“No.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back, Rachel? It’s very simple really. I just need a favor.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs. Patterson.”

Gladys put her hand to her head; the pulsing beat had started again, more intense than before. “It’s very important I speak to your mother.” 

There was a silence on the other end. “Rachel? Are you still there? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“... I’m not supposed to talk to you... Mom said we’re not supposed to talk to you.”

Gladys held the receiver close to her ear.

“Why, Rachel?” There was no reply. “Rachel, have you seen Mr. Patterson? He’s late. I’m worried about him,” She bowed her head, tears stinging her eyes. “Rachel… Has he been to your house again?”

“I have to go, Mrs. Patterson. I’m sorry.” Rachel hung up the phone.

Gladys stood motionless for a moment, collecting herself. She looked at her watch. It was late and she was tired of waiting. She picked up a cardboard box of Mr. Patterson’s belongings, opened the front door, and walked to the curb. She dropped the box, letting articles of clothing spill from the sides and land haphazardly onto the driveway. She ripped her necklace from her throat, the one he’d given her for their third anniversary, breaking the strand; and as pearls flew out into the street, she saw from the corner of her eye Mr. Patterson driving towards the house.

Gladys turned on her heels and marched back inside. The pulsing in her head was like a drum now. She walked straight into the kitchen, as if under a spell, and very calmly took out her knives, the very set she’d received as a wedding gift ten years ago. 

She sat at the table and laid the largest knife over the stack of divorce papers she’d refused to sign.

There was no familiar whistle this time, only the sound of the keys at the front door. 

“Dear, I’m in the kitchen,” she called.

His footsteps grew louder as he walked through the living room.

Gladys picked up the knife and smiled.