Grounding, and Diffuse versus Focused Attention

(Warning: Here come the post-Improv festival spam posts. In my defense, it was a rich weekend. So much of what I learned applies to all of life, not just to stepping on the stage to "make shit up.")

I had a Stage Combat class this weekend with Jeff Alm this weekend. I can't believe I am typing this. I took at Stage Combat class this weekend. When I was in the class, I was thinking "This is so cool. I can't believe I am doing this." 

What is Stage Combat? It is staging violence on the stage in a safe way. It is most like partnered dance (think tango, salsa, or waltz) and choreography than fighting. We learned how to stage a punch and we practiced sword fighting.

Before we grabbed the epees, we had to do some mental prep work. We learned techniques for grounding ourselves and how to focus our attention. In a fight scene, we need to be both focused and grounded so no one gets hurt.

We did an experiment with grounding. We first focused our attention on the top of our head. Our combat partner gave us a gentle nudge on the shoulder. Most people swayed. We then focused on attention on our core. Again, out combat partner gave us a gentle nudge on the shoulder. Most people were solid and didn't sway. It was fascinating. I am going to have to use this at work before going into a stressful meeting.

The second thing we worked on was focused versus diffuse attention. I remember learning about focused and diffuse attention in a Feminine Archetypes class, where Diana the Hunter and virgin has focused attention. Demeter the mother had diffuse attention, perhaps scanning the metaphorical horizon to care for her daughter. 

We then did an exercise on attention. When we stared out across the room, we had diffuse attention. When our scene partner nudged us on the shoulder, we swayed. When we focused on a spot, we were solid. I think about my ballet classes as a kid. When we were doing a series of turns, we were told to pick a spot on the wall and focus so we wouldn't get dizzy or lose our balance. 

Sometimes in life when we are wrestling with a challenging problem or situation, we need to turn our focus off for a bit. I was talking to a friend about this last week. Sometimes we need to intentionally turn off our hamster wheel of a brain, and let our subconscious tackle a problem. This requires a tremendous amount of trust or faith. This is what it means to let something go. It doesn't mean we don't care--it means we need to loosen the death grip we have on a problem for a bit.

This week I took a few days off of work to go to the festival. Last night, I dreamt about a problem at work, and the solution floated to the surface. 

 By letting it go, I let it come to me.

The Power of Nope

(Warning: Here come the post-Improv festival spam posts. In my defense, it was a rich weekend. So much of what I learned applies to all of life, not just to stepping on the stage to "make shit up.")

Patti Stiles talked to us yesterday about the power of "Nope." She had the group do a scene with a partner and one partner would continually ask their partner "What's next?" If the one partner liked the offer, they would act out the scene. If they didn't like the offer, then they would say, "Nope" in a sweet little voice with the tilt of the head. 

The idea is that it is okay to say "no" to our scene partner. She made it cutesy to differentiate the different types of no's. "Nope" means I still want to play versus a no that suggests "get me out of here."

Think of it when a friend asks you out to dinner. You might say no, that night doesn't work for me. Or no, I'd rather eat in. It means I still want to see you, but Tuesday doesn't work for me. Or I want to see you, but let's do something else instead.

I remember a date I had as a college freshman. This guy I was crushing on asked me to pumpkin carving party for Halloween. When I got to the party, and there were ten women, and about five guys. I was not thrilled with this ratio. The guy I liked ex-girlfriend was there in the middle of the living room holding court. My crush was in the kitchen, lowkey ignoring me, lowkey peaking out to check me out. At the end of the party, he walked me home. When we got to my dorm, he invited me to another party that night. I said "no" when I really meant "nope." What I really wanted to do was go make out in the basement. I was too chicken to be that forward and ask directly for what I wanted, especially after I was not tended to during the first party. He heard "no" and ignored me for four months. I couldn't figure out what happened.

Patti isn't always a big fan of "yes and." She thinks the only absolute in improv to take care of our scene partner. She thinks an improviser can refuse an offer if it doesn't delight them. We have a responsibility to ourselves to follow our heart and find what delights us. We can't do that without a few "nopes." 

Isn't this true of life, too? What can we do to take care of each other? We have to hope that our partners feel the same way. We also have a responsibility to them to know what we want, to know what delights us. We can use our "nopes" for good, not evil.

Scary Places

This weekend was Unexpected Productions Festival. I spent twelve hours in intense classes with internationally known improvisation teachers. Patti Stiles is from the Loose Moose Theatre in Alberta, Calgary where she studies under Keith Johnstone, the man who turned improv into an art form. 

Patti made a comment this weekend:

The stage is a scary place.

You can either put on more armor

or

you can have less fear.

The thing I love about this statement is that is applies to everything.

The ________ is a scary place.

You can either put on more armor

or

you can have less fear.

Trying new things is a scary place.

College is a scary place.

A new job is a scary place.

Parenting is a scary place.

Opening your heart is a scary place.

Love is a scary place.

You can either put on more armor

or

you can have less fear.

Armor can protect us from getting hurt, but that same armor also protects us from having fun, knowing love, and connecting with others.

We often enter places where we are scared and don't know what is going on. So often, we think we are facing a dragon, when the world isn't as often as scary as we think it is. 

And if there are dragons, does our fear help us anyway? Fear blocks bravery and courage and love.

Hookers, Blow & the Prodigal Son

I just started watching The Righteous Gemstones streaming on Max, nee HBO, with Danny McBride. It's a story about a family of mega-church preachers. Right after the opening credits, the eldest son, played by McBride, is blackmailed with a video of him doing cocaine at a party with the company of prostitutes. The blackmailers want $1 million in cash to destroy the video. Jesse Gemstone's father controls the family funds, so Jesse is trapped. He and his family's reputation and business will be destroyed if the video gets out. His wife will at worst leave him and at best be pissed off at him for years.

I remember seeing such a wild and bold opening to a show. I don't know if I'll like where the whole thing lands, but damn is a great way to start. I imagine the family will find love, acceptance and redemption along the way, but I imagine it will be a bumpy road.

I can't wait. I hope the rest of the story does justice to the beginning.

Downtown and FIFA Club World Cup

I've been to two of the FIFA Club World Cup games in Seattle in the past week, and it has been so much fun living downtown while this all is happening. 

Living downtown near the Market means the world comes to me. This week, I've seen Brazilians, Argentinians, Parisians, Japanese people, people from Spain and Italians.

This morning I was walking my dog, and I think I saw guys from Paris Saint-Germain running in my neighborhood. They were wearing PSG logos on their clothes, and they had the floppy and flexible running gait that soccer players have, compared to marathons runners who look like they are not having fun.

Today while I was getting dinner, I am sure I saw some French or Italian women. When I see women so elegantly dressed, but casual at the same time, with perfect hair and sunglasses, I know they are from a major metropolitan area. These women were not about to get on a cruise to Alaska for a week.

It is fun to be at the heart of it all, and have the fun come to me.

Beauty

I was walking back to my condo after lunch and I saw a field protected by a chain link. I was surprised that I didn't see the beautiful wildflower flowers inside on the way there.

I needed to stop and look closer to see the beauty behind the fence. I was glad I did. It was the highlight of my day.

Bikini

I bought a 

bikini

so I could walk around 

my condo 

in my 

underwear,

but not really 

be in my underwear.

sorry

no 

pics

Brain Off, Hands On, or Puttering & Damn You, Wirecutter!

I love to putter and make nonsensical little things with my hands. After spending eight hours a day at a desk thinking and typing and talking, I like to play with my hands and build things, like Legos and embroidery and crossstitch kits. When I build little things, it is brain off, hands on. There is some thinking involved, but not the work at a desk and come up with a plan thinking. In these little kits, someone else has already done the thinking. All I have to do is assemble. My Pilates instructor has a client who is a CEO. 

"Why do you come to me for Pilates when you are smart enough to figure it out on your own," Tim asked his CEO client.

"Because I don't want to think. I am paying you to think for me," the CEO client replied. 

Likewise, me and the kits. I don't have to think of something to build. All I need is a few bucks and  a few hours, and voila, my creative itch is scratched.

I was fine with Legos, sewing kits, and whatnot, but then I was reading Wirecutter in the New York Times where they list things like "Best Crafts" and "Best Self Care." There, I found a little library house to build. When it is done. you can slide it in on a bookshelf in between the books. Damn you, Wirecutter! More things for me to build! As if I have empty space on my bookshelves, Wirecutter. You should know better.

While building these little things are fun, the problem is finding space for them when they are done. My dad had this problem. When my mom was alive and had Alzheimer's, he would buy craft kits to build. He had dozens. In his four bedroom house, one bedroom was dedicated to to crafts. If I had a four bedroom house, I'd probably do the same, honestly.

But I don't have a four-bedroom house. I have my cozy condo in the city. I am going to need to find a home for my hobbies.

 

Big Shoulders and Pope Bob

I am not gonna lie: I am tickled the new Pope is from my hometown. It is exceptionally cool that Pope Bob hails from the City of Big Shoulders, a term coined by Chicago poet Carl Sandburg.

Chicago has had its share of cool people who, even if not born there, lived there. Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, Oprah Winfrey, and Michael Jordan are the biggest names who have spent formative years of their career there. 

Now a Pope from Chicago? Not just an American, but a Chicagoan. This is unreal. Chicago went nuts when the Pope John Paul II visited in 1979. I didn't see him, but I remember the big deal of his visit. Now a homeboy? Forget about it.

The most amazing thing is Pope Bob sounds like me. Hearing a Pope speak in fluent English was one thing, but to pick up the baseline Chicago accent? That was special. Sure, he doesn't have the full Carmine from The Bear, but he doesn't sound like he is from New York or Boston or Texas. He sounds like a regular guy from Chicago. Pope Bob--what a name! Pronounced in Chicago to rhyme with Saab.

Chicago also has its share of decent, kind and hardworking people. The City of Big Shoulders, strong, hard working, resilient.

I am rooting for Pope Bob. I hope he does well and makes his city proud.

Chicago

BY CARL SANDBURG

Hog Butcher for the World,

   Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,

   Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;

   Stormy, husky, brawling,

   City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.

And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.

And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.

And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:

Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,

   Bareheaded,

   Shoveling,

   Wrecking,

   Planning,

   Building, breaking, rebuilding,

Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,

Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,

Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,

Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,

                   Laughing!

Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Easter & Death

Sunday was Easter, the day Jesus rose from the dead.

My question is: If Jesus came back to life after being crucified, when did he really die? Even though I was raised in a Christian tradition, this never occurred to me. Like, he's not walking around today, two thousand years old. If he really did die (and isn't walking around as a two thousand year old), come we don't honor that day? We celebrate his birth and his first death, why not his second death?

This was puzzling me, so I googled it. 

It turns out, he ascended into Heaven forty days after he was resurrected. 

I can't believe I didn't remember this part, but in fairness, it was never marked out as a holiday. It they talked about it at church, it must have been just a regular Sunday and I tuned out. It's not like people get together and celebrate the Ascension.

I don't really think that is fair that he was sent to heaven forty days after he died. I mean, if he bothered to be resurrected, you would think he would spend more time hanging out with the his friends and family instead of taking off so soon. 

Birthday Party Blues

The last time I had a birthday party, my life imploded a week later. Six years ago, I had a catered shindig at the condo with thirty friends. In the middle of the party, I stood on a chair and gave a speech, telling everyone there why I was grateful they were a part of my life. I was awash with warm feelings.

Within the week following the party, I sent in the paperwork to send my son off to treatment for anxiety and depression and my husband bullied me to move out of the house. 

"If you are going to leave when Pedro goes to treatment, leave now. Get out." 

And so I went.

So now I am planning another party for my birthday. I have knots in my stomach thinking back to the last one. Jack had volunteered to send out the invitations and plan it, but in the end he didn't. I called the caterers myself.

Here I am now, planning the party myself again, really not much different than before, except this time I know. Before, I thought I had a partner but he was just a ghost, there but not there.

So, should I still have a party? I've already invited people, so I guess it is on. 

Just because my life imploded the week after my last party doesn't mean it is going to implode again. If anything, that party was a boost, a lift, that helped me navigate the weeks that followed.

How hard might my life have been if I hadn't had the party? Would I have finished the paperwork to send my son to treatment, the paperwork my ex had said he would do but then didn't? Would I have had the strength to leave when he told me to get out?

The party wasn't the trigger for all of the chaos and uncertainty and sadness that followed. Instead, it may have been the balm I needed go get through a really, really hard time. I didn't know at the time what the next two years would bring, the hardest and must trying time of my life. Maybe those warm fuzzy feelings from that event helped carry me through.

Now I have new friends, new people in my life, most of whom I didn't know six years ago. What will happen in the next week, the next month, the next six years? I don't know, but again it is time to move forward, with whatever the future holds.

The Apprentice: Frank Capra or Double-Down

When I was in high school, my friend Heather and I watched Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life on VHS. I was (and am) a huge Jimmy Stewart fan. When I found the tape for $4.00 at Kmart, I bought it. It is a fairly long movie, and Heather and I gave up when George was staggering through the snow, lost and suicidal.

Not only does this movie suck, I thought, but the title is so, so wrong.

The next morning, my mom asked what I thought and I told her we didn't finish it because it was too depressing.

She was surprised. "You need to see the end," she said.

So I did and then I was like "Ohhh. Now I understand  the fuss."

The weekend, I watched The Apprentice, a bio-pic about the current president. I watched it in bits and pieces. For the first half, I really felt sorry for Donald growing up with demeaning father who constantly belittled his son. I felt bad for Donald as he was encased by Roy Cohn and his manipulative and cheating methods. 

When I was two-thirds through the movie, I was feeling hopeful, waiting for Frank Capra to take over. Maybe Donald would see the error of his ways, repent and reform. Maybe he would realize that he didn't need to be the king of the world, that he could just be a good husband and father and a successful businessman who cared about New York City. He wanted to take a shitty, run down hotel and make into something special. What is wrong with that? Nothing, really.

Instead of playing fair, he doubled-down on the anger and the diet pills and the manipulation and the lying and the cheating. The strangest and sadness part of the movie is when he turned on his friend, Roy Cohn, playing Roy at his own game. I was reminded of the movie War Games. The game they were playing is one that you really can't win in the long run, but yet he continues to double-down on the same strategy. So far, he's on top, having won consecutive coin tosses. How long can this luck last?

The laws of probability suggest that this can't last much longer, but thing with probability is that the improbable can happen. Is he "winning" this game because he is so bold and brazen that people are in shock, that they don't know how to deal with the devil? Imagine a flock of defenseless bunnies never having seen a real predator, and here comes the coyote, ready to dive in for a snack. As a group, bunnies are fast, but individually is it easy to pick them off one at a time until the group is depleted.

How would Frank Capra end this movie? What is the script? What is the path forward?