Courage

According to the Cowardly Lion, courage is “what makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist or the dusky dusk.”  John Wayne said, “Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” And the Merriam-Webster dictionary defines it as “mental or moral strength to venture, persevere and withstand danger, fear or difficulty.” Clearly, courage is a big subject. I think about it a lot.

I have spent the better part of my life standing on the edge of a high dive with my heart pounding furiously in my chest. I’ve made many a bold move while trembling in my boots. A lot of my friends describe me as “fearless,” although the truth of the matter is that I’m scared a lot of the time. Courage, in my experience, is when the desire to “go for it” is greater than the fear.

But as the Merriam-Webster definition says, courage is also the ability to endure difficulty. When my sister was undergoing chemotherapy, many people told her how courageous she was. They said the same thing to me while I was grieving the death of my baby, some twenty years ago. But all we were doing was putting one foot in front of the other, trying to find our way through painful and bewildering circumstances. What else could we do? It’s not like either of us were particularly extraordinary. Sometimes I think courage is simply the product of no other alternatives.

highly courageous

In our creative lives, I think that courage comes down to willingness: willingness to let the world really see you; willingness to expose your vulnerabilities; willingness to trust your own resilience and, finally, willingness to express your truth without apology. In my creative experience, courage is the love child of willingness and intention. My creative yearnings often take me out there “where angels fear to tread.” Yet if I want to realize all possibilities for expression, I have to be willing to be uncomfortable sometimes.

Courage isn’t a feeling. It’s a choice.

I’ve recently made the decision that I won’t shy away from writing about my political opinions here on this blog. I used to have a separate blog for political commentary. I was concerned that if I were too political here, it might cost me gigs or potential writing jobs. However, I found that keeping up with two blogs was extremely difficult. But more so, it became increasingly clear to me that the political activist, the writer, the jazz vocalist and the mom are not separate entities. I can’t compartmentalize my sensibilities. In the gathering political storm, I sense direct threats to my children and my family. As any mother animal would do, I respond accordingly. In my case, it starts with a roar and a blog post. I can’t worry about other people’s approval. As I said before, courage is the willingness to speak your truth without apology. Courage is also the willingness to go to any length to protect your family.

In our creative lives and beyond, every day is a stroll through the unknown.  Still, we go about our business. We write. We paint. We reach out. We take chances. We submit the proposal. We go to the audition. We call for the test results. We ask him/her out for coffee. We open our hearts. We endure. We make beautiful plans in a climate of obdurate ambiguity.

Courage is necessary.

OK peeps, I’ve got the ball rolling. It’s your turn now.  How do you define courage and what does it mean in your life?  Can you share a story or experience  about a time when you felt particularly courageous? Talk to me.

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Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.

– Anais Nin

 “There are certain things that government does that gives people privileges in order to promote activity that are healthy for society and are best for society. And those things we promote would give people advantages or benefits, government benefits because we think that is healthy activity. Mothers and fathers coming together, forming healthy marriages, having children and raising those children. Every American child has the right, and the government should support the right to have and know their mother and father and be raised by their mother and father.”

– Rick Santorum

This was Rick Santorum’s response to a woman who, at a political rally yesterday, asked why her gay son shouldn’t have the same rights as Santorum, a straight person, has.

Needless to say, my blood is boiling. I almost don’t know where to start.

 Perhaps a good jumping off point would be to address the notion of “healthy activity,” especially relative to homosexual people vs. heterosexual people. In the day-to-day, my gay friends are no different than me, a straight woman. They pay their bills and sign permission slips for their kids. They get the oil changed on their cars and mow their lawns. The volunteer in their communities and coach their kids’ soccer teams. They do yoga. The grow gardens. They stay up late with fussy babies. They juggle busy lives and hectic schedules. They have dinner with their families at night. I might add, Mr. Santorum, that they also vote. All of these activities are perfectly normal and easily fall under the definition of “healthy.” In fact, given my examples, I am hard pressed to find any difference between the “gay lifestyle” and the “straight lifestyle.” The only difference is what gay people do in the privacy of their bedrooms, which is nobody’s business, certainly not the government’s & definitely not Rick Santorum’s. And who are you, Mr. Santorum, to suggest that what gay people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms isn’t healthy? Who decides what “healthy” is anyway? To put the glove on the other hand if I may­, how do we know that what YOU do in your bedroom is “healthy,” Mr. Santorum? For all we know, you wear a diaper and get off on your wife tying you up and beating you with a Pepperidge Farm sausage.  Because you are a straight person, are we to assume that anything you do in your bedroom is healthy?  This seems to be what you’re suggesting. But what if I think you’re a freak? Should I get on my bandwagon and advocate that you should have, say, your parental rights stripped away?  While it is truly distasteful to ponder your sex life for even a second, I get, unlike you, that it’s none of my business. It’s nobody’s business. Gay people have that same right to privacy. But still, Mr. Santorum, you make what they do in their bedrooms–the only thing that distinguishes them in the day- to-day from straight people­–a major rationalization for denying them their due civil rights.

I also have a problem with the “we promote” that Mr. Santorum refers to in his statement. I am concerned about just who the “we” is. I am also concerned at the thought of a government that would impose a moralist definition of “healthy” and use that as a rationale for violating the human rights of certain segments of the population. The subtext is disturbing and sets an alarming precedent for horrific abuses. Ethnic cleansing comes to mind.

 The notion that allowing gays the right to marry somehow threatens the institution of marriage is preposterous, as is the idea that marriages between “one man and one woman” are superior and inherently more stable for children. This may come as a news flash to Mr. Santorum, but straight people have made a complete mess out of the institution of marriage. We’ve fumbled and bungled left and right. As painful as it is to share, my own failed marriage is a perfect example. My ex and I were married for twenty years. During the last several years, the environment in our home was often filled with conflict and stress. Our boys were frequently subjected to cold tension and an overbearing pall of sadness. Towards the very end, my ex and I were so distracted by the looming shipwreck that I know our kids didn’t always get the nurturing they would have in a normal, healthy situation. It is a grief that I will carry with me the rest of my life. Although we tried hard to save it, our marriage ended in divorce. We fucked this thing up entirely on our own. The functional, stable gay couples in our circle of friends had nothing to do with the demise of our marriage. In fact, my gay friends and their families were a great refuge and source of comfort during these difficult times. How dare you, Mr. Santorum, characterize a gay union as anything inferior.

 Of course, at its core, Santorum’s platform is built on fundamentalist Christian ideology. Although he is a Roman Catholic, his base is mainly lunatic evangelicals, who believe they have a God-given mandate to impose their religion on political policy. If his complete disregard for the establishment clause weren’t problematic enough, Mr. Santorum shows an alarming deficit when it comes to critical thinking. Rather than digging into the issues and creating an intelligent platform based on fact, Santorum chooses instead to simply employ religion–the grand fairy tale–as the basis for his positions. It’s a cop out. Critical thinking is tough. It involves the ability to navigate complex issues with intelligence; it involves the capacity to see things from a variety of perspectives; it demands the willingness to challenge your own assumptions. Critical thinking requires patience and intention. However, it is much easier to rely on a fantasy to explain away ambiguity or to eliminate the things that you are afraid of. But Mr. Santorum, just because the Bible tells you so, it doesn’t make it true. While fairy tales may be great for children’s story hour at the local library, they have no place in the executive branch of the United States government. By the way, Rick, the Earth really is round. I promise.

Apparently, it is OK for gays to pay taxes and to help fund the infrastructure of our country. It is also OK for gays to get their asses blown up while serving in the U.S. military, ostensibly protecting freedom as we know it.  However, if I understand Mr. Santorum correctly (and I think I do), these same people would be denied the basic civil rights that the rest of us enjoy. Clearly, Mr. Santorum and I have fundamentally different definitions of fairness and a radically different understanding of what this country is about.

Well here it is, Mr. Santorum:

 I am a U.S. citizen. I also have a say in what is “best for society.” I will not have you malign my gay brothers and sisters with your hatred, nor will I allow you to trample on their rights in the name of religion. I am also the mother of a gay son and will fight to the death for his safety, dignity and right to live as he sees fit. Mr. Santorum, be clear: As long as you continue your vile agenda, you will know my mom fangs and they are sharp. While you may have the delusional belief that you are fit to be President of the United States, the majority of the American people see you for what you are: a bigoted  religious zealot with an unhealthy fixation on what other people do in their bedrooms. You spread misinformation, lies and hatred. Of course, you have the right to believe what you want. (Or as my sister often says, in the United States, you have the right to be stupid.) You’re free to be hateful. You have the right to be a bigot. But you do not have the right to legislate your hatred and bigotry. Your chances of getting to the Oval Office are slim to none. You’ve made the egregious error of underestimating the fundamental decency and humanity of the American people. We don’t want you. And one final word, Mr. Santorum:

 “We the People” includes gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgenders. Get the fuck over it.

****

Once again, the muse took me somewhere else this week. I honor my creative process enough to go where my passions lead me. That said, it is going to be a long political year and already I’m popping gaskets on an almost daily basis. I’m going to have to measure myself. Next week, I will return with a new post for “Our Creative Lives.” I promise. That is, provided some boneheaded politician doesn’t piss me off.

 As is sometimes prone to happen here on the bloggie, I sat down this morning with the intention of writing about one thing, but another subject kept pulling for my attention. The muse is funny like that. When she says, “jump,” I say “how high?” Next week, I will indeed resume with a new post for “Our Creative Lives,” but for the present moment, the muse and I are marching down another path.

On Sunday night, I watched the Golden Globe Awards. From mutilation via plastic surgery to the freakishly thin, the images of women from that broadcast are still haunting me four days later. While I shouldn’t be surprised at such a gross distortion of female beauty, I am, nonetheless, disappointed all the same. The cultural mindfuck of American women perpetuates. And whether we like it or not, it runs deep.

Like most award shows, the Golden Globes started with the requisite red carpet entrances. Women in attendance paraded down the carpet to a chorus of oohs and aahs (and occasional “aaks”). Like trick ponies, they stopped on cue for the ceremonial twirl and then struck poses for the camera, strategically positioning their most favorable sides forward. As is always the case, the women of the Golden Globes were on display, judged first on beauty and couture. Accolades for professional achievement would come later. Whenever I look at photos taken on the red carpet, I am always struck by the ease or unease of the subjects. Although some seem to have the game mastered, many look visibly uncomfortable. Their faces seem to ask, “Do I cut it?”  The question that ran through my mind as I watched the red carpet spectacle on Sunday night was, “Is she actually going to be able to sit down in that dress?”

Judging from Sunday’s broadcast, it is unacceptable for women to be old or “fat,” with the definition of the latter to be anything over 100 or so pounds. This was evident by the plethora of negative-zero sized bodies and surgically altered faces. Particularly sobering were the mere skeletal remains of Angelina Jolie and the heartbreaking plastic mask that used to be the face of a very lovely Jessica Lange. The cameras were particularly fixated on Angelina, who, I might add, never once looked like she was having fun. Although there were countless images of women with bones showing and surgically altered faces, the ones of Angelina and Jessica linger most uncomfortably in my mind. Even the commercial breaks were troubling. One Calvin Klein ad featured a model so horrifically thin she looked like she could break. I couldn’t help but think of little girls who might have been watching and what they were thinking of these distorted images of women that they were seeing on their television sets. What is the message as to what is expected of them as women?

Even though this is 2012 and women have made phenomenal achievements over the past several decades, is it still the main cultural ideal for women to be beautiful and forever young? Exacting from the images that we are constantly bombarded with–in magazines, on television, at awards shows– this seems to be the expectation. But who or what is driving this, why does it perpetuate and, most of all, why do women continue to buy in? Is it just the continuation of the tired notion that women can somehow be contained? Perhaps the societal subtext is that as long as we’re busy counting calories and getting facelifts, then maybe we won’t make a ruckus about such things as economic justice, human rights and reproductive choice.

As I pointed out earlier, the mythology of what female beauty is “supposed” to be is deeply rooted in the minds of most women in our society. As loath as I am to admit it, I sometimes struggle with it myself. For example, for a day or two after watching the Golden Globes, I saw myself differently. I felt harshly critical of my physical appearance. I was either “too much” of “one thing” or “two little” of something else. A friend took an exquisitely sweet photo of me holding her baby and posted it on Facebook. When I first viewed it, all I could see were my wrinkles, the hopelessly broad shoulders that I inherited from my father and that pesky 15 pounds I keep meaning to lose. I consider myself a feminist and intellectually speaking, I most certainly know better than to minimalize myself (or any other woman) this way. But it’s still in there. It was ingrained in me as a child. As far as my mother was concerned, the worst thing imaginable was for a person, a woman, to be fat. It seems tax evasion, serial killing and crack dealing would all be preferable over the mortal sins of being overweight and “unladylike.” My saving grace was my father, who didn’t give a damn about anyone else’s approval. In my own psyche, his sensibility is the yin to her yang.  Although I have my occasional lapses, I am usually pretty comfortable in my own skin. Awareness helps; specifically, awareness of what is merely unsubstantial mental chatter leftover from years of unfortunate conditioning. Yoga also helps. For me, practicing yoga is amazingly empowering. And finally, defiance. I don’t have to buy into any mindset that would limit me, even if the cultural pull to do so is strong.

 Refreshingly, there were some women at the Golden Globes ceremony who defied the trend and who proudly stepped out in healthy bodies and unaltered faces. Kate Winslet and Octavia Spencer come to mind. In fact, there are several women in the industry, such as Julianne Moore, Annette Bening, Lara Linney and again, Kate Winslet, who refuse to adhere to the pressure to modify their bodies and who staunchly define beauty on their own terms. These women are inspiring and, given their industry, quite courageous. If we are looking outside of ourselves for permission, then these ladies are worthy icons.

I know that I’m not writing about anything new here. But that’s precisely the problem. We live and breathe in a culture that, by and large, still values women based on a rigid standard of physical beauty. An epic shift is long overdue. But it seems that before we can create a widespread shift in our culture, we need to first make a shift in how we think about ourselves. Starting with our own minds and bodies, we can reflect on who we are, what we stand for and what beauty truly means to us individually. When we’re clear, we can move about the world with renewed freedom, intelligent resolve, graceful defiance and impeccable dignity. Ultimately, society will have no choice but to shift accordingly.

“There’s a big difference between ‘looking good’ and ‘beauty.’ Looking good is external. It’s just how you look. Beauty is internal.  It’s deeper. It’s who you are.”

- Enzo Akeley (my beautiful kid)

***

Hopefully, this is more than just a disorganized brain dump. I was surprised at how difficult this post was to write. As always, I welcome your thoughts, insights and comments.

  The transition into the New Year usually has a certain ceremonious quality to it. We look back on the year behind us and reflect on whatever insights we’ve gained along the way. We usher in the year ahead with fresh resolve and robust optimism. At the stroke of midnight, we raise our glasses, shoot off fireworks and celebrate what has passed and what is yet to come. For me, however, there will be no fanfare this year. Instead, I am slipping quietly into the New Year, much like someone would step gingerly over a crack in the sidewalk.

 As I bid adieu to 2011, I am left with a simple realization:

I don’t know anything, really.

 If life is a science lab, then my experiments of the past year have only led to more questions. Old theories, “proven” methods and calculated risks have not provided meaningful insight into survival, humanity, love or life. I look at our recession- ravaged country and can only scratch my head. The voices of a thousand “experts” simply drown each other out and merge into one cacophonous drone. Language becomes increasingly difficult to decipher. I sometimes wonder if I was trained to live in a world that no longer exists. I know that I am not alone in this bewildered sentiment.

I don’t know anything.

 Seriously, I don’t have a fucking clue. At almost 50 years old, I am stripped down and naked. I don’t know how to think about the world anymore. This is either epic liberation or existential resignation. I don’t know yet. From a Buddhist perspective, this is an ideal place to be. Beginner’s mind.

 For me personally, 2012 will be a big year. I’m standing at a significant crossroads at present. Over the course of the next few months, forces that are, for the most part, beyond my control will ultimately determine the next curve in the trajectory of my life. (Who am I kidding? It’s all beyond our control.) No matter how things play out, giant changes are ahead for me. I am at the mercy of ambiguity. But we all are, every day. The situation isn’t important. What’s important is the present moment and whatever grace I can find therein.

 So, I approach the New Year with no preconceived notions and no expectations. I am a beginner. I know nothing. In the absence of knowing, the default is usually fear. But I am far beyond fear. So, I choose curiosity instead. I choose to approach whatever lies ahead with a sense of tender inquiry. No judgment. No fear. No storyline. Just a curious freefall into life itself.

I am new. Teach me.

***

“The very place where safety lies for us is the place that seems most dangerous; that is having the courage to let people into what life has really done to us.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         -Barbara Cook

Be grateful for all circumstances

Because it is God’s will.

 This message appeared on the reader board of a Lutheran church in my neighborhood. I have driven past it several times over the past few weeks and every time I see it, it provokes me just a little. The question of God’s will, especially relative to faith, is a curious one to me. Given the climate of the world today, this seems like something worth poking at a little. And of course, any discussion of God’s will should probably include Jesus Christ. Given that Christmas is just a few days away, this seems an ideal time to reflect on the sentiments expressed by my Lutheran neighbors.

Before I jump in, I should offer up a personal disclaimer of sorts. I am not exactly a believer. I struggle with the concept of God. While I have experienced some amazing moments of synchronicity and grace in my life, I am basically of the belief that we live in a random and ambiguous universe. I don’t believe that “everything happens for a reason.” If I did, then I would have to buy into the notion that there is some kind of rationale for suffering, be it human or otherwise. I also don’t believe that God “has a plan for me.” If there is a God, then I believe that he or she gave me a brain so that I could make my own plan. Finally, while I’m disinclined to argue the existence or nonexistence of an almighty presence, I can say that I lost faith in God when my first son was stillborn. This is not to say that I am lost. I take great comfort in Buddhism and its eloquent assessment of human suffering. I guess that I should add that I was raised in a Presbyterian family and that the teachings of Christianity are not entirely foreign to me. So, now that my disclaimer has been articulated, I would like to move on with this question:

What if I were a believer?

What if I believed wholeheartedly in God? What if I did believe that everything that happens is indeed God’s will? If I did believe in the notion that God has a master plan for us, then shouldn’t I be willing to buy into the plan completely? If I claim to have faith, then wouldn’t this mean that I trust God? And if I trust God, then wouldn’t I have to be willing to trust that the plan includes everyone, no matter of their ethnicity, religion or sexual orientation?

 If I truly trust God, then wouldn’t I accept that it (or he or she) knows what it’s doing?

Persecution in the name of Christianity has never been more rampant than it is in the United States today. Evangelicals and fanatics seem to have hijacked the Christian religion and openly propagate hate speech in the name of God. Much of their intolerance is aimed at gays and lesbians, whom they vilify and slander on a daily basis. Disturbingly, they don’t stop here. Turning a blind eye to the establishment clause, this growing fanatical movement seeks to legislate its bigotry and to deny equal rights to those whom they deem as “sinners.”  It would seem this movement is driven by a questionable interpretation of the scripture. But where in the Bible is there anything about hate? Is there an 11^th Commandment that I don’t know about?  I have to wonder if this is really what God had in mind. This question seems particularly poignant now as the Christian world prepares to celebrate the birth of the “Prince of Peace.”

This issue is deeply personal for me.

I am the mother of an openly gay son.  A few months ago, my teenage son Enzo courageously came out to the world as a gay human being. He did so unflinchingly and with great dignity. Enzo has not only given me permission to write about him but has encouraged me to do so. I am enormously proud of him. Enzo is a kind-hearted person with a generous spirit and an emotional intelligence that is beyond his years. He is an incredible artist, a good friend and an old soul. Am I to believe that God would withdraw its love for Enzo because of his sexuality? Or do I believe that Enzo, like everything else on this planet, is the Almighty’s beautiful creation and as such, is an important and intentional part of the master plan?

Why would a Christian choose anything but love?

 It seems that within the fanatical Christian movement, the line between proselytizing and persecution is a blurry one. I understand that recruiting new members is a basic tenet of the Christian religion. However, harming others in the name of religion is nothing more than extremism. (I might add that such practices are probably not particularly helpful for recruitment. Who wants to join a religion that is not only intolerant but dangerous as well?) I have to wonder if these types of Christians really do have faith in God.  If everything that happens is God’s will, then what are they so afraid of? If they really trust God to run the show, then why do they believe, for example, that allowing gay people the right to marry will destroy the sanctity of the institution? Where is the faith in that? Why don’t they give him the benefit of the doubt? And why do they feel the need to hunt down “sinners” on God’s behalf? Don’t they trust that God has that covered? If they truly love God, then why would they scorn his children?

 As I said, I grew up in the Presbyterian Church. Although I no longer consider myself a Christian, I do believe Jesus Christ existed. I don’t buy into the Son of God theory but I do believe that Jesus roamed the earth as an extraordinarily enlightened being, much like Gandhi or Buddha. One of my favorite childhood Christmas memories is of the candlelight service that our church held every Christmas Eve at midnight. I still vividly recall the beauty of the candles in the sanctuary, the familiar hymns (along with my grandmother’s operatic warbling) and the overall sense of mystery and wonder that filled the space. This is where I came to know Jesus. He was kind and benevolent and he loved everyone.

I understand that there are compassionate and loving Christians in the world. I sometimes wonder if they are outraged by some of the things that are being done in the name of their religion. If they are, I wish their voices were louder. I also wonder if Jesus is out there somewhere, facepalming himself. Did his presence have any meaning at all?

If we are to attribute the workings and mysteries of the world to God’s will, then we cannot cherry pick which parts of the master plan to keep and which to reject. My understanding of faith is that it’s an “all-in” proposition. If there is an intelligent design, then I have to believe that it is all-inclusive; that homosexuals are equal to heterosexuals; that Muslims and are equal to Christians and so on. But it seems that before anyone can claim to know God’s will, one must first come to know God. It is a personal and, for some, lifelong process. It is a deep excavation. I don’t believe that we are here to hate each other.  Although my own dealings with God are admittedly dubious, I have to believe that the ultimate plan starts with love.

***

“Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.”

Romans 13:10

I’m sure that volumes have been written on the psychology of performing. My philosophy is this:

It’s about the JOY

We all work hard at perfecting our craft. Lord knows the myriad of things that we vocalists have to shed on: intonation, phrasing, expanding our scat vocabulary, tricky arrangements, eighth note triplets, Cole Porter changes, breath control, arpeggiating intervals and on and on and on. A performance is where our practice hours culminate and bear fruit.

However, at the very heart of it, a performance is not about how “good” you are.

It’s about the simple joy of making music and the thrill of the creative synergy shared between musicians. It’s about telling the stories and connecting with your audience. If you’re worried about how good or bad you are, you’re not only missing out on something really wonderful but you’re also potentially compromising your performance. Why? Because when you judge what you’re doing, you’re removing yourself from the immediacy of the moment. How can you sing well if your mind and ears aren’t really there?  You can certainly be mindful of all the things you’ve been working on, but let go of any notion that you have to be “good.” Just be. In fact, before you step on the bandstand, send your inner critic over to have a drink at the bar. You don’t need her onstage with you.

Audiences are generally willing to be on your side. Your exuberance goes a long way. If you’re having fun, it’s infectious. If you’re feeling good, your audience will be happy. I recently saw a concert with two vocalists on the bill. One was technically flawless and had a pristine and beautiful voice. However, this vocalist was almost surgical in her approach; she was cool and detached. I didn’t feel a connection with her. The other vocalist on the bill was technically pretty messy and had a gruff voice with questionable intonation. However, he came at the music with an undeniable joie de vivre that was mesmerizing. He was playful and didn’t take himself too seriously. He was soulful.  I felt an instantaneous connection and could not get enough of him.

SINGING JAZZ IS ABOUT THE SPIRIT THAT YOU BRING TO THE MUSIC.

So, step up on that bandstand and sing. Enjoy yourself.

This is what you wanted, right?

  Lately, I’ve been slammed: psycho slammed. I’m working on a sizable writing job that will pretty much go until the end of the year. I’ve got another big ass job for one of my regular freelance clients. On top of these demands, I’ve been gigging a lot and also just trying to stay on top the usual life stuff of being a mom, driving the carpool, feeding the teen animals and paying the bills on time. And of course, there’s the added frenzy of the holidays

 Like with most artists, the economic side of my creative life has always been a feast or famine proposition. Sometimes, I seem to spend weeks twiddling my thumbs, slumping over sideways and wondering where all the jazz gigs and freelance clients have gone. Other times, like right now, I’m operating on overdrive. I live on both ends of the spectrum. I suspect most of us do. Of course, the simple truth is that we have to grab the work when it’s available and that sometimes means we’re completely up against it. So how do we keep from going mental when the lifting gets heavy and the schedule insane? I’ve got some ideas.

5 TIPS FOR STAYING SANE WHEN YOU’RE UP AGAINST IT

1. Step away from social media.

Social media is the mother of all distractions, not to mention a ginormous time suck. It’s just way too easy to glaze over watching You Tube videos or to slip into a bobble headed coma reading the news feed on Facebook. If you’re up against it, social media is the first thing that’s got to go. See that “log out” icon on the upper right hand side of the page? Click it. Now back away. You can do it. I promise. And anyway, Facebook (And Twitter and Tumblr and the rest) will still be there when you come back. If you, like me, have to hang out on social media as part of the work you’re doing, then you should approach with a Zen-like discipline. Be surgical. Focus on the thing you’re suppose to be focused on. Don’t wander off to like your best friend’s status update.

2. Take care of yourself.

Our bodies absorb stress and intensity. When you’re deep into a creative full press, self-care is critical. Help your body out. It’s all about the basics; eat healthy, colorful foods, get enough sleep and take breaks to roll out the yoga mat or get outside for a stroll around the neighborhood. If you can optimize your physical well being, your creative mojo will be all the mightier for it.

3. Go under

Stock up on coffee, put on your comfiest sweats, go underground for a few days and burn baby burn. Write what you have to write. Create what you have to create. Shed what you have to shed. Ignore the phone. Take a rain check on bowling with the gang. Forget about the latest episode of C.S.I. You’ve got big work to do. This is plate-clearing time. Dig in and do it. The critical thing about going under is knowing when to stop; when to take a shower, pull on your boots and rejoin the human race. If you go under for too long, you risk going mental. Your hair will become unruly. Your shirt will be perpetually stained. Quite possibly, you’ll end up shuffling down the street, mumbling to yourself and feeding peanuts to crows. It happens. Trust me. As they say, “moderation in all things.”

4. Let things slide. Give yourself a break.

 When you’re up against it, the last thing you need is to be perfect. Let the dishes pile up. It won’t be the end of the world if you miss so & so’s CD release party. It won’t kill your kid if you pack the same almond butter sandwich in his lunch every day or if he has cereal for dinner once in awhile. You’re not flippin’ Martha Stewart after all. (And shouldn’t the kid be packing his own lunch?) Everyone will survive if you’re out of cream cheese. I’m a case in point for this one. I haven’t cleaned my apartment in weeks. I’ve been too damn busy. On Thanksgiving Day, my kids and I were stepping around piles of laundry in the hallway. It’s not like they cared or even noticed. They’re teenage boys.  I also didn’t set the table, which had sheet music all over it. Instead, we had our big feed in front of the TV and watched multiple episodes of “Breaking Bad” on Netflix. Everyone was happy. I got your Norman Rockwell right here. The point is that when you’re taking care of business, other stuff has to slide sometimes. That doesn’t mean that you’re anything less than wonderful.

5. Trust yourself.

This isn’t your first rodeo. Think back to another time when you were completely slammed and remember how you got through it. More importantly, remember who you are. You’re a bad ass.  You’ve got grit. You’ve done this before. You can and will pull it off now.

This is how I do it anyway. How about you? The comments are open.

I am grateful for gay kids.

Their mere presence in the world makes it a better place. Gay kids are unique and effervescent spirits. Most have a wisdom beyond their years. Many are madly creative and unafraid to push the edge. Gay kids are old souls in young bodies. They infuse space and time with a special kind of magic.

Coming of age is hard enough, but coming of age as a gay or lesbian is all the harder. In the midst of raging hormones, social challenges and the demands of school, gay kids are also forever at risk for being rejected solely on the basis of who they are. Sometimes, their own families are the culprits. Often, gay kids are subjected to bullying, harassment and intimidation. I believe that being a gay adolescent takes phenomenal courage. They face the difficult task of growing their self-esteem in a climate where some public officials-”representatives” of their communities- still find it acceptable to say hateful and outrageous things about gay people. Although homosexuality is not a choice, the Herman Cains of the world continue to argue publicly that it is a choice and an evil one at that. How does a 13 or 14 year- old reconcile that kind of crazy? It takes moxie, enormous strength and advanced emotional intelligence to navigate a world like this.

We adults have fucked things up considerably. We have left a mess for the coming generation. The economy is in shambles. Young people will not necessarily have the same opportunities that we had. An acrimonious divide has wreaked havoc on the American dream. Significant challenges loom large and the future is, at best, ambiguous. But I believe in the next generation and gay kids, in particular, give me hope. If any part of the population has the intelligence, strength, creativity and fire to transform things for the better, it is they. Why? Because by the time they are adults, they will have been tackling difficulties, surpassing obstacles and defying odds for their entire lives. They will be uniquely qualified to lead the revolution.

I am grateful for gay kids.

If you are a gay kid reading this, I want you to know that I have your back. I will fight for you, defend you, advocate for you, cheer for you and hold you. I want you to know that I feel you. No, as a straight, middle- aged woman, I don’t claim to know what it’s like to be a gay adolescent. But I feel your heart. When I pass you on the street, I am so glad you’re there. I will forever celebrate your brilliance.

And to the Sally Kerns, the Rick Santorums, the fundamentalist thugs, the locker room bullies and anyone else of that ilk: If you harm a gay kid-through words or actions-then I will get up in your face. I don’t care who you are. I will bring you down, one bigot at a time. If you are an elected official or public figure and spew hate speech and lies, I will call you out. I will slay you in my blogs. My outcry will be loud and relentless. Now step the hell out of the way and let these young people bloom.

I am grateful for gay kids because they are beautiful and they are our future.

They have the soul and grit to change to world. And I know they will.

For this I am profoundly grateful.

Postscript: Oh, what the hell. To show my gratitude, I’ll donate 50 bucks to the Trevor Project. If I get 100 “likes” for this post, I’ll double it. Let’s go.

OK, here it is: I hate to get dressed for a gig.

I should probably be more specific. I intensely dislike the process of getting the glamour on for a performance. The business of hair, make-up and fashion is bewildering to me. I’ve said it many times before; I find the feminine arts to be, well, stressful. This has been a lifelong difficulty for me. I’ve always been too big and clunky to fit into our cultural ideal of beauty. I have broad shoulders, a thick neck and a large frame. I got all this from my father who was a tall, stocky guy with huge hands. I’m quite strong and definitely physically fit. All the dance and yoga classes account for something. But I’m just not small or particularly delicate in features.

My aversion to the demands of feminine beauty started when I was a kid. My fashion-forward mother was chronically disappointed in me. She wanted a girly girl. She envisioned cute dresses, Mary Jane shoes and well-kempt hair with big ribbons. What she got was a feral tomboy who wore clunky boots and had to buy her clothes in the “husky” section. Mom didn’t even try to hide her embarrassment. Instead, she cajoled me to try this diet or that and to dress in navy blue because it was “more slimming.” But the harder she pushed, the more I resisted. As ridiculous as it is to admit, this push and pull continues to this day, although I don’t really see her very often. I can say that I’ve definitely developed my own sense of style over the years; think men’s button down shirts, blue jeans, Fat Baby boots and cat-eyed glasses. It works for me.  It just doesn’t exactly align with the mainstream definition of fashion.

There is an onus on female jazz vocalists to have a certain va, va, va voom quality. It’s not enough to just sing well; we must possess some measure of physical allure, which often involves a sleeveless gown, a plunging neckline, impeccable hair and make-up, perfectly manicured nails and dazzling accessories. This look typically does not include tattoos, disheveled hair or extra pounds. It’s hard to pull off.  Evening gowns are especially problematic for me. If I choose the wrong style, I basically look like a drag queen. I am envious of my male colleagues. How I long to throw on a jacket and a pair of slacks and call it done.

The  gender inequality and attendant unfairness go without saying. I work very hard on my music. For example, over the course of the summer and fall, I’ve been focused on expanding my scat vocabulary. This has meant hours of practice and rote repetition of various vocal exercises. (This week it’s been long eighth note runs, accenting the upbeats.) I’m also busting tail to pull together a bunch of holiday music for some upcoming December gigs. It’s plenty to do, believe me. But I also have to devote some of my brain space and energy into what I’m going to wear on my gigs, if I have a nice enough dress for the Christmas casual, what I’m going to do about getting my hair cut, blah, blah, blah. As loathe as I am to think about these things, I know that in some situations, I will be dismissed or lose the gig altogether if I don’t have “the look.” I don’t figure male jazz musicians have this same pressure. I often think about Ella Fitzgerald. What would it be like if she were coming up the ranks today? Could her singing stand on its own merit? Or would she be judged on and perhaps limited by her physical appearance? Please let me qualify that I think Ella Fitzgerald was a beautiful woman and, obviously, a brilliant jazz vocalist. I’m not questioning her abilities or beauty at all. Instead, I’m questioning a contemporary culture that would potentially limit a woman’s opportunities based on an inflexible standard around how she should look.

Before I go any further, I would like to attach a proviso to this post. When the situation dictates, I can mostly definitely pull it together and play dress up with the best of them. If you’re thinking of hiring me for your daughter’s wedding or your company’s New Year’s Eve soiree, you can rest assured that I’ll bring the glitz. And if there is any question, I have an amazing support team. I’m not a complete disaster by any stretch of the imagination. I’m just saying this stuff doesn’t come naturally to me.

I know that my disdain for the glam aspect of vocal jazz is probably on the extreme end of the spectrum. I imagine that most of my fellow female vocalists would also prefer to focus on their craft but probably don’t stress as much as I do about the style thing. It’s all in a day’s work. And of course, there are some vocalists out there who live for thrill of dressing up for a gig, sometimes to the detriment of the music. Those ladies are sitting at the opposite end of the spectrum from me.

On Friday night, I am performing a concert as part of the new Valley Vibes jazz series in Columbia City. My trio has the honor of opening for the iconic Legacy Band led by the mighty Clarence Acox. I’m excited about the show. I’ve been pulling my music together. I think I’m going to craft my set around some of my favorite lyricists. I’ve rehearsed with Randy. I’ve been diligently running through my vocal exercises every afternoon. I’ve promoted the concert to my peeps. Everything is coming together.

But I still have no clue what I’m going to wear. God help me.

As always, the comments are open. I would love to hear from anyone but especially from some of my fellow female vocalists. How does all this sit with you?

Today’s post is about going the distance.

Let’s face it: the universe does not always shower us with inspiration and flowers on a daily or, sometimes, even weekly basis. Every artist that I know occasionally goes through periods of seeming stagnation; long stretches of waiting for the phone to ring or the grant monies to come through; uncomfortable dry patches with no gigs in sight and no love from the club owners that are normally happy to book you; or an abysmally slow month when all the usual freelance clients seem to be AWOL. The sense of inertia can also be internal and manifest as discouragement, a lack of brilliance, an absence of fire or an ambiguous resistance that you can’t quite put your finger on.  No matter where you look or what you do, there is a pervasive sense that nothing is happening.

The easiest response to the situation is to curl up, retreat to the couch with a two- pound bag of M&M’s and zone out on Mad Men reruns. However, this approach does nothing to get the train back on track and usually only results in a measure of self-loathing. Shutting down is just not an option for most of us. So what to do?

It all boils down to grit.

Grit is about powering through even when the environment feels inhospitable. It’s about intention, tenacity and focus. We draw on grit when nothing else seems to be working. It’s finding your soul muscle and digging deeper. It’s  having the guts to lean into the here and now. Grit is the ultimate act of trusting yourself.

Of course, it’s much easier to write about moxie than to execute on it. I know firsthand. As a writer and a vocalist, I’ve been up against it myself on numerous occasions. I’ve endured long periods of creative angst and painful cycles with few gigs and little money. I know that bleak landscape all too well. But if the page is stubbornly blank, I still have to stare it down until the words come. And even if the hours are repetitious and lonely, I still have to practice and keep my voice in shape. Going the distance isn’t glamorous. It could be viewed as something akin to devotion but frankly, in the moment, it doesn’t usually feel that noble.

Perseverance is a choice, but nobody said it would always be easy. For me, it’s about loving what I do so damn much that the ultimate outcome isn’t that important. However, staying in the game is.

I’m interested in hearing from you. How do you go the distance? What does your particular form of grit look like? The comments are open. Please jump in.