Saturday, September 11, 2010

Ashes Ashes We All Fall Down

I think I fired my speech pathologist. It all started when I thought I might be going out of town a few weeks ago. I cancelled my appointment, just in case, and even though I ended up staying in town, I didn't bother to reschedule. I had another appointment already set for the week after that and I fully intended to go, but then I started writing and reflecting on how so very unhelpful she is and by Sunday night, the night before my appointment, the thought of having to sit in her cold corner office, listening to her complain, made me queazy. I clicked on the reminder email they'd sent me, scrolled to the bottom of the page and merrily clicked on the cancel button. Are you sure???!!!???!!!! The fact that the swift click of a button was freeing my shoulders of tension told me yes, yes I was sure. I selected the yes-I'm-sure option and the appointment transformed into a pile of wrinkly dust.

It wasn't just that she treated me like I'd killed her childhood cat (that first day I came back after the silence), it was that every subsequent visit was filled with a lot of complaining and not a whole lot of healing. One visit she bitched about her job and made comments about the stuck-ness of her situation. Another time she whined about her poison oak and how the meds she was taking for it were making her fuzzy. All interesting stuff if I gave a shit, lady, but you're my doctor and I'm the one who needs your help... I am not paying a million dollars for a less-than-half-assed speech therapy session just to be forced to listen to your problems... go get yourself a damn shrink. (There, I feel better now.)

The decision to not go back to her was not made lightly, despite her obvious shortcomings. I considered the possibility that I was running away from (and therefore sabotaging) my own recovery (it certainly wouldn't be the first time) but I quickly concluded that, this time around, that was not the case. Granted, I was having some difficulty with the whole recovery process, but I am quite sure I wasn't subconsciously (or consciously for that matter) trying to ruin my own life. After all, difficulties are part of the healing, as there is a lesson and an opportunity in every obstacle. (It's possible that I'm just deluding myself, but the fact of the matter is - delusion or no - the prognosis is the same.)

I returned from OHI (and my month of silence) intending to stay the course, as it were (I'm hereby reclaiming that phrase and renouncing its Bush-ism-ness). I planned to stay on the vegan diet (it really seemed to be helping my overall health), exercise every day (or at least 5 times a week), keep alcohol, caffeine, refined sugar and salt out of my sight (and, therefore, out of my belly), meditate more, and implement all the things I had learned at OHI. After I quit my job and the sketch comedy show, I had all the time in the world to focus on healing, to implement new routines and form new habits. Instead, I found myself doing none of it. The story I began to tell, as to why I was having so much trouble, goes something like this:

I do really well in a structured environment. I was always a very good student, a good team member, a good restaurant manager or server or bartender. With structure, I know where to be and when. At OHI I had no trouble getting up at 6:45 every morning. Every morning I drank water upon waking, then juiced and drank wheatgrass, and then headed to the 7:30 exercise class. After that I went to breakfast, then morning classes, lunch, afternoon classes, dinner, evening classes. Even free time was relatively structured because there were certain things you "had" to get done (E's & I's, for example). Back home, without the comfort of the structure at OHI, I am at a loss. With no job or rehearsals scheduled, with no deadlines of any sort I feel like I have plenty of time to get things done, so of course I procrastinate and got absolutely nothing accomplished. Without structure, I am overwhelmed by the amount of lifestyle changes I'm trying to implement, so I unwittingly retreat into the safety of old habits and methods of coping. Weeks have passed and I haven't done any of the things I had intended to do, and I am beating myself up about it too, which isn't constructive or helpful in any way. I've given up so many things in order to heal, yet I am becoming all-too skilled in the art of avoidance and I am inexplicably apathetic toward the things that are instrumental in my recovery. I am in a rut.

Something had to change - of that I was sure - but I didn't know what or how or who or when. I started telling that story, putting it out into the universe, and it didn't take long for the solution to present itself...

I met someone who dabbles in astrology, and she asked me to give her the date and time of my birth. Shortly thereafter I received a 23-page interpretation of my astrological chart and as I read through it I was overcome with emotion. The sheer truth of it all was enough to turn my vague interest in astrology into a ravenous desire to know more. I wanted everyone I knew to read those pages because they contained the truest explanation of 'me' that I'd ever seen; those pages articulated things I felt but never understood, things I experienced but could not put into words; those pages gave me back my power...

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Time out!

My computer is fired. I packed up the ole laptop earlier, excited to go to my new favorite place to sit and write for a good part of the day (it's easier without the distractions intrinsic in my habitat). I stopped for lunch at La Med and then sheepishly walked into Lululemon to treat myself to some new exercise clothes. Perhaps not the most intelligent thing to do while jobless and living off of savings and borrowed money, but I have started exercising every day and need some workout clothes that don't have the frailty and appearance of something you might see on your favorite San Francisco bum. I've never been one to spend much on clothes so you can imagine how little I opt to spend on exercise garb. Well, not today... today I am the proud owner of two brand spankin' new Lululemon items (and, by the way, I might hit you up for a small loan later this week). I mean good GOD. How do they get away with those prices? (She asks, stroking her new shirt and nestling her face into the impossibly soft waistband of her new pants - like a child, newly reunited with her blanky after mom so rudely washed it... but I digress.) After breaking the bank with Lulu I headed to the aforementioned new favorite place.

I have been a long time fan of a particular coffee shop in San Francisco, and I found out many months ago that they were opening one in Berkeley. I rejoiced. Shortly thereafter I stopped drinking coffee and forgot all about it... until Sunday. It was a lazy morning, and I was laying in bed thinking that I might treat myself to a decaf (lots of treats this week, apparently), but the only place I wanted to go was Philz in The Mission. I was getting ready to make the trip when I remembered the new Berkeley location. I was so excited I skipped down the street and broke out into an impromptu song that went something like this, "Philz Philz Philz Philz Philz Philz Phiiiiiiiiiiilz." Well, it's difficult to convey melody over the computer but, trust me, it was brilliant. I ordered my decaf swiss water something-or-other and headed up to use the restroom, and when I reached the landing I could hardly contain my excitement. This was going to be my new writing place. The walls are alternately red, yellow and khaki with art hanging everywhere, there's an upright piano in the corner of what looks like it could be a stage (if they cleared off the tables currently residing there), three couches, a couple comfy chairs and a bunch of small dark wooden tables with mismatched chairs. Over in one corner is a long communal table with high-backed, regal-looking chairs complete with velour seats. I love it.

So when I left my house earlier today with my laptop in tow, I planned on an afternoon at Philz to commence my new writing tradition. I found a spot at the communal table, took out my computer and rescued it from hibernation. First on the agenda was my next blog entry. I had already written a substantial portion of it so it wouldn't take long, but as I opened my computer the Philz free wifi function kicked in, and my computer went and lost what I'd written. It's supposed to back it up every few seconds (which it is successfully doing right now) and I'm not sure what went wrong, but what I do know is that I have to start over. Fired, I say. Or... maybe just a time out. And now, back to the topic at hand...

After rehearsal, I stayed seated as people hustled and bustled around me. Someone had brought fresh-picked tomatoes from her garden, there was birthday cake for one of the writers, and a general sense of mingling was in the air -the energy in the room was electric but I couldn't bring myself to match it. I guess you could say I was sulking; I really felt like I'd just given the worst first impression ever. A couple people came over and, having seen me in Singin' in the Rain, started singin' my praises. I thanked them for their kind words, but instead of being positive and grateful that they'd seen me in something other than tonight's sub-par performance, in my head I was thinking, "Well I certainly didn't live up to your expectations then, did I?" I am quite sure I was being unnecessarily hard on myself but that's where my head was, at that moment in time. I was suddenly motivated to get out of my seat when I saw that the tomato ration was dwindling. I wanted to get in on that action. I plucked a wax baggie off the table and dropped a handful of light orangish tomatoes into it. (I snacked on them for a few days to come and they were scrumptious - totally made it worth getting off my sulky ass.) The room emptied out and the production meeting started so Andy and I sat on the sidelines talking quietly amongst ourselves. About 10 or fifteen minutes later I saw, in my periphery, the production meeting starting to disperse. My stomach turned upside-down, my breathing became shallow and my blood pressure shot up to the moon. I wasn't doing anything wrong - it's not like I was about to tell a big lie to get out of a nasty situation or anything of that nature - but my body was responding as if I was coming face to face with Certain Death.

The meeting ended and the director turned his attention to me. I took a deep breath and with a slight nervous shake in my voice (perceptible only to me, I'm sure) I explained the situation - what I'd been dealing with and going through with my throat and my voice and my health. I tried to be thorough but concise and, as part of the explanation I said, "I held back tonight," to which he responded, "I could tell." Like I said, terrible first impression. The monologue continued and I concluded with, "I don't know if there's a way to do the show and take care of my voice, but-"

"No," he replied, "there's not, it's not worth it. The most important thing for you to do right now is take care of yourself. There will be other shows." In that moment I felt as if every cell in my body let out a giant sigh of relief. Andy chimed in and reminded me that he'd recruited me to audition because he liked my work, but it had been over a year since he'd seen me in a show. "Don't worry, you're not going anywhere!" Andy said. I was trying to hang on to the project because I wanted to do it, but also because I was worried about the consequences of dropping out. I was reassured that my absence for this show did not mean eternal absence - my future with the company was not in jeopardy - and suddenly there was nothing to decide, it was clear what I had to do. I thanked the director for being so blunt and decisive about it, and I joked about trying to hang on to the show by a thread. They both commented on how much easier it was to see the answer when you weren't in the middle of it. I agreed. I still felt bad for not being able to do the show, but I left feeling like the right decision was made - especially since "holding back" isn't really in my vocabulary and, knowing me, attempts at saving my voice while doing a show like that would have been futile. I was simply going to have to take a time out... from everything. I quit the show and I quit my day job. The only thing left to do is heal.

Friday, August 27, 2010

The Fat Lady Singeth Not

Well folks, it ain't over yet (as you may have gathered from the title). I ended up getting stuck in San Diego with car trouble so I got home a few days later than originally planned (and in fact ended up flying because there was no end in sight for poor Johnny 5). I was able to reschedule the speech pathologist for August 4th. What a bitter-sweet day that was. One minute I was rejoicing at Judge Vaughn Walker's ruling and moments later I was sitting in my car with tears streaming down my face at the prospect of having to continue to put my life on hold.

I sat down in the blue vinyl chair and waited for Dr. B to prepare the equipment. As she did, she asked me if I'd done everything she'd prescribed during my last visit. I proudly announced that I'd done her one better, that I'd spent the entire month of July in silence, checked myself in to a health clinic and followed a raw vegan diet. "But how did it go with the stuff I told you to do?" "Um, well I sorta' replaced it with an entire month of silence...." My heart sank. The enormity of the situation, the sacrifices I'd made, seemed to be lost on her. "Well, let's see...." She approached, equipment in hand, and my stomach did a few flip-flops in anticipation of finding out if a month of silence and flavorless food was enough to vanquish the polyps. I leaned forward with my back upright as she held my tongue down with one gloved hand and inserted the arguably phallic apparatus with the other. "LLLLLLLLLLLLL" I sang out, my attempt at an "EEEE" thwarted by probes and outstretched tongue. Again. "LLLLLLLLLLLL." She huffed and pulled the apparatus out, changed it's position and reinserted it. Again. "LLLLLLLLLLL." This went on for another five minutes, changing the angle of the camera, changing the pitch of my voice, changing the gauze to hold my tongue an impossible distance from my mouth. Finally she took the camera out for the last time and heaved a woeful sigh. "Well, it took several tries and the right angle to see them because they're so small, but they're still there. I nodded my head and said, "Okay," stoically, as if that had no bearing on my life whatsoever. Meanwhile my insides erupted in a volcano of emotion. She angled the computer screen toward me and played the video, pausing it so I could see the eensy weensy bumps that are still impeding my ability to get full closure on my vocal cords as I produce sound. She was cold and almost mean in her interaction with me which made it all the harder to receive this news. I don't think she knows just what this means to me. I don't think she understands, even as a speech pathologist whose job it is to understand, the colossity (my new word for the day) of the situation. She asked me a question and after speaking a few words, tears started forming at the edge of my eyes and the lump in my throat had nowhere to go but shakingly into the air as I spoke. At that moment she began to treat me with a little more kindness. At that point, perhaps, she realized just how seriously I'm taking this, and just how awful this news was.

She asked me what I had on my plate. I told her I was starting rehearsal that night for a new show. "What's the character? What do you have to do?" That night was going to be my first time reading the script, so I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to have to do, but I told her it was sketch comedy and therefore each sketch would require a different character. She pursed her lips and shook her head. "You see, that's where you can get into big trouble." She went on to explain that if I did this project I risked not only reversing the progress I'd made, but making it harder for my body to heal down the line. If I took on a project like that before being completely healed, I would spend the rest of my life teetering between being healthy and not; it would be an endless cycle of doing a project, and then having to take time off to heal... doing a project, taking time off to heal. I didn't want to live like that, did I? But then she told me to go to the rehearsal, find out what kind of characters I would have to play, and then Monday at our first speech pathology appointment we could work on it. So she was advising me against it but then supporting it at the same time. I'm realizing through all of this that I really need people to be direct with me. Cut and dry, no two ways about it. My life seems to be full of making difficult decisions based on polar opposite options. When the choice is life or death (in this instance life being allowing myself to heal and enjoying a long career down the line, and death being doing something NOW, before I'm physically ready and potentially ruining my career) don't give me the option to choose death. If you approve of it, I will think it's a viable option, especially if it means I won't have to effect other people's lives in the process. She created a still photo of my cords and wrote a new list of instructions to follow in my day-to-day life. I waited for the printer to finish spitting out my doom, and clenched my throat muscles around the lump to keep the tears in.

I left the room and went into the lobby to make my next appointment. As I waited for the receptionist to call me over the lump in my throat released full force and there was no stopping it. Tears started streaming down my face, pooling in the creases of my neck. I was beckoned by the receptionist and apologized, trying in vain to wipe away the mess of tears as I approached. What a sight I must have been. One of the women behind the desk got me some kleenex as the other one helped me schedule four future appointments for speech therapy. The tears stopped as I became distracted by appointment-making but as soon as I got outside and began walking, they came flooding back. I didn't even know what to do with myself. I went to my car (actually it was my dad's car, which I was borrowing while he was out of town and Johnny was still in San Diego) opened the door, sat in the driver's seat and cried. Then I cleaned myself up, straightened my back and took a deep, get-ready-to-be-human-again breath, when another wave of emotion came barging in and the sobbing returned. So it went for almost an hour. I was near the gym and in no mood to drive, so I locked the car and went to work it all out of my body.

I didn't want to quit the show. I'd wanted to work with this company since I knew of its existence and this was going to be my first opportunity to do so. I felt like my professional reputation would be on the line if I had to drop out; I didn't want to be pegged as a flakey actor because that couldn't be further from the truth. I didn't want to deal with this any more. Why couldn't it just be over? Why hadn't the throat fairy made it all better by now?

I'd find a way to do it without detrimental effects, perhaps hold back in rehearsal and save the gusto for performance. I went to rehearsal that night intending to talk to the director before it began, but for some unknown reason (it was a seemingly normal Wednesday night) traffic was horrendous. I got there on time but not early, as I'd hoped. I rang the buzzer and waited for someone to come let me in. I saw Andy's beaming face (he is always smiling) through the window as he came bounding down the stairs. He opened the door and we exchanged a warm, gracious (on my part) hug. Andy is the one who contacted me about auditioning for this project in the first place. I wasn't able to attend the auditions but despite that fact, and without hesitation, he invited me to come to the callbacks. I was, essentially, there because of him. As we started up the stairs to the rehearsal room, Andy said, "Your blog is so inspiring." I didn't even know he had been reading it! "Oh, thank you!" I said, and upon realizing there was someone there who knew what I'd been going through, I couldn't help but say, "Well, it's not over yet." And I told him the nutshell version of my appointment with the speech pathologist and alluded to the fact that I might not be able to do the show. We arrived at the rehearsal room so I said a final, "It's all gonna be okay." before breaking off and meeting the other people in the room. He smiled and said, like a cheerleader trying to lift someone's spirits, "Yeah, it will!"

Andy was the only person I knew. Everyone else was a stranger and everyone was there - writers, actors, lighting designers, stage managers, company members who weren't working on the show but wanted to be there for the first read-through, everyone. In the first act I played everything from a potential cannibal to an 80-year-old woman to an uptight boss with a deadline. I was ultra conscious of my voice and the words of my doctor rang in my head. I was holding back. For a first impression, I felt, this was not going well... I wasn't even able to let them know beforehand that I would have to be careful. I felt like a terrible actor and an even worse comedienne. Sketch comedy should be my forte but I felt, in that moment, like a steaming pile of failure. I realized that I couldn't go through the rehearsal process feeling like that. Holding back isn't really in my vocabulary and it would either make me feel terrible (not to mention be unfair for everyone else involved) or I'd say fuck it and go back to my old ways which could be dangerous at this point. Neither of those options seemed viable and I could feel the volcano of emotion smoldering within. We got to the end of act one and took a 5-minute break. As Andy passed by me I said, "See how I'm holding back?" "Yeah," he said as a little somberness crept into his otherwise cheery disposition. He sat in the chair beside me and we started talking and I started crying and all hell broke loose. Well, all hell broke loose internally, anyway. He offered to wait after rehearsal to talk to the director with me. I was so grateful to him in that moment, I can't even express it fully. I don't know why, but it was important to me to have backup. To have someone there who knew my story and could vouch for the validity of my woes was invaluable, it made me feel like less of a failure, like I would somehow be taken more seriously and not cast off as a flake. After rehearsal I waited for the room to clear, waited for a production meeting to conclude, waited to have a discussion that I never wanted to (nor dreamed I would have to) have....

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Learning Curve

On Thursday nights there is a class called Toning. It is a sound healing class wherein you focus on each individual chakra and imagine a specific color while "singing" on an assigned note and vowel. For example, the first chakra (tailbone) is associated with the color red, the note "A" and the sound "ooooo" as in tool. You spend about 5 minutes on each chakra and the sound and vibration are meant to increase circulation, energy and vitality in the organs or parts of the body represented by each chakra (the first being adrenal glands, legs, feet, bones and large intestine). The first week I was here I decided not to go since, for one thing, I had a colonic scheduled right before the class started and, for another thing, I couldn't make sound anyway. Last Thursday, however, my throat was still feeling open and relaxed from the raike-type session the week before so I decided to go since it was supposed to be healing and, hey, that's what I'm here for. So I oooooed for the first chakra and I ohhhhhed for the second chakra and somewhere in there my throat completely tensed up and went back to its old habit of carrying the weight of the world. I tried breathing into it, trying with all my might to relax. I stopped producing sound because clearly I wasn't ready to do so, but my throat remained in an upright and locked position. So I just laid on the floor, listening to everyone else aw ah eh ih ee and aum while tears streamed down my face.

My grandparents had a dog named Muggins when I was growing up and I'm not sure exactly when he died, but I haven't thought about that dog for over 15 years. For some reason he popped into my mind the day I got to OHI. Laying on the floor during the toning class I had a vision of a line-up of people (among others were all three of my deceased grandparents, Mandala - the dog my family had when I was a kid, the Verizon guy [no joke], the woman I picture as Divine Femininity) and in this vision I went to Muggins and put my arms around him, just a little hug, and for some unknown reason that image and the feeling it invoked started me sobbing, while frustration and anxiety kept me sobbing. Unable to relax my throat and frustrated that the mere production of (what was supposed to be healing) sound undid an entire week's worth of relaxation, I was reminded that silence and a healthy throat are only the beginning of my healing process. Lifestyle changes will continue to be made while I start the learning process over from scratch; I have to learn how to talk and breathe and sing as if I've never done it before. I have to remain constantly aware of how I'm using my voice and will most likely need help from chiropractors and acupuncturists and massage therapists to ease the tension that haunts my upper body. I have a long road ahead of me. But hopefully not TOO long! I shall pray to the learning curve gods.

As I went to sit by myself at lunch the other day someone called me over to sit with his group. I sat down and he said, "It must be so hard in a new place not to be able to talk. I mean, you want to be accepted and all that. You must feel a little insecure walking around, not be able to talk to people." I shook my head with a positive smirk on my face and wrote, "It's a nice change of pace for me. I'm a big talker." He guffawed as if I'd told the best joke EVER and said, "Really? It's hard to imagine that!" It's so interesting to hear people's perceptions of you when you can't talk. During my first week I befriended a guy named Eric, a lovely soul from Philly. He asked me what my voice sounded like and before I could answer he said, "You have the voice of a pixie, don't you? It's a little high?" WRONG. It's surreal to get to know people and not really be able to reciprocate. In a group, conveying sense of humor is out of the question. By the time I've written my extremely witty response to something they're on to the next-next-next thing. So I'm being impeccable with my silence too, it would seem. Eric got to know my sense of humor a little bit as we ate lunch together one day on the raggedly uncomfortable reclining lawn chairs. From that moment on we delighted in telling each other horribly wrong and/or dirty jokes but he very rudely left OHI at the end of my first week. Fortunately he didn't leave without talking about a magic chiropractor in town that we just HAD to go to, so Ray and I went together last week. Magic indeed. I wrote Eric an email that said simply, "I love Dr. Charlie. He is my hero." He wrote back and asked if I was going to see him again before leaving and suggested that I sing Wind Beneath My Wings to him on my last day. I was reminded of my first public performance when I was eleven or twelve singing that song in an auditorium for reasons I do not remember. I wrote him back and said I still wouldn't be producing sound then, but I'd do an interpretive dance instead. "Tell him to leave whatever misalignment makes you so damned funny," he replied. Man I wish I could have laughed out loud just then. What a great thing to say to the poor silent girl. Best line ever.

If nothing else, this place has done wonders for my confidence in other, unexpected areas. I have received numerous compliments on my state of fit-ness, which is something I've never felt good about. Yesterday I was surrounded by a small group of women after the stretch class who were gushing, saying I was beautiful to watch and calling me the yoga master. Today a man with whom I've never interacted came up to me after the exercise class and told me I had great form and he was really glad I was in front of him so he could try to mimic my moves. I have never been esteemed for the way I move, in fact most of my life I've felt frumpy and clumsy and not at all graceful. In college dance teachers yelled at me; nothing I did was ever good enough, graceful enough, sucked in enough, straight enough (I have double-jointed elbows and they look crooked even when my arms are straight). Now all of a sudden the way I move my body stands out in a crowd and people aren't afraid to say so. (And not a single person has commented on my crooked elbows.) It makes me wonder if I've changed the way I move or if my audience is friendlier and, perhaps, a little less discerning. Either way, I'll take it.

I hate to admit it, but I have short-timer's disease. I am quite ready to be home and able to communicate again, but I am also trying to make the most of these last couple of days. Classes (for third-weekers) are over so I'm going back to the classes I liked last week, just to make sure I'm not missing anything. Tomorrow will be a great day. To start, we third-weekers have spent all week making lunch for the second-weekers which we'll serve tomorrow, and I had the honor of naming our cafe. It is called ExtRAWdinary Cafe. Unfortunately I can't say it out loud and for some reason people are having the hardest time pronouncing it. "Say it with a New York accent!" I want to say. People are stumbling like they've never spoken more than 2 syllables at a time. Extrarawrrrrdinary, Extrastrawdinary, ExtRARdinary. Pretty much everything but ExtRAWdinary. Ah well, as long as the food is good (or as good as possible under the circumstances). Then I have my very last colonic (waaaaaaaah) and THEN I will break the silence.

Every Friday night there is a talent show at OHI called Friday Night Live. I have refrained from performing for the last two weeks, of course, but I feel like it's the perfect way to break the silence. I'm not even going to introduce myself, I'm just gonna walk on stage with Chief (my guitar) and sing. After that I'll have someone tell me a joke so I can laugh my ass off and the breaking of the silence will be complete.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Out With The Old

July 25th

I am the last man standing. Everyone I have befriended over the last two weeks is gone. I have a very good feeling about this week, though, despite the fact that if I have to eat one more salad without dressing I will most likely set fire to my taste buds. I mean, seriously. The first week the food was verging on enjoyable. The second week it was tolerable and the third week, it seems, it is deplorable. Oh, but it hasn't changed and therein lies the problem. It's the same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I am having a considerable amount of difficulty downing a plate of dressingless, flavorless salad and scrawny watery vegetables first thing in the morning and then having to do it all over again at lunch and dinner... ach, just the thought of lettuce makes me queazy, I have to say. Strangely I have become a huge fan of cabbage. Never could stand the stuff before but now I can't get enough of it. Tonight I picked through the greens of the salad and ate only the cabbage and I'll do it for the next 6 days if I have to, mark my words. I'm considering a visit to the local organic market to pick up some dressing. I don't need much, just a dollop to get me through the day. Is that bad? Is that cheating? Or is it just plain survival?

July 26th

Okay, I'm better now. It was just a momentary fit of culinary proportions. I had taken the off-campus "cooking" class the day before and even though it was all raw (and vegan) it was the damn tastiest food ever. So much flavor and excitement it made me look forward to going home and keeping up with the raw food diet, but it also ruined me for the rest of my time at OHI because I got a taste of what this diet COULD be like. I added some seasoning to my salads today and (lo and behold) they tasted much better! The seasonings have been here the whole time but I haven't really needed them... now they are saving my life.

There has been all this talk about letting go of old stories. I first heard this from J (the psychic) and then again in just about every class I've taken here. I knew what that meant and thought I was doing a pretty good job of clearing out the old stories and negative "self-talk." Then the other day in our stretch class (I thought it would be more like yoga but it really is just a meditative stretch class) I was on my back with my left leg stretched out on the floor and my right leg up in the air (upside down splits, if you will). I was then instructed to take my right leg out to the side so I steered with my right hand and went as far as I could, all the while thinking, "Gah, my hips are SO tight... so tight... so tight." Then it hit me that, as inconsequential as it seemed, I was telling myself an old story. So I experimented and switched my thought to "my hips are relaxed and open... relaxed and open... relaxed and open." I shit you not, my hip responded immediately, opening up and allowing my leg to fall another 6 inches toward the floor. Don't get me wrong, there is still a lot of physical work to be done before my hips are pain-free, open and relaxed to their full potential, but simply changing the story got me six inches closer in a matter of seconds, and it really made me think. The big, obvious stories are easily recognized and therefore easily changed, but there's so much more to it; so many stories that don't seem to matter actually might, in the end, be more important to change than the bigger ones (I say change because simply getting rid of an old story is not enough - nature abhors a vacuum - it must be replaced with a new, positive story). In a yoga class a few weeks ago, before I arrived at Nutrition Prison, we were doing hip openers and the teacher informed us that the hips are where we store old relationships. This made absolute sense to me in the moment, but for some reason I had let go of that information until that moment in the stretch class. Every time I've stretched my hips since then I do so with the mantra, "I don't need you [my body, my hips] to protect me anymore, I protect myself by following my heart and my intuition. You can let go now." And it all sounds like a bunch of New Age bullshit but I tell you, my hips feel more open and less painful every time I recite those words (in my head, of course) and I haven't experienced such openness in my hips since before college (fancy that... even my protective hips date back to college).

July 27

With all my old friends gone I find myself alone even more so than before. I eat alone, I do the morning walk by myself (it's just not the same without Ray. I've started doing 2 1/2 laps in the time others do 1 1/2, probably because I'm unable to saunter along and discuss the woes of dressingless salad) and just about every minute of the day, except during class, I am alone. I suppose it is the week I am meant to face myself without any real distraction. There are a few exceptions to this solitude, of course, but interactions are short and (mostly) sweet. Last night a man (who was here last week but with whom I have never had occasion to interact) said hello to me as I sat and ate by myself. I waved and smiled and he leaned over and said into my ear, "You're like a pixie." He straightened up and I smiled, letting out a puff of air through my nostrils. He leaned over again, and into my ear whispered "Can you fly?" He popped up to get my answer and I nodded my head with a coy corner-mouth smile. He leaned over again, "Good, I've got a few wishes I'd like to talk to you about." With that he was gone and I continued shoveling gazpacho into my mouth. A couple hours later I was sitting in an over-sized chair drinking rejuvelac (a fermented quinoa water that is a natural probiotic, replacing the good bacteria that's been flushed out with the bad during the detox process). This same man spotted me, stopped, gently pointed in my direction and said, "There's the magic. The magic lady." Silence, it would seem, has added a layer of mystery and magic to my personae. I can live with that :)

This morning I sat outside with my vegetable juice (Tuesdays - Thursdays are optional juicing days and I LOVE me some green juice as an alternative to three more days of salad) and a man approached, gesturing to the chair next to me and asked if anyone was sitting there. I shook my head and made a small motion for him to go ahead and sit. He asked how I was and I gave a thumbs up. We sat in silence for several minutes and then he held out a piece of his watermelon and asked if I'd like it. I shook my head and smiled and, perhaps instinctually, held up one hand as if to say "no thank you." After several more minutes of silence the man got up and left. I guess I was not enough of a conversationalist for him, though he never bothered to find out why I wasn't speaking and I no longer offer that information until it is imminently necessary or requested.

Watermelon?! You may ask. Well, I should explain that there are two different diets here. There's the hypo diet (short for hypoglycemic) which does not include ANY sugar (no fruit and no sugary vegetables such as jicama, carrots or beets). Then there is the regular diet on which you're served watermelon 4 days a week for breakfast, apple sauce another day, oranges another day and I don't know what-all that 7th day because I try not to drool over other people's breakfast. I have opted for the hypo diet for several reasons, the most of which I will not mention here, but not the least of which is that I have this intuition that it will do my throat some good. I loves me some sugar and it's helpful to flush it out and give my body a break. Speaking of which, that's not all I'm flushing out...

I urge you to stop reading now if the mere mention of a colonic a few posts ago made you uneasy. I don't know why I feel the need to share this with you but the post is called "Out With The Old" for more than just the previously mentioned reasons. Colonics are my new best friends. I actually quite look forward to them which is, I admit, a little bit crazy. My first colonic two weeks ago (I now realize) was a disaster. The woman really knew her shit (oh yeah, there's gonna be lots of those). She massaged my abdomen (more specifically my colon by way of my abdomen) but nothing was coming out. She said old stuff (I'll spare you the phrase that's in my head) can be the same consistency as a tire. Gulp. She said she could feel it in there and I should sign up for another colonic the next day because the first one is always the toughest and it would be good to get them back to back. She had a lot to say about my eating habits and food allergies and all this without me saying a word (or even writing a word for that matter). She could just tell by feeling the desperate state of my colon. She massaged my abdomen and reflexology points on my feet and legs for an entire hour, but still nada. I was, quite literally, full of shit (I think I've been waiting all my life to say that and have it be true). Subsequent colonics have been just astounding. The tube is clear so you can watch as the old shit escapes from your body. It's gotten to the point where I'm slightly disappointed if the colon therapist's arm gets in the way of the tube as she massages my abdomen. It is inexplicably cathartic to watch yourself release shit that looks like a cross between driftwood and dinosaur poop. It's poetic, really. Letting go of old stories, letting go of old bullshit, letting go of old actual shit that's been holding me back and dragging me down. Halle-fuckin-lujah.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

All In Good Time

It's strange to be me right now. I'm silent and as such I am introverted and anti-social, two words that I have never used to describe myself, not even at my most hermitic of times. Normally I'd be asking more questions, talking to and befriending teachers, and socializing with pretty much anyone who crossed my path. I'd be cracking witty (and, of course, stupid) jokes and making quite a fool of myself on a regular basis. It is both liberating and frustrating that I can do none of these things. Mostly liberating. I think.

There's a woman here named Janine who is just lovely. She's a beautiful woman in her (I'd say) late forties/early fifties with a little bit of grey just on the edges of her hairline and the coolest freckles I've ever seen. I didn't have much interaction with her the first week but we were in all the same classes and often sat near each other. In a lot of these classes the teacher will have us introduce ourselves and (depending on the theme of the class) say a word or two about this, that, or even the other thing. I always write mine down and recruit someone to read it for me. That person was Janine a couple times last week and this week, even if she's clear across the room she reaches out for my notebook when it's my turn. The other day she handed it back after she'd finished reading and said, "I love being Rana's voice, I don't know why!" That afternoon I sat with her and a few others outside during lunch and she introduced me and told the group that I was silent. Another woman in our lunch circle, Helen, a woman who still carries more than a sparkle of her youthful beauty (I imagine she was quite the socialite) started asking questions. I handed her the index card with my explanation on it. "Oh! Oh.... aaaaah..... oooooh." Our other lunch mates looked on in anticipation so Helen read it aloud in a classic new york accent, "I am on doctor-prescribed vocal rest due to a health opportunity on my vocal chords. I am a singer/songwriter and actor and my voice is my life. I am doing one month of silence coupled with 3 weeks here to ensure a full recovery."

Janine turned to me, this was the first she'd heard of the actual reason I was silent, and said, "Well Rana, I am not surprised at all." Turns out she's an actor and a singer as well. Must be why we had that connection, even from afar. Helen asked, "What was your name again?" and I handed her my name tag. "Rawna." She said it with such conviction I almost didn't correct her but it's my life's work to get people to say my name right so I put my hands in the air and brought them down with a twinkle in my fingers. "Rain-a!" She exclaimed, proud to have understood this game of charades. I made a "that's it" gesture and she said, "It helps to be an actor!" She went on about how amazing my silence could be, that I get to observe people and learn so much and all the while I was furiously nodding my head. "It's enlightening" I wrote. She said she was a clinical psychologist and she wished more of her clients would be observers like, for example, at a company Christmas party. She said if they'd just abstain from drinking they'd learn a helluva lot about their co-workers and wouldn't get themselves into trouble. The best thing was that with all her talk about how amazing silence and observation could be, she completely usurped the conversation for the rest of the hour and didn't let anyone get a word in edgewise no matter what the topic. I was silently amused. She is a wonderfully petite woman with a gargantuan personality.

Another woman, Leslie, who I see everywhere but have not had occasion to "talk" to has recently started playfully commenting as she passes me, "There's the silent girl," or "Hello silent girl." I smile and wave and we continue walking in our different directions. Then there's Ray. Ray and I met the first day I was here and we always seemed to be in the same place at the same time. We'd sit near each other in class and he'd pass little notes of commentary on the subject matter or ask questions if he missed something. Outside of class he'd chat away and I'd nod and give my thumbs up and occasionally write something down. We are often in situations where I don't have "my voice" (the notebook I use to communicate) so we have engaged in many truly one-sided conversations. He is patient and just laughs when I try to "say" something but fail miserably with my charades, and he invariably keeps the one-sided chatting going strong. Every morning in our exercise class we take two laps around the perimeter of the campus (about a mile). Ray and I always walk together, leading the masses. He talks and I respond with lip noises or tongue clicks or exaggerated gesticulations and every so often he asks me a question that I am unable to answer without pen and paper so (after a failed attempt at flailing my arms in explanation) we just let it go and move on to the next thing. The most phenomenal part of the whole thing is that he is usually extremely shy and reserved and has found his inner extrovert (haha) at OHI. He admitted his shyness to me the second day we were here and I was shocked, I mean I never would have known based on the interactions I'd had with him that he was outside of his comfort zone. On our (very brisk) walk the other day he told me he'd like to record our walk one morning with the audio recording function on his iphone (with just him carrying the conversation) so as to be able to play it for his wife. "She'll just about fall out of her chair," he said, sharing in the marvel that was his new personality. What he doesn't know is just how outgoing and verbose I usually am. So we've essentially traded places, re-inventing ourselves in each other's shadows.

Today on our walk Leslie was in stride with me and Ray and she called me by my name for the first time (I didn't think she knew my name) and though we couldn't have a conversation at that point we did get to interact, so to speak (heh). She informed me that we're taking the same off-campus "cooking" class (in quotes because it is a raw food preparation class) this weekend and I mimed that I had a car and could take her. She and Ray continued to talk as I listened and nodded and smiled. Ray announced that he had a session with Evangeline later and I gave a ginormous nod of approval and a thumbs up (that's the session that left my throat in a state of utter relaxation). Leslie asked what it was and Ray said, "I don't really know, Rana you tell her." I gave him a playfully weary look and he laughed, knowing full well I could do no such thing. Leslie turned to me and said, "Oh, you don't even have to speak. Your face, your eyes, your smile... you are so expressive." Well, on an egotistical level, that made my day. There I was, feeling incomprehensible and drab compared to my usual self, unable to carry on the simplest of conversations and all at once I was reminded that I am me no matter what level of sound (or lack thereof) comes forth from my lips. Since I'm supposed to be changing the frequency (in all senses of the word) at which I speak, I was relieved to know that my personality was not lost along with my voice. l later realized, on a more spiritual level, that my silence was helping me fulfill one of the intentions I'd set (in that old journal I found under my bed) which was to let people get to know me on their terms, not mine. That is exactly what is happening here. People are coming to me in their own time and on their own terms. I am just sitting back and letting my energy draw them in, rather than bombarding them with my obnoxious outgoingness. It's nice, for a change, and boy does it take some pressure off; pressure I didn't even know was there until it wasn't anymore.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Alpha Alfalfa

I am, once again, in a juice-fast, detox fog so I apologize in advance for my inarticulateness :) The second week is off to a running start. I played hooky for the weekend and took a little trip to Santa Monica to be with my grandfather for his 92nd birthday. I was careful to stick as closely to the detox diet as I could but restaurants in the outside world (unless you're in Berkeley) don't tend to cater to such needs. But I'm back in the routine now and after crashing at 8pm on Sunday night after an event-filled weekend, I woke up Monday morning ready to rock. On Monday of week one, I practically licked my plate clean but this Monday I grazed more than ate, munching on the celery sticks and zucchini rounds and sprouts. Lots of sprouts. They are emphatic about growing your own sprouts and eating as many as possible because they are rich in enzymes and so so so so good for your body, especially the digestive system. Alfalfa, mung bean, fenugreek and lentil sprouts abound and if, when I return, you wonder why I suddenly smell like maple syrup the answer is in the fenugreek. Tuesday of last week the juice fast started and I was content with my 300 calories a day (the juice is full of nutrients but it's all vegetables so has very few calories) and never felt hungry. This Tuesday, I am drinking the juice and helping myself to a few solid items as well. I'm not sure what happened but my appetite is back in full swing.

I recently realized that I am the sort of person who needs to know why things work the way they do in order to make good choices. For example, I smoked a pack a day for ten years and then, upon reading a book that explained the mechanics of nicotine I was able to quit easily, and it's been three-and-a-half years without so much as a puff. As another example, last February I quit drinking coffee and soda. Once or twice a week I allowed myself a cup of decaf just to get that taste, but then I read a whole thing about coffee and the mechanics of it and why it is harmful to our bodies, even decaf, and I haven't had a cup since. That's precisely what OHI is providing. Classes on food combining and the digestive system allow me to understand, anatomically, how to make good food choices and WHY. All of the classes are in-depth explanations of the way things work and the reasons why I need to make certain changes and choices and it's empowering. I can't wait for next week because it's more about how to implement these changes once back in the real world and that, for me, is where the real challenge is. For now, though, I'd just like to share a funny little story from back in the days of detox fog week one.

My first night out in the Starbucks parking lot, just after I'd posted "Silence Opens The Door To Infinity," a delivery truck pulled up right next to me and blocked the WiFi signal, completely disabling the internet. So I revved up the old engine, switched on the lights and found myself a new spot on the other side of the truck. I turned off the engine and was catching up with email and the like when all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the stereo (which wasn't on at the time) start blinking spastically. I did not take this as a good sign. I turned the key in the ignition to see if it would start and it sounded like a donkey with a hair ball stuck in its throat. I sat back and smiled, shaking my head. I totally manifested this....

There's a state of being known as Alpha (also referred to as meditation, daydreaming, or relaxation) in which you are calm, open to imagination, have enhanced learning, and heightened suggestibility (we are in Alpha while we watch TV which is why companies will pay millions of dollars for a 30-second spot during the Superbowl). It is this state which allows us to access our subconscious mind. We were instructed to reach this state several times a day for 5 to 20 minutes each time, the purpose of which is to essentially erase negative habits or patterns or health opportunities and replace them with positive ones, ones that will serve us instead of hinder us. When a thought comes in that is negative or doesn't support us in some way, we are supposed to cancel-cancel it (like a computer that needs to be told twice to delete - are you SURE you want to delete it?) so that our brain does not move forward with that plan. It is in this state that I imagine my appointment with the speech pathologist on August 3rd after an entire month of silence. I imagine sitting in the chair while she preps the camera for action, then I see her put the contraption in my mouth as I attempt an "eeeeee" sound and I envision the monitor on which my vocal chords appear. I see them flap together without interference and as the "eeeeee" stops and the chords come apart, I see the healthy V shape with chords as smooth as a baby's bum and I jump out of my chair and hug the speech pathologist right there on the spot. She laughs and says, "Would you like to start with some speech therapy to keep your voice healthy?" And I say, "I thought you'd never ask!" Well, that is where Alpha has taken me lately but back at the beginning I was not so well versed in the art of meditation.

I believe I mentioned that I live in my brain and my thoughts are often very difficult to silence. Well, last Wednesday (the night in question) was, for all intents and purposes, my first attempt at Alpha. I put my yoga mat on the floor and laid with my head atop a few books (something my voice teacher told me to do to take pressure off my back - it's Alexander Technique, I think). My mind was racing and I tried to focus on my breath and relax my body but there was no getting away from the rapid fire of thoughts. After several minutes I was able to imagine my healthy self but it was mostly in snippets, with other thoughts thundering like mack trucks through my future. One of those thoughts was that this would be a good night to go into town and post a new blog. Another of those thoughts was that my car wouldn't start and this cascaded into a full-blown (albeit short) movie in my head about trying to get to Starbucks and my car not starting. Finally, I turned my attention back to the task at hand but I didn't cancel-cancel, I just moved on. I didn't think about the car-not-starting movie again until I got ready to leave campus. I put the key in with baited breath and, of course, it started. I was mildly relieved and thought "Tch, silly goose of course it started, why wouldn't it start?!" Little did I know that movie would play out on the other side.

So there I was, the only human being in an 11,000-spot parking lot (the delivery truck had come and gone) and my car wouldn't start. It was after 11pm and I was no less than 1/2 a mile away from my cozy little room. I pictured myself walking back to campus and dealing with it in the morning and, though it was a terrible idea, in my detox fog it seemed to be the only option. Unfortunately, when I moved my car around that (damn) truck I thought I was only going to be a few minutes so I didn't even attempt to park well. I was a little more than half-way in to the spot with Johnny Five's butt (Johnny Five is the name of my car, by the way) hanging out in what would be the middle of the roadway come morning. So I put him in neutral and pushed him forward, only there was a small incline and Johnny slid farther into the road so I ducked in and pulled up the emergency break, took a deep Xena Warrior Princess breath and tried again, knowing this time that I'd have to put some muscle into it. Nobody was trapped under there, but by god I got that car farther into that spot than ever imaginable. I was taking up a parking spot and-a-half but at least I was out of the road. Oy ve. Exhausted, I sat back down in the driver's seat and, shortly thereafter, the detox fog burned off momentarily and I remembered that I have roadside assistance through my insurance company. Hurrah! But you can't exactly text message roadside assistance so I took a deep breath and decided that desperate times called for speaking measures. I said as few words as possible and 30 minutes later a couple of dudes rolled up in a tow truck (I think one of them was in training), jumped Johnny in a matter of seconds, and I was back in business. I left the car running while I sent off a couple emails and headed back to campus. I have to admit I enjoyed this little scenario. No one was hurt, all was well, and I got to experience the power of manifestation. Even if it was in a relatively "negative" form, it had a positive outcome and taught me quite a lesson. May I never again forget to cancel-cancel such (seemingly harmless) thoughts, and may such manifestations work on all the positive, important movies in my head.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Summer Camp

In some ways this place reminds me of summer camp; you’re thrown together with random people from all over the country, you take a variety of classes, have designated mealtimes, and you don’t give a shit what you look like because everyone else is roughing it too. On the other hand, I never had a colonic at summer camp. Too far? Well around here it’s dinner conversation so I just couldn’t help myself ☺

Today was an incredible day. This morning after the exercise class we all got together in the multi-purpose room for testimonials. Because I’m silent, I haven’t taken the initiative to approach many people and find out their stories, so it was amazing to hear them for the first time today. Most of them brought tears to my eyes. This place transforms people’s lives on so many levels and I’m seeing it happen right in front of me. People with terminal or debilitating illnesses (we call them health opportunities to keep it in the positive) leave here completely cured and pain-free. It’s just astonishing. After testimonials we ate breakfast and then had our hands-on wheatgrass class. I now have three biodegradeable to-go boxes on my dresser each filled with soil and seeds (one with wheatgrass, one buckwheat and the other with sunflower seeds to sprout) and I should be able to snack on my sprouts and juice my very own wheatgrass in 8 days.

The best part of the day came right after that – I had a massage/energy healing session with the head of the massage department (you have to pay extra for massages but, man is it worth it). I wrote her a note telling her of my throat tension and the health opportunity on my vocal chords and asked if we could focus on that area. The session lasted an hour-and-a-half and I left feeling like a different person. During these last 16 days of silence, the mere thought of speaking or singing has brought immediate tension to my throat and larynx. You know that feeling when you’re holding back tears, the lump in your throat? That’s what I feel without the tears attached and I am just having so much difficulty letting it go. A couple hours after the massage I noticed that I didn’t have that tension anymore. I thought about singing and for the first time I could picture myself doing it effortlessly. I tested it throughout the day and was thrilled to find that this new pattern of relaxation was sticking. I will most certainly go back to her for more of that magic before I leave.

As a first-timer I was assigned a mentor for the first week. They don’t hold your hand (unless you want them to) but they are available if you have questions. I got the best mentor EVER. She’s a beautifully glowing rotund woman from Russia and just seeing her fills me with happiness. She’s 70 but doesn’t look a day over 50 and she exudes joy and merriment with every ounce of her being. She told me to poultice my throat for an hour every day (the act of putting wheatgrass pulp on your body) because it is very healing (they’ve seen tumors the size of tennis balls disappear within weeks from poulticing every day) and even though I haven’t said a word or sung a note she is my biggest fan, bragging about me as if I were her own daughter. It’s very healing to have someone like that rooting for you.

At the end of the first full day I felt like I’d been here for a week. In all honesty, I was a little skeptical about lasting an entire three weeks (have I mentioned how intense it is?) Now that week one is at its end I am deeply grateful that I have two more to go. I can’t imagine having to go home tomorrow. I feel like there’s so much more to do and learn and heal and discover. And I get a chance to do so. YAY!

Today was also a sad day, only in that I had to say goodbye. Although I haven't been a social butterfly, I have made connections with a few amazing people who are leaving tomorrow. But come Sunday there will be a whole new group, and who knows what kind of interesting, inspiring people will be arriving! That's the beauty of this place - the possibilities are endless and the unknown is tantalizing.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Silence Opens The Door To Infinity

Upon my arrival to the town that is home to the “campus” of the retreat, I stopped at Starbucks to take advantage of their free Wi-Fi (and to get my last dairy fix in the form of an iced chai latte before three weeks of raw, vegan food and wheatgrass). I wrote down my order and showed it to the barrista. At first she wasn’t sure WHAT I was doing, she reached out and took hold of the notebook as if I were trying to hand it to her. She looked at me for a second, then back down and once she actually read the words she understood. I payed and as she handed back my change she spoke very slowly and loudly, saying “Ummmmm… Thank you?” simultaneously saying thank you in sign language. The question mark had to do with the fact that she wasn’t sure if she had the movement right. She did. I returned the thank you in sign language and smiled, thinking how cool it was that she tried to communicate with me in (what she imagined to be) “my language” and how uncool of her to assume that because I couldn’t talk she had to slow down her speech and raise her volume to be understood. People are funny. I don’t believe in talking to children in an altered oogly baby voice, as it is inherently condescending, and the same goes for people with apparent phonic and/or auditory challenges. Talk to them as you would anyone else and trust that if they need a different form of communication, they’ll let you know.

I drove up to the campus, checked in and got my welcome bag complete with daily organizer, water bottle, E’s & I’s kit (you don’t wanna know) and package of five miniature bottles of their new line of skin products. Lovely. The woman who gave me the welcome bag asked me my name (in order to give me the correct name tag) and I wrote it down for her. Upon discovering that I couldn’t speak, she made eye contact with me and said, “Do you read lips?” She didn’t alter her voice, she didn’t gesticulate so that I’d understand, she spoke normally and waited for me to let her know what I needed. I pointed to my ear and then gave a thumbs up and she immediately understood that I could hear her. I then wrote her a note briefly explaining why I was silent and she gave me an acknowledging nod and carried on. I later pondered this compulsion to explain myself and realized that I don’t explain the situation because I don’t want people to think I’m mute, but rather because letting people believe that feels somehow disprespectful to people who actually are mute. Maybe I’m just crazy. I proceeded to my room, lucky number 63, after getting a few things out of my car. The room was on the 2nd floor, which I liked, and as I opened the door my nose was assaulted by the smell of humidity and must. It was a relatively large, carpeted room with a table and two chairs, queen-size bed, rickety old broken dresser and two bedside tables. I put my bags down and noticed a steady stream of noise entering the room. I looked up and saw that the window faced the highway. At first I thought oh no, I don’t know if I can deal with this. Then I thought bah – you lived in New York City for cryin’ out loud you can handle it. I closed the window to see if it made a difference and it was a little better… but that means I’ll have to sleep with the window closed, sleep without fresh air and it’s musty in here. This doesn’t feel very relaxing… but maybe I’ll get used to it. I stood there and contemplated the situation for another moment and when the argument in my head finally ceased, it was clear what I needed to do. I often try to justify NOT asking for what I really need because I don’t want to inconvenience people, or be pegged as a high-maintenance pain in the ass but I am, after all, working on speaking my truth. Asking for what I need (in a gracious manner, of course) is part of that practice; staying in a room that offends my senses just because I don’t want to ruffle feathers would be quite the opposite of speaking my truth and, besides, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

The guy at the front desk had a little difficulty at first because I was staying for the entire three weeks (most people do a week at a time, even though it’s a three-week program). After several minutes of concentrated finagling he handed me the keys to my new room, and then turned around before I had the chance to write a big fat Thank You in my notebook. I proceeded to my room, lucky number 56, after vacating the old one. I opened the door and it was like a different planet. The room is on the first floor and is smaller than 63 (full bed instead of queen, no table and chairs) but it inspires utter tranquility rather than shear madness. Clean “wood” floors (yeah, it’s Pergo) instead of a dirty old carpet, a window that faces the quiet walkway and a dresser with drawers that don’t have gaping holes in them – I was in heaven. I went back to return the keys for 63 and flashed the front-desk-guy a note that said, “Thank you so much, I love my new room.” He smiled and took the keys.

I immediately began meeting people. There’s such an eclectic mix of people here; people I’d never have occasion to meet outside these premises, which makes it interesting and exciting. Very few people assume I’m mute, most ask if it’s by choice but some assume it is for spiritual reasons (sometimes I correct them, sometimes I let it go). I decided to write an explanation on an index card which I inserted into the back side of my name tag. People seem to appreciate the accessiblity of it. Everyone is patient with me (no one has anywhere to be besides right here) and a couple people have felt bad for wanting to talk to someone who has to write down her anwers. I just give them a thumbs up as if to say “I like that you’re talking to me,” and write down that I don’t mind writing if they don’t mind waiting. They don’t.

My first day here, during the orientation, I spotted a quote on the projection screen. It was never pointed out or discussed but my eyes went right to it. "Silence opens the door to the infinite," it said. And when I got back to my room that night, instead of writing my name on the cap of my water bottle as most people do, I wrote that quote around the edge, so that every time I open it I read those words and remind myself that my silence is for more than purely physical reasons - it's providing infinite possibilities in mind, body and spirit.

This place is intense. I’m grateful that I went through my denial and resistence phases before arriving because it makes everything so much easier. I watch some people struggling with themselves as they resist the program but I hear by the end of the week everything will turn around for them. The first week is when everyone is detoxing and the first couple days I was feeling pretty great – super alert and attentive in all the classes, excited to be there and feeling like I was invincible as I saw others dragging and feeling like hell. I had a headache from the detox but it was survivable. Today, however, I saw others perk up as I fell into a detox stupor. The last two days I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm was set to go off (6:45) but today I had a tremendously difficult time waking up - I barely made it through the exercise class at 7:30 this morning, and it was just downhill from there. My head was pounding so hard I could barely keep my eyes open during the classes and fatigue was weighing me down from all sides. All I wanted to do was crawl into a cave and hide out, possibly forever. At lunch a new friend said, “Rana, you’re so quiet today.” She laughed at the irony of her own statement (or lack thereof, really) and said, “I just mean your energy seems a lot different – much lower than before.” Even in silence I’m an open book.

The food is, despite some people’s resistence, pretty good. I usually go through life feeling constantly hungry, “I can always eat” has been one of my mantras for over a decade. Since I’ve been here I have had only one hunger pang and that was tonight after I’d inadvertently slept through dinner. The food is so packed with nutrients that I never actually feel hungry; I eat at mealtimes (drink, actually as we’re on a three-day juice fast) because they’re designated, not because I’m starving, and it feels really amazing. Good, nutritious food. Body happy. After my nap (I slept through dinner and the evening class - oops) my headache is gone and I’m hopeful that my energy will be back up tomorrow and I’ll be raring to go.

People are amazed by my commitment to silence and the discipline it takes - they're just waiting for me to answer a question out loud by accident - but it doesn't feel like a matter of discipline, it just feels like I'm doing what's right for my body right now and its surprisingly easy. Someone asked me what's the first thing I'm going to say when I can speak. I wrote, "I'm going to sing... then I'm going to laugh my ass off."

Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Journey Begins

It was SO great to see the show last night, the most difficult part being that I couldn't laugh out loud when things were funny! I have worked with many of the cast members, the writer/director and the choreographer and it was so good to see them all - on and off the stage (I tell you, I have some wicked talented friends) - and I was on the receiving end of innumerable bear hugs. Fantastic. Armed with my notebook, I had "conversations" with all my peeps, none of whom I'd seen since the silence began and each one dealt with it differently. It was hilarious. One held up a finger, grabbed my notebook and wrote his response, one whispered, one started using his own version of sign language, and others were relatively "normal." The best thing was that every one of them noticed quickly how their behavior had changed as a result of my "condition" and we all had a good laugh (mine remained silent this time). It was interesting to have a conversation in a group setting as well. People were talking and then, when something was directed at me, a complete stillness fell over the group as I wrote down my response. It was like an extended breath in the conversation and it was amazing to feel the energy of those moments.

Earlier in the day after yoga I went next door to Cafe Gratitude to order one of their quinoa lunch bowls to go. I flashed my index card, wrote down my order, paid and waited at the counter. When the server brought it over she said, "Okay, Oh Silent One, here you go, 'You Are Accepting.'" I have since begun signing emails with my name and then (aka Oh Silent One). Favorite nickname ever. I had only flashed my "I'm not using my voice" index card to one person, but as I waited for my food a few others spoke to me as well. Instead of flashing the card or making some huge I-can't-talk gesture, I used smiles and body language to respond and it worked quite nicely. I then realized I don't have to explain myself to everyone everywhere I go and I've decided to try that for a while.

Well, I'm about to hit the road. The three-week retreat begins tomorrow and I'm going to drive half-way tonight so I don't have to leave at four o'clock in the morning! And so the journey begins....

Friday, July 9, 2010

Conversation Chemistry

I would just like to say, before I begin, that it has finally happened... I have officially lost my mind. I was about to leave the house last night to see a friend's play in San Francisco but I couldn't find my keys. I searched everywhere, overturned my sheets and comforter, looked through purses I haven't used in weeks, and felt around in every nook and cranny I could think of. Nowhere. I had to leave so I gave up the search, got out the spare car key, dug around for the extra set of house keys I give to visitors when they're staying with me, and took off for the theatre. My boyfriend met me there and then followed me home after the show (such a stalker). The first thing I did when we got to my apartment was write down (in the notebook I use as a means of communication) "I can't find my keys... anywhere." He started helping me search, asked me when I had seen them last and tried to retrace what he imagined to be my steps. I started looking in redundant places, feeling around on the bed to see if I'd missed them the first six times I looked there, going in and out of the bathroom a few times just in case my eyes were playing tricks on me, then to the desk, then back into the bedroom. My apartment is TINY, they have to be SOMEWHERE! I heard chuckles coming from the other room and poked my head in as he said, "Well, I found them. After you eat, what's the first thing you do?" I walked into the kitchen and there they were, lying innocently abandoned in the stainless steel sink next to a few stray dishes I hadn't gotten around to washing. What the...? How the...? I doubled over with laughter and, try though I did, I could not contain myself. Silent laughter quickly turned into a full-blown belly laugh. "I have never done anything like that before in my life" I scrawled in the notebook, through the tears of laughter that had formed in the corners of my eyes and were now beginning to trickle down my face. It was a good laugh, a necessary laugh. "I know you're not supposed to" he said, "but I love hearing you laugh."

The day after I posted the blurb on my OkCupid profile that I was taking a break from dating (I'd just signed up in February and had only met a few people face-to-face anyway) I received a message. The subject line read "So sorry we've lost you." The message was amusingly witty and compelled me, just for shits and giggles, to check out his profile in return. Damn. I responded with, "After reading your profile I'm sorry we've lost me too." I remained adamant about not dating but we started corresponding and, despite our polar opposite career paths, came to find we had an astonishing amount of things in common. We decided to meet, and we set up a non-date (as I insisted on calling it) for 9:45 PM at a restaurant in San Francisco. Just to give you the context of time, this was the very same day I had my sobbing fit during the "good-bye old voice" ritual, and directly after the rehearsal wherein I discovered that I could truly let go of identifying myself by my old voice.

We sat across from each other at a two-top against the wall. I was pretty sure he could hear me without having to strain my voice so I was careful not to compete with the ambient noise. Fifteen minutes into the non-date it was like we were old friends. Conversation was easy and we even had a little banter going, like it had been our routine for years. "Are you sure we're not related?" I said in jest, as a comment on how alike we seemed to be. "That would make things a bit awkward later on," he replied, but I ignored the insinuations of such a statement and kept my mind on building a friendship. I was, after all, NOT on a date. After dinner we drove down past Crissy Field and walked around under the GG Bridge, making our way to the sand where we kicked off our shoes, rolled up our jeans and stepped into the water. It being a sandy beach, I naturally assumed that the ocean floor was also sand (it certainly didn't feel any different to my feet), but I was (literally) sorely mistaken. Two steps in, my left leg slipped into a hole that separated the rocks beneath me. Ouch. I was instantly soaked up to my hips and if I wasn't cold before, I certainly was now. My ankle had twisted on the way down through the rocks and as I hobbled back to the car I hoped all it needed was a little walking off. Once in the warmth of the car, I inspected my ankle and discovered that it was bleeding chocolate (the blood, I assessed, was brown from the sand) and proudly displayed my battle wound. "Oooh, you should take a picture of that," he said, but I was sure he was thinking, "damn, what a klutz." He drove me back to my car and we shared an awkward hug (the first awkward moment in our four-and-a-half hours together) across the median of his car. "I'd do it again," he said. Well, this was STILL not a date, but I'd do it again too. "Next time I'll come to your neck of the woods," I replied and I bid him adieu and trotted across the street to my car.

The next day I received a text from Jason (as I shall call him, since that's his name) asking when he was going to see me again. We continued to email and text throughout the week and made a plan to meet that Saturday night (the day after my appointment with J). I wandered over hill and dale to get to his house; barefoot and uphill both ways. (Okay, he doesn't live THAT far away.) I got the abridged version of the house tour and then we drove to his favorite local restaurant. At dinner he asked me why I was taking a break from dating and I explained as best I could. It goes so much deeper than "oh I have to heal my voice," and proved to be a bit difficult to articulate (as it was the first time I was trying to put it into words) but he's an intelligent man and seemed to fill in the blanks on his own. After dinner we played pool at his favorite local bar and were having a grand old time. Once again conversation flowed, and if I'd sat back to analyze it I would have been in awe of the ease with which we seemed to be conducting ourselves and relating to one another. On the walk back to car he said, "So... if the right person came along would you consider entering back into the dating world?" I smiled inside and out. Referring to our outing as a non-date the whole night had not deterred him from broaching the subject, and who could blame him? We had an undeniable connection on a level I rarely achieve with the people I meet. "Well, if said person really understood that I have to be, essentially, selfish right now and focus a lot of energy on the process of my recovery then, yeah, I'd have an open heart and an open mind about it." He didn't say another word about it. We got back to his place and went for a long walk around his neighborhood and just talked. We had great conversation chemistry which is of the utmost importance to me, and I was quite enjoying our time together on this, our second non-date.

After the walk I needed to head home because Sunday was going to be a very long day. We sat on his stoop for a few more minutes and then it was time to say good-bye. I reached out for a hug and as the embrace released he said, "I really want to kiss you." What's a girl to do? As it turns out, conversation isn't the only chemistry between us. It was a short but amazing kiss and I got in my car and drove off. Not ten minutes later I got a text message that said, "I know you're not looking for anything right now but I really like you and want to see where this goes."

And with that, I must go. It's my last night in town and I'm attending the opening night of a (different) friend's play in the city. I shall continue this tomorrow, though you already know it's heading toward officiality. And yes, I know that's not a word....

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Can You Hear Me Now?

About eight months ago I started to notice that I didn't like the way I was relating to people. Not always, but in general I was one of those people who related everything to my own life. I connected to people by responding to their stories with my own similar stories. It started really annoying me, actually, and I wanted it to change. I wanted to listen more, to take in a person's story without my synapses calculating the response; I wanted to ask questions and delve deeper into their experience instead of bombarding them with mine; I wanted to trust that there would come a time for me to share my story without stepping on someone else's. In January I went on a road trip with a close friend of mine and this very subject came up. It turned out that she had been feeling exactly the same way (ironically, we discovered that by doing exactly what we wanted to stop doing!) so we discussed the issue at length and helped each other come up with ways to modify our behavior. It really started to stick and then in May I was at a friend's wedding with people I hadn't seen in a long time and my old ways came flooding back. By the end of the weekend I wanted to shoot myself I was so annoying, but I couldn't stop. At least, I suppose, I was aware of it. When J talked about the 2nd chakra (being how we connect to people), that is certainly one of the things that came up for me (and is one I can share without risk of TMI). I started the work months ago but it's one of the things that made me really appreciate the timing of this edict of silence, as it will certainly help me achieve my goal of being a better listener.

Every so often I run across old journals or scribblings of thoughts I jotted down on the go and never went back to. In the month leading up to my silence the most apropos things were popping up all over the place. For example, I found an old journal under my bed. It's 3 times the thickness of a normal journal, but only the first fifteen-or-so pages are filled out (my journaling habits are a whole other story). The first entry isn't dated (though I'm making an educated guess that it was April 2007, my 30th birthday month) and the last entry is from June of 2007, exactly three years ago when I was preparing to leave LA to come to Berkeley for a short stint before taking off for Europe (the aforementioned epiphany-filled 6 month get-away). I flipped to the first page entitled Intentions and Wishes. Here is an abridged list of my intentions and wishes from April, 2007:

* To get my acid reflux under control
* Get my voice healthy
* Go to the gym/exercise 3 times a week
* Change who I am in relationships
* Continue to be honest, but cease to be the queen of too much information
* Let someone get to know me by their choice, not mine
* Become a better listener
* To keep my mouth shut when necessary
* To keep a regular journal
* Support my creative energy and keep it flowing
* Allow myself the luxuries of being a woman

Huh.

Then, as I was looking for who-knows-what, I came across a notebook from 2004/2005. I happened to flip right to January 4th, 2005 which is an entry transcribing a phone session with a psychic. (It may seem as if this is a serious habit for me, but honestly I only consult a psychic about once every three years, give or take.) My but this looked familiar. On the top of one page it says:

5th Chakra --> Throat
Speaking your own truth

masculine qualities (yang)
feminine qualities (yin) depleted

Huh.

Then I went to yoga and the teacher was focusing on the first of The Four Agreements. The First Agreement is Be Impeccable With Your Word. Much more eloquent than my own intention to "keep my mouth shut when necessary."

Then I was watching Glee and one of the lines was "Dreams aren't supposed to be easy." I kept asking, "if this is what I'm supposed to be doing why am I struggling so much?" And then I got my answer from a television show. How frightening, yet amazingly apropos.

I've been getting the same messages over and over again, it would seem. Sometimes I even write them down but they end up shoved under my bed or crammed in the back of a cupboard. This prescribed silence is a culmination of years of getting messages but not really receiving them. Perhaps it could all just be a coincidence, but it's so much more interesting to see things as being connected; to see definitive precision in the ostensibly random. I choose to see things this way so my healing (my life, even) has meaning and longevity.

So I'm receiving the messages now. I'm following my intentions and taking action now and, well, better late than never, right? And (to those of you who have expressed an impatient interest) don't worry, the boyfriend story is coming next. Everything it its time... ;)

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Tangential Continuation (or What a Chakra)

One session with a psychic is like a year's worth of therapy, and (for you skeptics out there) whether or not it's hocus pocus or has any validity in the physical world is completely irrelevant because in the moment, for what it's worth, it serves a definite purpose and has validity for me. That alone makes it real. This is only a snippet, a tiny piece of what was said in that room and does not (cannot possibly) convey the full weight of the impact it had.

I walked into J's (as I shall call her) office and she immediately pulled me in for a hug. I'd only seen her twice before, over the span of three years, but when you're psychic it must feel like you know people pretty well! I plopped down on the wider-than-normal armchair, kicked off my flip-flops, folded one leg over the other, and placed a pillow in my lap for extra comfort. I started with what had made me call her in the first place, telling her of my experience in the audition. What I didn't mention before is that was the second experience of that nature, the first being only a couple months earlier. Again, it was an audition I really cared about, for a theatre company I'd been wanting to work with because of their reputation, body of work and equity status. I worked my ass off to prepare for the audition and once again found myself in a room with one woman. She sat at her long, menacing table and didn't look up at me once during my entire 3-minute audition. I had driven 2 1/2 hours (round-trip) for a three-minute opportunity to impress one woman who didn't have the decency to watch me as I put everything I had into 180 seconds, performing a dramatic monologue and 16 bars of a comedic song. I asked around to find out if this was normal and found out that, indeed, she was not known for her attentiveness. Well, if that's how she treats people, I don't want to work with her anyway (was my attitude) and I brushed it off since it didn't seem to be personal. When it happened a second time, though, I couldn't ignore it. Something was going on. As J and I began discussing it, she asked me when, in my past, I had felt "not seen" (as that was clearly what was happening in the audition room). I hemmed and hawed for a minute because it just seemed too obvious and I was trying to come up with something, I don't know, more abstract? But it appears that all roads lead back to college. I have buried a lot of those memories but it's time to deal with them, to work through it and let it go. (There was, of course, a lot more to the discussion but if I went into any more detail this post would be a novel!)

J: So... what's happened since then?
R: Well, it actually sort of happened before, I was just in denial about it.
J: Oh good! Great! That just means there's work to be done.
R: Oh, lots of work to be done. And this goes back to college too, it all stems from the same timeframe.

I talked forever about the whole history of my throat trauma, my experience with unsupportive teachers and the blind trust I gave them. I told her of my polyps and my new voice teacher (who's also a voice movement therapist and has been working with me to clear some of that trauma) and of my impending silence and lifestyle and identity changes (to which she later she said it was so much less about "losing my identity," and more about getting in touch with my true identity). I told her I'd opted to spend mucho dinero on a retreat so I could have guidance through the process and learn how to maintain this new lifestyle of mine. She let me go on, asking questions every now and then to help fill in some gaps. When I was done she had much to say.

J: Okay, we have to talk about something else right now... whenever there are fairly serious issues with the 5th Chakra, the throat chakra which is how we express our creativity, how we speak our truth, how we find our voice, I always have to ask about the second chakra, because they're connected, and that is sex and sexuality, how we approach our sexuality, how we may or may not have been treated around our sexuality as a child and sometimes, not all the time, there's been sexual abuse when people have serious throat stuff going on.... Sometimes when we have a hard time shifting energy here [throat chakra] it's because we need to be shifting energy here [sacral chakra]. The 2nd chakra is the clear sentient chakra, how we feel other people's feelings, how we connect to people. What, if anything does that bring up for you?

In that moment I couldn't come up with much of anything. I hadn't been sexually abused and nothing seemed to be screaming for my attention. It wasn't until the next day, while I was getting a massage, that answers started flooding into my consciousness. I had been so completely unaware of any issues with the 2nd chakra that when they finally came to the surface I couldn't help but laugh. It was an "a-ha, uh-duh" fiesta. For the purposes of this blog I will not go into more detail to spare certain people from TMI. If, however, you relate to this on some level and need or want more information, I am happy to share on a one-on-one basis.

Another thing of particular note that we discussed was the need to let go of the "story" that I have to be masculine (which, among other things, comes out in the deeper voice) and start embracing my divine feminine. Both the 5th and 2nd chakras are ruled by Venus and when problems arise in those areas it means we're "not in touch with our goddess," we think we need to shed femininity to get what we long for but that's never true, it, like anything, is about balance.

J: Tell me what you know about dropping your divine feminine at the curb and squealing off in your hot rod.... Did you ever feel like your parents wanted you to be a boy?
R: No. [My dad was adamant about having two girls, and that's what he got!]
J: Ok good.
R: I don't know, I mean I took a lot of women's studies classes in high school and then I double majored in it in college. I think... that actually didn't serve me.
J: I know! I mean that kind of, energetically, promotes...
R: Masculinity.
J: Yeah, finding your "man place."

J encouraged me to call Divine Femininity back to my side, to shed the notion (women get this message from a whole host of places) that to get what I want in this world I have to be masculine. Among other things, she said, it would help me attract a partner into my life because I'm going to look like a woman energetically, instead of the disastrous confusion of genders I've been dragging around (my words, not hers). She told me to ask my voice teacher if she did any chakra work and urged me to do some clearing work with the 2nd/5th chakra connection.

J: Healing happens in layers and this might be a life's work, this isn't like three-weeks-down-on-the-green-farm-and-we'll-be-good-to-go, [laughs] but there will be immediate results if you're out of your resistance and in your intention.

Two days later I asked my voice teacher to help me clear my 2nd chakra woes. I described the epiphanies I'd had regarding the sacral chakra and we got to work. Among other things, I visualized Divine Femininity (she's beautiful with blondish dreadlocks, her own unique style, and the kindest face you ever did see), and I pictured her back at the rest stop where I'd dumped her all those years ago. I pulled over, opened the door, and gently asked her to be part of my life again. She got in the car without hesitation and a week later I was calling someone my boyfriend for the first time in almost four years....

Shut Up and Listen

Every time I sit at my computer to write today's entry my eyes get droopy and my body feels as if it cannot spend another second in an upright position. I have slept much of the day away and when I wasn't sleeping I was eating and catching up on episodes of Law & Order (Criminal Intent and SVU, in case you were wondering). It appears that what I was going to write about today will have to wait, as with each attempt it becomes clearer and clearer that my brain does not want any part of that particular topic. So instead, I thought it would be appropriate to write about the experience of silence (thus far) and continue with what led up to it another time.

I planned on starting the silence on July 1st but was booked to do studio work the first week of July to get my album (closer to) finished. I knew a lot of the work was going to be adding instruments, fixing existing tracks and editing, and I was going to communicate by writing or playing charades, but I allowed myself the thought that I'd sing if I had to because I'm on a deadline. I was also asked to meet the writers of a show I'm in (starting rehearsals in August) and told them I was technically going to be on vocal rest but I could go and have a quiet conversation with them. Then my sister asked how on EARTH I was going to be silent on the 4th of July and asked me if I was allowed to laugh. When I said "no" she said, "Well then, I'd better be silent too because you know how funny I am." I laughed and said that I'd try to be silent but if it didn't work out that way, oh well (the retreat starts July 11th anyway, so I KNOW I'll be silent then). I really should've given myself more credit. Once I zipped my lips on July 1st (aside from a couple inadvertent slips which I'll get to later) I have had no problem keeping my mouth shut. I didn't sing in the studio sessions, I didn't meet the writers, and aside from a few whimpers upon being injured, the 4th of July was as silent a day as any of the others. Things are only hard if you resist them and I was resisting the silence while I could still speak, but once the first day of silence arrived it all happened so easily. Sure, it's challenging in many ways but a lot easier than I expected and I think that's because it was time. It's just TIME to shut up and listen.

It's wonderful to see how different people react to me in my silence. I have an index card that I show people that says I am on vocal rest and unable to use my voice. Some people nod and carry on, business as usual. Some start whispering, as if by not using my voice my ears have become more sensitive to sound, while others speak louder and more articulated because clearly without the use of my voice I must also be hard of hearing. Some people apologize, as if they somehow caused this "handicap," some are suddenly SUPER friendly and some people stop talking altogether.

While it's relatively easy to stay silent, I find I'm having an extremely difficult time relaxing. I'm not producing sound but somehow I am more aware of my throat and larynx. I can feel the tension and it's constant and I'm not sure how to fix it. I do head rolls and lightly massage my throat and neck, I open my mouth and stretch my jaw and put my chin against my chest in an attempt to loosen things up but nothing seems to be working. No wonder I have polyps on my vocal chords, I seem carry the weight of the world in my throat. That's clearly not working for me, but I'm not sure how to change it. Any thoughts?

And now for the fun part!

Words accidentally uttered in the presence of others:
"Morning! Shit, I'm not supposed to talk."
"Apple?"

Words accidentally uttered while alone:
"Ouch"
"Mother fucker" (twice)
"Jesus" (commenting on someone's driving)
"Really smart" (cut myself while chopping a carrot)
"Why did I just take [hand flies up to mouth]..."
Started reading a sentence I'd just written to see if it made sense (it didn't)
I know for a fact there are a couple more, but these are the ones I wrote down!

Conclusion: it is much more difficult not to talk to myself than it is not to talk to others. Thoughts: they just come out sometimes!

Monday, July 5, 2010

Phase 4: Acceptance

When the fog lifted I made a few changes immediately while others took a little time to gel. For one, I started exercising regularly. I'm one of those people who could never quite find going to the gym all that fulfilling. As a kid I was a swimmer and after the age of 13 I kept swimming and started dancing pretty regularly (in musicals). After that I was in college with 9 hours worth of dance classes per week. Suffice it to say I never had to seek out exercise, it always just came with the program. After college I simply forgot to take care of my body. I had this misconception that going to the gym meant I was vain or, even worse, superficial, and I certainly didn't want to be pegged as either of those terrible things. Several years ago I began to realize how incredibly silly that was and started attempting exercise regimens. I'd go religiously for a couple weeks but then it would taper off into nothing. I didn't know how to work out and I felt like an ass hole standing in the middle of the gym, surrounded by people who clearly knew what they were doing while I tried to figure out where to begin. I even hired a personal trainer and told them my goal was to be able to work out on my own but nothing ever stuck. Oh well, I figured, I worked in the restaurant business and was on my feet ALL day and (sometimes) ALL night. "Exercise" was built in to my lifestyle so I guess I didn't need that stupid old gym anyway. (Yeah, I can be an idiot sometimes.)

Well, I may have given up on the exercise, but I never gave up my gym membership so, thousands of unnecessary dollars later, I was able to pick up right where I left off. I also started going to yoga regularly which is oh-so-awesome and I feel stronger with each class (I discovered Anusara, which I recommend to all who are interested in yoga but have never been able to stick to a practice). I know now that exercising isn't some admission of vanity or means to impress others (necessarily), but rather a tremendously rewarding way to take care of myself, increase the flow of energy and release tension. Golly gee, I sure wish it hadn't taken me so long to figure that out. Everything in its time, I suppose.

Speaking of "everything in its time," my voice teacher had been talking for months about raising the pitch of my speaking voice but I fought it for fear of losing my identity and all those things that came with my voice (depth of character, wit, etc...). The evening of the "good-bye, old voice" ritual I went to rehearsal and began to accept that it was time to stop fighting.

Because I was saving as much of my voice as possible, taking it easy and conserving when I could, I spent much of the rehearsal in silence. No jibber jabber before-hand, only opening my mouth when I had to deliver a line or when asked a direct question. Silence is amazing because it really allows (or forces) you to listen. Sitting there, listening to people talk with no regard for their vocal chords was enlightening. One woman had a voice so loud I (hopefully imperceptibly) jumped every time she started talking. Was my voice like that? I could certainly afford to lose some volume, not to mention the glottal attacks and extreme force with which she began each sentence (I know I'm guilty of that too). As we went through the script I listened to the way certain people used their voices to convey emotion. Everything was just loud loud loud. People were conveying power and anger and adamance by increasing their volume and I started to realize that there was a different choice: intensity. It occurred to me that I would actually have more depth of character (one of the things I feared losing along with my old voice) when I was forced to make certain choices in order to be kind to my vocal chords. I realized in that moment that I didn't need to be loud to be heard, that in order to be witty or awe-inspiring or any of those things I thought my old voice represented, I didn't have to abuse my voice to achieve them. After the recovery I would have a bigger range and more control of my voice. Oh yeah, this was a good thing that I was going through. It was going to GIVE me depth of character, not take it away.

I had spent well over a month dreading the recovery process, frightened by the prospect of such a colossal life change. Now I was excited. I would get to spend a month (and beyond) being a casual observer, taking part in conversations and events as a listener instead of a talker. That would be awesome. Challenging, yes, but I was finally convinced that great things would come of it including, but not limited to, a new voice, a new outlook on life, a new healthy lifestyle, a new appreciation for silent contemplation, the ability to choose my words wisely, the gift of being concise, (and as I said in the last post) inspiration in the form of a solo show, perhaps, or a new song (hell, maybe a whole album), or a script of some kind. The possibilities suddenly seemed endless. Go-Go-Gadget Re-Invention Device, I's-a-ready!

A few days later I had my session with the psychic and I can't even begin to write about the discoveries that ensued (well, not until the next post, anyway)! Creatures from the corners of my subconscious began to creep forward. Some of them gently nudged me, knowing I was finally paying attention.