To stress or not to stress? Not to stress is the answer.

I have kept a blog before, and experienced the same phenomenon -- that is, writing consistently and then dropping off. Here is what happens:

You get someplace new -- and everything is...new. The familiar is where you have just come from. Your mind is still there. In that time zone. How you left things. Your house, your street, the feel of your bed. The smell of your dog. Therefore -- from a distance, your present is in sharp contrast. Objects and rooms and buildings are almost a thing of conjecture. Like a waking dream. And everything seems worthy of recording. Your impressions take on a kind of distilled quality. Time moves a bit slower. This is perhaps the drug of travel addicts. To stop time. To make something 'new' again.

But then -- as you become initiated into your new surroundings, getting to know the people you see everyday through exchanges, moments, small dramas and shared experiences -- your landscape shifts. That which was foreign becomes familiar. That which was familiar becomes foreign. That is where I am now.

Last night, on the treadmill at the gym of my office building, I stared into the window at my reflection as I ran, listening to my ipod shuffle, fast forwarding to the workout type songs save for a few that couldn't be fast forwarded through (aka: JJ Kale's "Clyde plays electric bass. Plays it with finesse and grace. Sit on the porch without no shoes. A-pickin his bass and singing the blues. Misery loves company. And his old dog sings harmony. Tambourine tied to his tail. You can hear him moan, you can hear him wail.").

So -- as often happens when my heart starts pumping and music is playing the soundtrack to my story-boarded thoughts -- I had an epiphany. I had been stressing out about all the different swirling gigs of gigs that may come, depending on how I play my cards. Feeling trapped. Feeling frustrated by my inability to create material because of my contract and my position and my bargaining chips. My hand ("you got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em). And I had this overwhelming feeling. This realization. That I am free. No one is stopping me from doing anything. There is no Big Brother monitoring my waking hours. I have to dance as if no one was watching.

I have been suckling on the teet of corporations, buzzing within the hive of the entertainment industry, gathering information but also submitting to a way of thinking that is reactionary and dependent on validation from the Machine. But when that validation doesn't come -- the sparks start to dwindle. The embers start to fade. And then I get here, and the fire is lit again. Everywhere I look I have an idea. And yet, my movements are measured. My relationships are monitored. My independence, which I had taken for granted, feels compromised. There is nothing like feeling your freedom has been taken away from you to make you want to seize it with every fiber of your body. It's what I talk to my students about. That everyone on earth has a voice and not one voice is identical to another. Like snowflakes, voices are truly unique and when you hear one that you recognize, something inside you stirs. That exact combination of sound and timbre and intonation and resonance -- belongs to one person and one person only.

And I realize...there has never been anyone stopping me from speaking my true voice. From doing what I want. From making what I want. Why I have gravitated towards someone to be approving or not approving of what it is I am creating is still a mystery. But what I am trying to make a part of my thinking, of my reactions and actions, is that I need not put so much stress on the situations that pay me. Time and time again I go into a job, and have my boss marvel at how much I've brought to it. How comprehensive and adaptable and open I am. How hardworking and dedicated. So...I must know this about myself by now. I need to open up yet another chakra and tap into what intrigues me. What makes me laugh. What turns me on. What moves me. And this, my Work, my artistic ambition, is something that no one else needs to understand but Me.

A difficult quandary to articulate. In fact, writing about it feels like trying to get one of my students to pronounce the 'th' sound, which does not exist in Japanese. Analyzing each student's ability to use their ears, their eyes, and/or their logic when explaining sounds is something that has been incredibly difficult. But also rewarding when I find a pattern in someone. When I start to shape an understanding of how their mind works. Then -- I know exactly how to direct them. I know when they need to laugh at themselves. I know when they need a solid dose of criticism. I know when we need to move off the topic entirely, and make it about a meaningless anecdote that gives them a moment of breathing room to focus on something outside of themselves. This is what I once admired so greatly in John Morrison, my director at The Dorset Theatre Festival. I will never forget watching him in rehearsals, realizing that he was actually a psychologist of sorts. Able to distill someone down to their raw nerve endings, and give them just the right adjustment to find the performance on their own.

The other day, in class, I was teaching a private lesson. I came to class stressed out, about an upcoming appearance opportunity and thoughts of intellectual property and all this other shit -- and I forgot my computer. Usually I bring my laptop to class and use certain songs to establish a melody and then superimpose the melody on a text. Anyway, I forgot my computer and my student didn't know the melody I was planning on using. So I asked him: "is there a song in English you like -- a melody you can think of right now?" and he said: "Let it Be."

So there I was, writing the lyrics down on the white board from memory, humming the tune. "When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be." That very morning, as I was getting dressed, walking from the bathroom to my dresser, I smelled the smell of Grandmother. So hard to put into words, this smell. A combination of Oil of Olay (when it was still sold in glass bottles), slate floor, oil paints, and a gravel driveway. Needless to say -- ephemeral. And there she was, saying to me: "all you need to do is focus on your students. What you can give them. Everything else will follow."

So, just an hour later, there I am, writing these lyrics in red sharpie, humming the tune as I imagine how to adapt the melody to the monologue, with my student waiting behind me. Seeing the words on the board I couldn't help but smile, remembering the moment with the thought of my Grandmom, swooping in to take away my frontal lobe stress.

Let. It. Be.

Just the other day, one of my students presented me with a pitch perfect rendition of Gary Oldman's performance in The Professional (Bathroom scene with Natalie Portman) -- all in Japanese. I sent him the clip to study the energy of this kind of character, and he shows up having memorized it, breath by breath, moment by moment -- the entire scene. I got to be the person who saw that. Prepared specifically for me. Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Hard. In the arse. Especially when I'm feeling particularly lonely.

My new niece, Rowan Grace Wessells, was born on February 14th, 2011. I got to skype with Anne the next day. I got to see Rowan. Her small hands gripped the bunny themed blanket and her eyes were closed as she listened to her Mother's voice, the sound of my Sister, telling me about how she came into the world. There they were -- Mother and Child, no umbilical cord in sight but tethered in perpetuity. What a joy to watch Rowan -- stirring ever so slightly at the sound of my cooing voice, so many miles away.