"Somewhere along the line, you concluded that there was something wrong with you. Of course you did! What else could you conclude? If there were nothing wrong with you, people wouldn't treat you that way! They wouldn't say those things to you!
Wrong!
Then why did they do that to me?
Because it was done to them. Because we do what we are taught.
Society calls this 'child rearing' or 'socialization.' We call it 'sad.' By the time 'socialization' is complete, most of us hold an unshakable belief that our only hope of being good is to punish ourselves when we are bad."
"A Scam Self-Hate Likes to Run:
It is confusing for someone to conclude that they aren't loved because there is something wrong with them.
I want to be loved, but there is something wrong with me. I need to fix that even though I'm not really sure I know what it is or how to fix it. But I must keep trying anyway because I really want to be loved.
The person who is trying to become lovable spends much time, attention and energy trying to be good, earn approval, please others, be perfect. And Then, when they find that all that trying to be good doesn't work, and doesn't in fact get them the love and approval they want, the only thing they know how to do is try harder.It's like being on a journey and being completely lost, going in the wrong direction but making really good time. And what we are left with is confusion.
I'm trapped and confused. What I'm doing isn't working but I don't know what to do instead.
Confusion is the result of attempting to cling to a conditioned belief (if I try harder I can make it work) in the face of what you are seeing to be true for you (This isn't working. I feel powerless. There must be another way).
If you continue to pay attention, the confusion will give way to clarity. If you can find the willingness to look, and take a stand against the scam self-hate has you caught in, the confusion will give way to clarity.
And the clarity is compassion."
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
"And the clarity is compassion."
"Somewhere along the line, you concluded that there was something wrong with you. Of course you did! What else could you conclude? If there were nothing wrong with you, people wouldn't treat you that way! They wouldn't say those things to you!
Wrong!
Then why did they do that to me?
Because it was done to them. Because we do what we are taught.
Society calls this 'child rearing' or 'socialization.' We call it 'sad.'
By the time 'socialization' is complete, most of us hold an unshakable belief that our only hope of being good is to punish ourselves when we are bad."
Wrong!
Then why did they do that to me?
Because it was done to them. Because we do what we are taught.
Society calls this 'child rearing' or 'socialization.' We call it 'sad.'
By the time 'socialization' is complete, most of us hold an unshakable belief that our only hope of being good is to punish ourselves when we are bad."
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
YES.
I've not yet decided who I will support in the primaries. But no matter who you support, please seriously consider the issues so cleverly articulated in this article. This is the first I've seen of mainstream media publishing the opinions a lot of us have been having about the race between these two particular candidates.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Renaissance
I'm not sure what, if anything, this says about me but upon reading last week's post, I have a new point of view about being a woman in a typically male-dominated field:
"That's right. I can do all of this AND create a human being. And you?"
Ummmm....yeah. How's that for honesty?
"That's right. I can do all of this AND create a human being. And you?"
Ummmm....yeah. How's that for honesty?
Sunday, December 16, 2007
On being the Sound Guy
Boobs.
Let's just get the boob thing out of the way. I have them. Yup, I do and you don't. Boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs.
Not only do I HAVE boobs... but sometimes? Sometimes I take them to work and my boobs and I sit behind a lot of very expensive and complicated equipment. And then I operate all of it. And this? THIS IS NOT CUTE. This is not sexy, this is not funny, or special, or something uniquely amazing. This is just a person doing a job they are trained to do.
There. Good.
The second most frequently asked question I answer at intermission (the first being "Where are the bathrooms?") is, "Do you operate ALL OF THAT?" This is a question asked exclusively by men. Sometimes I get genuinely curious and friendly people. I love when that happens. People are really excited by theatre and I'm the only one out there they can approach. So I talk to them. Sometimes its great. Sometimes I get parents with their kids who are just starting to do theatre at school. Those are my favorite intermissions.
I don't mind being asked what I do or how I do it. But the men who ask if I know how to use ALL! THAT! EQUIPMENT! deserve to get kicked in the nuts. It is asked in the tone of voice you would use to praise a toddler the first time he or she pooped in the big kid potty. Well gee, sir. It sure is hard. What with all these fancy computers and buttons. Of course I know how to use it! No one would ever walk up to a big burly male op and ask if he knew how to use all the equipment in front of him. Because, I assume, it isn't shocking to see a man sitting in front of an array of computers and gear.
Yesterday, a (married, I assume) couple came up to me at intermission. They were wearing matching red reindeer sweaters:
Husband: So you must be the sound man! (Big laugh)
Me: (sigh, pretend to laugh.) Well, I do get referred to as the sound guy all the time.
Wife: *blinkblink* *smile*
H: She (meaning Wife) asked if I had seen where the sound man was. I said I had. She said, "Is he cute?" I said, "SHE sure is!" Ha ha ha!
Wife: Teehee *blinkblink*
Ummmmmmm.... did I just get hit on by a couple in matching Christmas sweaters WHILE WORKING? This would so never happen to a man. The part that really got to me was that the only polite response left to me was to laugh back and say thank you. That's humiliating. I am not here for your amusement. I am not a piece of meat.
I'm really struggling with polite responses lately. I'm having a hard time understand and accepting the way women are expected to interface with society. And let's just ban the word "feminism" here because this is not about what that word implies. This is not about oppression or activism or hairy pits or Rosie the Riveter. But yes. I am a woman and I am pissed off about the way I am expected to act. I am pissed off that people think its impressive that I do what I do. It is not any harder for me than it would be for a male version of myself. I don't want to joke about being a woman. Its not funny.
Most of all, when someone makes a wholly inappropriate remark about my sexuality and my appearance, I want to be able to be pissed off. But my role in this society is to avoid conflict at all costs. Women are to provide comfort, to smooth things over, to permit the transgressions of men, to accept that they are eye candy. A woman's accomplishments cannot easily be distinguished from her sexuality.
Everything else I type just turns into rhetoric. Because what I'm fed up with too ubiquitous to even distinguish. Its just accepted. I need to find the words that turn this into a coherent thought and not just the venting of anger. Until I find them, this is what I've got.
Let's just get the boob thing out of the way. I have them. Yup, I do and you don't. Boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs.
Not only do I HAVE boobs... but sometimes? Sometimes I take them to work and my boobs and I sit behind a lot of very expensive and complicated equipment. And then I operate all of it. And this? THIS IS NOT CUTE. This is not sexy, this is not funny, or special, or something uniquely amazing. This is just a person doing a job they are trained to do.
There. Good.
The second most frequently asked question I answer at intermission (the first being "Where are the bathrooms?") is, "Do you operate ALL OF THAT?" This is a question asked exclusively by men. Sometimes I get genuinely curious and friendly people. I love when that happens. People are really excited by theatre and I'm the only one out there they can approach. So I talk to them. Sometimes its great. Sometimes I get parents with their kids who are just starting to do theatre at school. Those are my favorite intermissions.
I don't mind being asked what I do or how I do it. But the men who ask if I know how to use ALL! THAT! EQUIPMENT! deserve to get kicked in the nuts. It is asked in the tone of voice you would use to praise a toddler the first time he or she pooped in the big kid potty. Well gee, sir. It sure is hard. What with all these fancy computers and buttons. Of course I know how to use it! No one would ever walk up to a big burly male op and ask if he knew how to use all the equipment in front of him. Because, I assume, it isn't shocking to see a man sitting in front of an array of computers and gear.
Yesterday, a (married, I assume) couple came up to me at intermission. They were wearing matching red reindeer sweaters:
Husband: So you must be the sound man! (Big laugh)
Me: (sigh, pretend to laugh.) Well, I do get referred to as the sound guy all the time.
Wife: *blinkblink* *smile*
H: She (meaning Wife) asked if I had seen where the sound man was. I said I had. She said, "Is he cute?" I said, "SHE sure is!" Ha ha ha!
Wife: Teehee *blinkblink*
Ummmmmmm.... did I just get hit on by a couple in matching Christmas sweaters WHILE WORKING? This would so never happen to a man. The part that really got to me was that the only polite response left to me was to laugh back and say thank you. That's humiliating. I am not here for your amusement. I am not a piece of meat.
I'm really struggling with polite responses lately. I'm having a hard time understand and accepting the way women are expected to interface with society. And let's just ban the word "feminism" here because this is not about what that word implies. This is not about oppression or activism or hairy pits or Rosie the Riveter. But yes. I am a woman and I am pissed off about the way I am expected to act. I am pissed off that people think its impressive that I do what I do. It is not any harder for me than it would be for a male version of myself. I don't want to joke about being a woman. Its not funny.
Most of all, when someone makes a wholly inappropriate remark about my sexuality and my appearance, I want to be able to be pissed off. But my role in this society is to avoid conflict at all costs. Women are to provide comfort, to smooth things over, to permit the transgressions of men, to accept that they are eye candy. A woman's accomplishments cannot easily be distinguished from her sexuality.
Everything else I type just turns into rhetoric. Because what I'm fed up with too ubiquitous to even distinguish. Its just accepted. I need to find the words that turn this into a coherent thought and not just the venting of anger. Until I find them, this is what I've got.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
I am an imperfect person
I do not update this blog regularly - only when I have something that needs writing.
I will probably not respond to your email right away. But I will respond.
I will definitely not return your call right away, especially if we haven't spoken in a while. It makes me very anxious. Sometimes, I wait so long that I become actually afraid to call you. And that turns into a fear that I cannot call you.
I will lose touch with you for periods of time. But I will always apologize.
Sometimes a person must accept their own faults with some compassion.
After what feels like a lifetime of "working on it" - fixing myself, I am exhausted. It is time for compassion. For others, and for myself.
Give me the benefit of the doubt, please.
I am highly imperfect. We all are.
I will probably not respond to your email right away. But I will respond.
I will definitely not return your call right away, especially if we haven't spoken in a while. It makes me very anxious. Sometimes, I wait so long that I become actually afraid to call you. And that turns into a fear that I cannot call you.
I will lose touch with you for periods of time. But I will always apologize.
Sometimes a person must accept their own faults with some compassion.
After what feels like a lifetime of "working on it" - fixing myself, I am exhausted. It is time for compassion. For others, and for myself.
Give me the benefit of the doubt, please.
I am highly imperfect. We all are.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Calico Skies
Life is a lot about extremes lately. Its rough here. To be alone here, to struggle with what sometimes feels like a job a monkey could do. Its worst when I'm at the end of a show run, pushing the go button for the 400,000th time on a show that has lost its wonder for me. In those times, I remind myself that tech is coming up and life will improve. Intellectually, I know that tech will remind me why I'm here: to learn, to be challenged, to be part of a group effort, to watch designers work. I know it in my head but not in my heart.
Thankfully, this latest tech period is proving to be a total life saver. I've been dreading the start of A Christmas Carrol since I started here. Everyone walks around moaning about how they've done it so many times and there are so many children and so many early matines and long days. Moan, huff, doom, terror. To make matters worse, my "supervisor" has been telling me that Christas Carrol is the Biggest Sound Install EVER and oh my god, we'll never get it done and he's hired a million people to help and we will work all day and all night. So yes, I was completely dreading this show.
In the end, however, this show has been a godsend. There have definitely been frustrations - most having to do with the ineptitude of my boss and the ridiculous hours it causes me to work - and I'm tired from 10 out of 12s that are really 14 out of 12s. But MAN, this show reminds me why I chose to go back to theatre.
Last year, I began a job that paid more than either of my parents have ever made in their lives. I knew it wasn't what I wanted, but I was way too scared to turn down the security and, frankly, I didn't have the balls it takes to do theatre. I thought that I could force myself to change into someone who cared about architectural lighting. To an extend, I did/ do care. I am fascinated by it, that's still true. But I just absolutely could not make myself care about the clients I slaved away for. And that killed my soul a little.
Though it was expected that all employees spend time at various venues the firm designed, I never did. Not once. Not only was I unenthusiastic about dressing up to go somewhere that would require I pretend to be hip, I honestly couldn't afford to eat or drink there. We worked for the NY elite class. Rich people who art part of some social scene I cannot pretend to understand. Rich people who will pay hundreds of dollars a plate to eat in a restaurant with color-changing seats and crazy, elaborate design. I designed the exterior lighting for a hotel that charged $400 a night per tiny room. When I parents came for to see me, they wanted to stay there but couldn't afford it. They wanted to stay where I had worked, but the reality is that we are not Those People. Infact? I hate Those People. The ones who celebrate their disposable income like that. It made me sick, physically and spiritually, to be working for them.
So far, Christmas Carrol has had two previews. The patrons at each preview are 500 children who have received free tickets (sponsored by donors). Most have never been inside a theatre in their lives. For a program mention, Starbucks provides us with free cookies and hot chocolate for the kids. Admittedly, I was worried about what 500 sugared-up children running around my mixer platform would be like.
But you know what? Its healing my soul. The show is full of old school theatre tricks. The basic tricks that really work. Hiding people behind other actors so that they can suddenly "appear", set pieces on wheels attached to a black rope, pushed on stage by a crew member wearing black gloves that appear to be floating, old fashioned hoist and pulley fly systems for the "ghosts." There's no machine automation, just elbow grease and a few well-timed blackouts.
And the kids eat it up! They absolutely love the show. We all spend the show laughing at the sound of 500 children gasping or laughing or screaming. From my platform in the house, I can here ten year old boys try to figure out how something just happened or yell, "Woah!". I get to watch the five year old little girl who plays Want pick her nose on stage.
I've been overdrawn and stressed out, paying past due amounts just in time, rationing the gas in my car, and extending forbearances.
But I have to tell you - each one of those little kid crowd reactions fills me with such warmth that I am glad to have given up 20k in salary for this. This is one of the most right choices I've made.
Thankfully, this latest tech period is proving to be a total life saver. I've been dreading the start of A Christmas Carrol since I started here. Everyone walks around moaning about how they've done it so many times and there are so many children and so many early matines and long days. Moan, huff, doom, terror. To make matters worse, my "supervisor" has been telling me that Christas Carrol is the Biggest Sound Install EVER and oh my god, we'll never get it done and he's hired a million people to help and we will work all day and all night. So yes, I was completely dreading this show.
In the end, however, this show has been a godsend. There have definitely been frustrations - most having to do with the ineptitude of my boss and the ridiculous hours it causes me to work - and I'm tired from 10 out of 12s that are really 14 out of 12s. But MAN, this show reminds me why I chose to go back to theatre.
Last year, I began a job that paid more than either of my parents have ever made in their lives. I knew it wasn't what I wanted, but I was way too scared to turn down the security and, frankly, I didn't have the balls it takes to do theatre. I thought that I could force myself to change into someone who cared about architectural lighting. To an extend, I did/ do care. I am fascinated by it, that's still true. But I just absolutely could not make myself care about the clients I slaved away for. And that killed my soul a little.
Though it was expected that all employees spend time at various venues the firm designed, I never did. Not once. Not only was I unenthusiastic about dressing up to go somewhere that would require I pretend to be hip, I honestly couldn't afford to eat or drink there. We worked for the NY elite class. Rich people who art part of some social scene I cannot pretend to understand. Rich people who will pay hundreds of dollars a plate to eat in a restaurant with color-changing seats and crazy, elaborate design. I designed the exterior lighting for a hotel that charged $400 a night per tiny room. When I parents came for to see me, they wanted to stay there but couldn't afford it. They wanted to stay where I had worked, but the reality is that we are not Those People. Infact? I hate Those People. The ones who celebrate their disposable income like that. It made me sick, physically and spiritually, to be working for them.
So far, Christmas Carrol has had two previews. The patrons at each preview are 500 children who have received free tickets (sponsored by donors). Most have never been inside a theatre in their lives. For a program mention, Starbucks provides us with free cookies and hot chocolate for the kids. Admittedly, I was worried about what 500 sugared-up children running around my mixer platform would be like.
But you know what? Its healing my soul. The show is full of old school theatre tricks. The basic tricks that really work. Hiding people behind other actors so that they can suddenly "appear", set pieces on wheels attached to a black rope, pushed on stage by a crew member wearing black gloves that appear to be floating, old fashioned hoist and pulley fly systems for the "ghosts." There's no machine automation, just elbow grease and a few well-timed blackouts.
And the kids eat it up! They absolutely love the show. We all spend the show laughing at the sound of 500 children gasping or laughing or screaming. From my platform in the house, I can here ten year old boys try to figure out how something just happened or yell, "Woah!". I get to watch the five year old little girl who plays Want pick her nose on stage.
I've been overdrawn and stressed out, paying past due amounts just in time, rationing the gas in my car, and extending forbearances.
But I have to tell you - each one of those little kid crowd reactions fills me with such warmth that I am glad to have given up 20k in salary for this. This is one of the most right choices I've made.
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