Time flies when you're life is full...

I believe the last time I wrote, I had just moved back to Minnesota. And it was 2011.

It's now the end of 2013 and I'm a wife, a mother, a dog owner and an Education Director at a theatre company. Like the title suggests, time flies when the minutes are full.

A few years ago, someone said to me, "The days are long but the years are short." It's haunted me. I think about it when I have to stay late at rehearsal, wondering if I'm missing my life, if I'm missing THEIR lives.  Because I'm a family now…so the sense of singularity that once wove itself thru my being has been completely eradicated.

I'm not sad about that.

Ben and I got a dog, Wallace, February 23, 2011. He was an old souled bulldog who changed me fast and left the world all too early, 4 days after his first birthday. But he started our family. We became an US when we got our boy.  The past was finally behind us and we stepped forward together every day, making plans around this little furry thing with the wiggly butt. After Wallace passed, Gilbert entered our home, our second bulldog puppy. Poor Gilbert had heartbroken parents in the beginning and big shoes to fill, but is now the comedian of the family and a non-stop cuddle fiend. He's my boy. Wallace was Ben's…but Gilbert's mine.

We got married May 25, 2012. It was a PERFECT evening and the best party I've ever been to. It was 100% authentic to who we are together, who we are separately, who we want to be as a family moving forward. And now that I come to think of it, it was the last time I was drunk. Like I said…good party.

We found out we were pregnant--surprise!--Labor Day 2012. I had always been told it would be hard for me. A score of physical and emotional scarring in my reproductive area lead me (& doctors) to believe, if it should happen, it'd have to be assisted. Apparently not. We were so happy. We named the little bean in the first 3 days and started making plans.  I felt sacred, having a life growing in me. 15 days after we found out, I lost the baby.  And while I knew that 1 in 4 pregnancies end that way--heck, my mom and mother-in-law both had miscarriage stories--I felt broken. Like my body had failed our family. Like it always would.

So we picked ourselves up and brushed ourselves off and went on with the living. "No pressure--we're not ready anyway--we weren't planning on it--let's save money--let's just enjoy each other--we just got married after all!"  Thanksgiving morning 2012, I had a feeling. And the empty window of a plastic stick showed a plus sign again.

She stuck this time.

Lynnea Nicole was born August 9, 2013 at 9:09am. After 3 days of induction, I finally had a C-section to get her out--she was 2 weeks late.  She was in the right position, a great size, perfectly formed, old enough to come, but….this is not a child who does things she doesn't want to do.  She came in this world fiercely independent and knowing her own mind.

I like that.

The moment you meet your child who has grown inside you, who you have been daydreaming about and making calculated guesses about for the last 40 (or 42, whatever) weeks is one of those moments in your life when time stands still and KNOWS to wait for you. They put her on my chest and I already heard her mighty lungs and her clear voice through the walls of the room they had taken her to to clean her up.  Her roar made me smile, as I knew she was mine. The whole team was laughing at her volume.

"She sounds pretty mad in there."

I said, "Well, what do you expect? We've been trying to get her out for the past 3 days--she hasn't been interested. And now we just pulled her out by force.  She's PISSED."

They laughed at me--a pity laugh, to be sure, as one should always be nice to the woman whose abdomen you're sewing up that minute.

And then she was there roaring right over my face, and they put her on my chest. I pulled her up to my face so we were cheek to cheek, Her fingers closed around my mouth and I said, "Lynnea, I'm your momma." Our little lioness went silent.  She knew me and I knew her. Our skin finally got to touch.

A few hours later, when I recovered, I held her again, without shaking shock-weary arms and we just looked at each other.  I moved her to my shoulder and wouldn't you know, my girl at 4 hours old, tried to hold her head up on her own.  She wanted to look where she wanted to look, and I was in awe that the first thing she did when she entered this world was proclaim her presence to all those who could hear and then start about the business of holding her head up high.

"Never grow a wishbone, my child, where you're backbone ought to be."

She's 15 weeks old on Friday. Which is wild because I don't remember life without her and yet I can't believe so much time has passed already.  She's already gotten so big and learned so much.  I've already learned so much and yet still feel lost sometimes. Who put this living being in my care? How can I protect her from everything out there? How will I ever be enough as a mother? A wife? An artist? A provider? Where do all my identities fit when someone on this earth needs me for survival? And why, do I suddenly not care to work the hours that used to fill me up so full?

Having  a front row seat to a life experiencing the world for the first time fills me up with creative energy in way I've never known. I feel as if I could write a poem, a book, a play, a song, a dance every day if the world would allow it…

So maybe I'll blog again.  Maybe. I have so much to say and yet don't' know the words...

My own Happiness Project

After a particularly rough year which was spent in dark places for a vast majority of it, I made a pretty huge decision on March 27 (gotta love journaling and being able to track yourself to the date, huh?) to be happy. And to do anything it was going to take to be happy. Forget other people's expectations, forget perceptions that may cause noise in your clarity, forget it all and do whatever it takes to be happy. So I made a few major decisions:

1. I moved back to Minnesota.

2. I moved in with my long-time love, Ben, finally fully committing to this man who has been dealing with my ups and downs for over four years.

3. I stopped searching for "day jobs" and renewed my search for my job in my field.

4. I stopped asking people for their opinions.

I moved home April 28 as I had a show to begin at Renegade Theatre in Duluth and Ben found us a place in St. Louis Park, which we love. Then I started chasing happiness! Since then, I have booked some amazing gigs that last throughout the summer (Falsettos at Bryant Lake Bowl, Summer Theatre Director at Breck School, Directing a Make-a-Play initiative at Yellow Tree Theatre, Teaching dance at Escalate Dance, and Choreographing Miss Nelson is Missing at Stages Theatre Company) and THEN I got an amazing job offer which I accepted. I am the new Asst. Professor of Musical Theatre at St. Catherine's University in St. Paul. It's a brand new major, I'm getting in on the ground level of a department, get to be a part of curriculum development and I get freaking benefits! And Ben and I are really, really happy. Like a whole new world of it. Home feels so good. New York was never home.

But happiness is elusive. In May I drove home every weekend from Duluth and Suz gave me this book one of those weekends--before all those gigs were booked and the dream job come to fruition. And I read it--http://www.happiness-project.com/--and I loved it. It made me think.

So first you make some commandments--I've decided mine look like this:

1. There is only love.

2. Words have consequences.

3. Don't be paralyzed; be productive.

4. You are bigger than your past.

5. You chose this.

6. Other people's opinions are none of my business.

7. I have enough.

8. Screw Rent--Live for more than today...money and health require it.

9. Be an artist and a scholar everyday.

10. Food doesn't fill you; only love does.

I'm going to try and live with these a bit and see where to go from there!

http://vimeo.com/14803194

WOMAN.

I want to write something for Women's Herstory Month. I want to write of our lives getting better. I want to write of the magical equity that has come for us finally!

But I've had a strange few days...that make me think that just isn't true. Or perhaps the city is just getting to me. You be the judge.

1. On St. Patrick's Day, I was temping in Midtown. At lunch, I walked to Starbucks to find a college party going on in the streets. A young girl walked in front of me wearing the top of a green string bikini and white daisy dukes with an Irish flag wrapped around her shoulders...in MARCH. In the upper East Coast. As she walked by a particularly enthused group of young men, they yelled, "Show us your Irish tits!"

She stopped indignantly and screamed, "You can't talk to me like that!"

To which, I wonder, Sweetheart, what were you looking for then? And my next thought was, oh God, I'm just as bad as them.

2. The next morning on my way to this temping job, a homeless man on the train called me pretty and then whipped his dick out at me. I left the train to another car. No one else seemed to be bothered by it.

3. When I got to work that day for a temping agency that I haven't gotten much work for, I realize why. There is a line of 24 of us working this event for our Long Island white dude boss and I see how him talking real close and flirty to a co-worker. I look around and I see that I am the only white woman working, the only woman over a size 4 working and there are only 2 other white men (both of whom asked me for a sandwich when I dropped off office supplies at their station!)--every one else is a hot little black girl. The guy's got a type, that's for sure. Is this why I'm not getting work? I'm not the right KIND of woman?

4. I then introduce myself to the woman to my right, as we are about to spend 3 days together. Me: Hi, I'm Nikki.

Her: I don't need to know you.

Me: (stunned) Why not?

Her: I'm an angry black woman, that's why! (No I am not making this up.)

Me: Why are you so angry?

Her: Why are so entitled?!

Me: You're right, we don't need to know each other.

5. A few weeks ago, a actor friend of mine posted a comedy sketch she wrote and stars in and asked for feedback. Now, she is a beautifully talented woman. I watched this sketch and saw it was all about an abusive, violent, disrespectful man as her boyfriend being called out during a game of pictionary and the biggest punchline is that at the end, as she leaves him with her friend behind, he locks the door to rape the other girl. Literally the word "rape" is used no less than 10 times. There is nothing funny about this. And it was written, produced and featured WOMEN. When my friend asked me my thoughts, I told her with a lot of love and kindness. I haven't heard from her or anyone involved, all long-time friends, since.

6. I've found myself in the company of drag queens (imitation is the sincerest form of flattery no?) and gay men a lot lately. A LOT. On Monday, I went to two shows for friends: Manila Luzon hosting a viewing of RuPaul's Drag Race and Too Ugly for TV, hosted by Vodka Stinger at Pieces. Now it's an art to be a queen. And these two friends are totally different calibers: one is all look, one is all act. They are both stunning and have large followings in the city. And I know drag is about illusion!

But I'm at Boxers with these drag queens who are 6'3", teeny tiny men with ample padding in the right areas only and are just beautiful...and these men are LOVING them! No woman could ever look this way, but. So a friend of Manila's comes up to him while she is talking to me, and he literally blows me off and dismisses me by saying, "Yuck. A REAL girl." Manila sets him straight so fast, it's impressive as she and I go back a decade. But I start to feel that is the most honest statement I've heard all night or EVER in this community.

I then go to the next show to witness a segment called, Name that Ass, in which really gross, pornographic shots are displayed and then inaccurately put with celebrities. Again, I am among many drag queens and drag queen lovers and every time a picture of a vagina was put up, there was an uproar of how disgusting it was. You cannot imagine the outrage. Tallulah, another host, most deftly said, "I know, REAL lady parts...I try not to think they exist."

What's a woman to do when rejected or judged by size, race, authenticity and self? When will people understand what REAL WOMEN NEED, what REAL WOMEN ARE CAPABLE OF?! And really, the most important question is: When will women decide to GET REAL and STOP BEING A PART OF THE PROBLEM?

-OR- Maybe the city and this industry is just getting to me.

I had an Guardian Angel Cabbie.

I'm still upstate. Leaving on the red eye greyhound tonight after 3 weeks at Nazareth College. Saturday, I had an entire day off. Allen was off at a work call and then strike. I was in his house alone without transportation and the walls starting closing in on me.

So I called a cab to bring me to a mall. Any mall. I didn't care. I went to yelp.com and called the first number on the list (yelp ranks by rating).

This man named Al from Ethiopia picked me up, a nice guy in his late 40s. He had his MBA and a house on Lake Ontario. He used to work for Merrill Lynch and made 6 figures as a national merchant. When the economy exploded, his job asked him to relocate to Atlanta. He had raised his dead brother's kids and they were off in college, but he just couldn't sell his house. His amazing house on the shores of Lake Ontario. So he lost his job. He couldn't uproot his life. There he was, an Ethiopian middle aged transplant who was affluent, educated and out of work. And he couldn't get work.

So he researched the business mediums of the area and discovered that the taxi business has very little fluctuation financially regardless of economic status of an area. He started working for a local company for three months to learn the business and opened his own company immediately. He has five cars and amazing word of mouth/internet press for his company. He makes good money, "not big money, but good money" and is happy.

So I asked him, after he dropped all these huge national names he used to work with, if he was happy doing this seemingly lesser or remedial job now after all of the success he had experienced. Without hesitation he answered yes. He told me that in the last two years, of the three colleagues he was closest to, 2 had heart attacks and 1 was fired after relocating his family. He's watched the market crash and see his accounts disintegrate on the news. Everyone thought he was crazy for staying, for reducing himself to a cab company, but he insisted it was the plan for him. To stay put and live a simpler, "more divine" life.

"Nikki, how can the soul flourish if it has no roots?"

Then I was at a broken down Macy's in the depressed Rochester Mall.

The Universe is a mysterious thing.

The Dog Days are Over.

About a week ago, I turned 30.

I wish I could say I'd learned something or felt differently, but mainly the same uphill battle that I have been stuck in since graduating in May continues...

Floating, floating, floating...I'm ready to land.

Dog Days...

The Dog Days are really getting down there...yikes! Less than a month of 20-something behavior to go!

A word on inspiration, since I have toted the Artist title for some time....

Inspiration, creation and execution are not the same thing.

Of these three things, it's hard to say what is the most important, but I guess I'd have to say, inspiration. Without it the other two, don't exist, nor does capital-A-artistry.

However inspiration's best friend tends to be another evil 'tion.'...procrastination.

Which makes me think that execution is the most important portion of the trifecta in art.

One way or the other, art continues and it always will if society is to grow and flourish. I am proud to be a part of it, but wary of it's process on the psyche. Boy, this is getting convoluted.

Perhaps I'll have more insight on the matter in the dog days of my 30s...

But probably not.

Dog Days #11

No, not diamonds, GAYS are a girl's best friend.

We were built to love each other. Straight guys will never truly understand it, but it's the truth.

Why? No competition, no threat, just understanding of the inner psyche. We can't be catty (I mean, we ARE when it's fun but...) because WE AREN'T THE SAME THING.

But we can be supportive and a true confidante because we were woven with tiny beautiful sparkly threads from the same cloth.

And don't you dare call me a Fag Hag. That's ugly language for a beautiful thing.

Sometimes a girl needs a man to hold her...

And sometimes a man needs a girl to dote on him...

You don't need to be in a romantic relationship to have those things. You just need a good friend.

Only in New York...

So I was on the N yesterday, reading, on my way to the APAP convention to see the Rhythmic Circus guys do their thing.

And then a man walked by me in his underwear...which caused me to look up. And then I looked down the train and there were 12 other people without pants on.

My stop was the next one and I thought, "Is there a pants-less flash mob happening somewhere?" as more pant-free train riders entered the N doing downtown.

Turns out it was this: http://improveverywhere.com/missions/the-no-pants-subway-ride/

To this I say...I guess I live in New York now. The Pants-Less Revolution of yesterday was the final straw in making me realize this. And I realized it with a smile.

Dog Days #10...The Plate Theory

"Always be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle." PLATO

This is perhaps the most helpful and grounding theory I have learned throughout my 20s. My mom taught it to me and I have passed it on to most everyone I've really loved.

Everyone has a full plate. Everyone is going through something and is mid-challenge. It is painfully real for everyone, the thing that they are facing.

But do you ever listen to a friend obsess about something that seems trivial and is causing them real pain and you think, holy shit, that is nothing compared to what I am dealing with right now? Or, how can they be complaining, at least they have a roof over their head and running water in their life? Or, how could you talk about something so stupid when you know what I'm going through right now? They are your friend and you want to be there for them, but damn...it's hard.

That's when the Plate Theory comes into play.

While it is true that everyone is dealing with a full plate, everyone has a different size plate. Some people can only deal with a few things because they've got a smallish plate--a tea saucer maybe--while others operate with seemingly too many things at once but still function because they've got a bigger plate--perhaps a banquet table full of plates.

Regardless of the size of that plate, it still feels like a full plate to that person. You have no right to judge what's on their plate or how they are dealing with their full plate--because it feels the same to them as your full plate feels to you. Overwhelming, painful, challenging, self-doubting, anxiety-ridden.

So be patient. Be kind. A full plate is a full plate and we're all doing the best we can.

Dog Days of my Twenties..continued!

Sorry, Dad, I've got to do it....

Let's talk about sex, baby.

Here's the thing--in my experience--it's only good when a) you want it, b) you feel good about yourself with the person you're doing it with, c)there are genuine feelings of affection and caring--dare I say, LOVE--between the two of you and d)you're comfortable enough to ask for what you need or direct said-partner to give it to you.

If any of those things do not apply, it's not worth it. 21-year old Nikki would have never believed me on this because it seemed like everyone in the world was doing it but her and it made her feel like an outcast and an unloveable ogre but it's the truth. The movies, the television shows, those awful beauty magazines that do nothing but make you feel ugly, they keep telling you that sex is always good, sex is always sexy and everyone is having sex.

Lies, young Nikki, lies. Sex is sloppy and kinda awkward at times and there's giggling involved and no, you don't orgasm in 2 minutes every time. Lies, media monster, lies.

But man, when it's good and you are with someone who knows your body and loves you...

It really does make the world go around. And that's the damn truth.

We break from the Dog Days for this Update...

"I wanna be a part of it..."

And now I am. I officially am an inhabitant of New York City.

The facts:

1. I live in Astoria off of Ditmars. A lovely, lovely neighborhood where it does seem that they all know each other. I am subletting from a friend through April.

2. No, I don't have a job yet. But I am hopeful. I have a master's and am not afraid of work. It also turns out that while I cannot swallow my artistic integrity, I am totally able to swallow my pride so bring on the jobs!

3. This is a permanent move until I have a secured a teaching gig somewhere that is right for me...which may be years, but in the meantime, I will keep trying. I miss teaching.

The ambitions:

1. To have a reading up of my new play by May.

2. To continue sending out vT to other theatres for production.

3. To reach out to as many connections as possible to try to get in as an assistant director on larger productions.

4. To maintain a day job that can pay my bills and not kill my soul while working the biz.

5. To be able to deepen my yoga practice at the Jivamukti studio.

6. To keep getting better, mind body and soul, as I figure it out out here.

The truths:

1. I've unpacked for the first time in 7 months. It feels good.

2. Sometimes this city feels really natural and like I've always been here. It's always been that way every time I visit. I think because I've spent so much time here, this move doesn't feel like a big deal. It feels really normal.

3. Something has got to change from how life has been since May. This has got to work.

Dog Days #8

If you want people to except you for who YOU are, you better be excepting them for who THEY are.

Family and teachers included.

Dog Days of my Twenties...#8

Boys who won't cuddle won't call you pretty in the morning either.

Dog Days of my Twenties...#7

Some of us have life long struggles. We may win battles and lose battles...but the war trudges on regardless of what the rest of our lives look like.

It's important that we acknowledge and come to peace with that struggle because sometimes it's all you have. So you might as well be friendly with it.

Mine is my body. I know this.

I've been thin--ish. I've been morbidly obese. I've been really physically fit. I've been a dancer. I've been unable to make it up stairs without wheezing. I've had surgeries and diseases and chronic pain and achieved amazing things with it. I've done this all before age 30.

I can only imagine how this body of mine which I have abused and cherished is going to age...I'm praying for grace but hoping for, at least, acceptance.

In the meantime...the war wages on.

Dog Days of my Twenties...#6

Things that are worth it:

Teaching.

Relationship with God.

Love. In all of its forms.

Trying to find it.

Losing all sense of vanity and maturity due to a really good giggle with friends.

Coffee. Yes, it's really all it's been hyped to be. Believe.

Dog Days of Twenties...#5

Job-hunting never goes away. A degree does not mean employment and employment does not mean happiness. Happiness does not mean having money and having money does not mean ease. And ease...well, it's ephemeral so enjoy it.

What I am trying to say is, nothing actually is what it's been advertised as. Especially being a grown up. No one can really tell you when you ARE one or what being one actually means. And I kinda like that.

Dog Days of my Twenties...#4

Musts: Try it.

Don't try it.

Think about it.

Does it feel right?

Then seriously, do it.

-and-

Moisturize daily.

Dog Days of my Twenties...#3

This lesson brought to you by Nikki, age 23-25 and the cities of Boston and Manhattan.

Lesson #3: Credit Cards and Designer labels have no business being friends when you live paycheck to paycheck. (This lesson could also be classified under: You are not Carrie Bradshaw--she isn't real, wouldn't be able to pay her bills and probably has STDS.)

When I was 23, two things happened for me: 1) I got a fantastic job at a shi-shi boarding school with a faculty dress code, necessitating a move to a city whose cost of living was 33% higher than my current one and 2) I lost 85 lbs. throughout the course of that year, necessitating a new wardrobe.

My students were privileged, their parents were rich, my colleagues were much older and most married (which I now realize means two incomes, one house) and I taught at a school where students wore only designer their entire lives and went to NYC every weekend to catch Bway shows at $125 a ticket. I seriously took one of them to a Target for the first time in their life. (And for a Marshall girl, Target is something.)

Anyway, I maxed out my credit card in the first three months and got another one to be able to do Christmas in MN with presents and such. I signed a lease on an apartment way beyond my means, joined a gym and spent all of my money on clothes. I swear, the only reason I lost so much weight is because I didn't have money for food and had nothing to do but go to the gym. I was lonely and broke. But my shoes looked great. And while I was shopping Chinatown and designer discount outlets, I was shopping.

I moved home to Minneapolis at 25 with two maxed out cards and a ready-reserve at its limit. Two years out of college, I had managed to add to my personal debt enough to match my student loans. WTF, my friends, WTF...

No shoes look that good.

I paid off those credit cards finally last spring while going to grad school, NOT SHOPPING, and paying my student loans. At the end of 3 years of living on a stipend and side gigs, I left grad school with no credit card debt and half of my undergrad paid off, wearing Target clothing and my Boston leftovers the whole time.

And now, living gig-to-gig, all I know is the second I land some sort of extended gig, I'm buying a new pair of shoes. And they will be fierce...but moderately priced.

The Dog Days of my Twenties...#2

Lesson #2 I was kind enough to figure out throughout the last 9 years and 10 months:

Mom was wrong: Gossip DOES make you popular. It's the easiest way to break the ice in a group of "powerful people," make the right connections at business bar times in this business and make you seem funny and connected. Used correctly, Gossip WILL make you popular.

But it also makes you an easy target. Like, if you want to paint a red bullseye on your face, talk shit about someone. Seriously. Here comes retribution in 5...4...3...2...--

So don't do it. It's never worth it. Those people suck anyway. And the people worth your time are on the fringes trying to figure their way around those tigers in the middle too...

And being a good person is sort of--how do I say this?--awesome. The sleep alone...