I’m in the very early phases of a new theater project in DC, or rather what may become a new theater project. Right now, I’m researching the community and the potential opportunity for my idea to spread its wings in this new city. It would be the biggest project I’ve ever considered doing, and therefore requires more research and consideration than any other decision I’ve ever made.
Whenever I’m approaching a big idea, I break it down into its smallest elements as fast as possible. That way I can take it one piece at a time. I can see myself approaching from a distance. I have to time to prepare and can take in the whole landscape around the idea.
There’s a time for taking a giant leap. There’s a time to run toward something as fast as our legs will carry us. And there’s nothing wrong with testing the waters before diving in head first. It’s the best way to avoid the rocks and provide us with smooth sailing.
Have you ever thought of saying, “I’m just too old to…” or “By now I should have…” I started think these types of thoughts a few years ago as I sailed through my mid-30s, an age that in my 20s seemed so…far…away.
Now I’ve learned that life isn’t formulaic. Absolutely nothing goes according to some magical timeline. Nowhere is it written that by X age, Y must happen. I did things in my 20s that I never thought I’d be able to do until I was in my 40s. I’m doing things now that I always assumed I’d do at a far younger age. I never dreamed that at the ripe old age of 39 that I’d have more energy and better health than I did when I was 22. But that’s what’s happened.
I thought that by 39, I would perhaps feel a bit jaded or maybe even stuck in my ways. Instead, I feel more optimistic than ever. More confident and more alive than I ever did in my 20s. Instead of thinking, “I can’t do this or that. I’m 39!” I now think “I’m 39. I better get that done.” Aging is its own gift if we let it be.
“Stories make potential futures tangible.” ~Business Model Generation by Alexander Osterwalder and Yves Pigneur
Stories are powerful. When I was in the midst of a very stressful move from Florida to D.C. all while conducting a job search and nursing my sweet dog, Phin, back to health, my friend, Alex, encouraged me to think about life three months down the line. Florida, the job search, and Phin’s recovery would all be behind me by then and the future would look much brighter than it did from my vantage point in February. Or would it?
As much as I believe in stories, I wasn’t sure this approach would work. I thought it was a nice idea, but in many ways I doubted its power. Could I really bring a reality into being just by writing it down? Was I just deluding myself with a happy future narrative? Was I choosing fantasy over reality? Despite my hesitations, I took Alex’s advice. I didn’t have any better ideas.
Looking back now, not everything panned out as expected. Remarkably, and much to my surprise, about 90% of it did. Since that 3-month mark in May, more challenges have found their way across my path and I’ve written letters to myself from the vantage point of October. I figured if it worked in February, arguably one of the very lowest points of my life, then why not now, too?
The journey from February to May wasn’t easy nor was it solved with some pixie dust and a wand. It’s magic was more grounded than that. It was filled with doubt, fear, sadness, and loneliness. It was also filled with a ton of hard work, courage, determination, and learning. It was a time when I took solace in my friendships with people near and far, a time when I believed in the goodness of those friends who were more than willing to lend a hand or two or three because I had the strength to ask for help.
I re-read the story crafted by my 3-month older self over and over again during that time, and it helped me get up every day and keep working. It helped me believe that I could and would make things better. I just had to keep showing up and not give up. That story gave me strength in a time when I desperately needed it. And strength, especially in the face of difficulty and loss, is its own kind of grounded magic. It’s something to believe in.
I’ll go see any show that’s a take on Alice in Wonderland, my favorite book of all-time. Last weekend I went to see Dodgeball Theatre‘s steampunk-inspired ALICE, a part of Capital Fringe. Performed in the round with exaggerated stage movement and outlandish characterizations of the story roles I love so much, I was able to see the story in a whole new light.
Seductive undertones, a dream-like weaving of the story’s most famous lines, and a triumphant Alice all made me realize that stories, like life, are malleable. Words are only the beginning. Physical movement, rich visuals, and lush music can transform lines of text into an experience that we can dive into head first and never look back. Like the white rabbit, I lost all sense of time and space as I looked on waiting to see where this multi-talented and imaginative cast would take me. Falling down the rabbit hole with them was a delight.
You can still catch ALICE on Thursday, July 16th, Saturday, July 18th, Tuesday, July 21st, and Saturday, July 25th. And if I were you, I’d mark these down as very important dates to relish how theater can make an old story new again.
There’s a time to dream and a time to do. Know and respect the two.
“If you freeze an idea too quickly, you fall in love with it. If you refine it too quickly, you become attached to it and it becomes very hard to keep exploring, to keep looking for better. The crudeness of the early models in particular is very deliberate.” ~ Jim Glymph, Gehry Partners
Right now, I’m kicking around some ideas for a new theater project here in D.C. I’m excited about the possibilities that this community offers. It’s open and welcoming vibe is just what I’ve been looking for and it’s opened up my sense of what’s possible.
Whenever I begin a new project, I try to leave my mind open for as long as possible. Eventually, I do need to synthesize my ideas but I try to stay in the generation process as long as is feasible. Sometimes, we’re so anxious to get to an answer and then get on with the work.
This quote from Jim Glymph reminds me that there’s a time to dream and a time to do. Both of those states are equally important to the creative process and each deserves its due.
My storytelling showcase is on Monday, 8/24 at 7pm
Come one, come all! The free showcase for my storytelling class with SpeakeasyDC has been announced. It will be on Monday night, August 24th, at 7pm at Acre 121 in Columbia Heights. 1/2 price apps, $5 drinks, and me telling a true story about my life on stage with 5 other brave souls. All are welcome and please feel free to spread the word. I’d love to see your smiling faces in the audience. To RSVP, click here.
“How hard is it to decide to be in a good mood and be in a good mood once in a while?” ~Say Anything
Believing in happiness and magic, and believing that they are one and the same, is a choice. And it’s a choice I’ve decided to make. In the last few weeks, I’ve felt a heavy cloud lifting a little bit every day. I’m exploring more, reaching out more, experiencing more in a fuller and more complete way than I have in a long time.
The rain is tough to trudge through, but it does clear away the grime that weighs us down. So if you’re in the midst of trudging, please know that I’m cheering you on to the other side. I know the road is long and difficult, but it can be traversed. You got this.
There is a lot of pressure all around us to be someone other than who we are. The desire and need to be accepted and loved is powerful. We sometimes conform to someone else’s mold to capture that love.
What I’ve learned is that true love and acceptance in any form doesn’t ask us to change. It embraces who we fully are – the light and the dark, the beautiful and the ugly, the perfect and the imperfect. And if someone can’t take in all that you are, then they don’t get any part of you at all.
So don’t get in line. Flip yourself upside down and live out loud. All we have is a one-way ticket, and we need to make the most of the ride. Be who you are.
“All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story.”
“All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story.” ~Isak Dinesen, Danish author
No matter the source, sorrows multiply when you leave them in your mind and heart. I write mine out. Sometimes in a journal, often on this blog, and sometimes in my fiction. A few days ago, I was editing a part of my book, Where the Light Enters, and I realized that I could work in some real-life emotions that have plagued me recently. The moment I did that, I felt lighter. Not free necessarily, but stronger and relieved to see these emotions be given a purpose. We can’t always prevent disappointment, heartbreak, or regret, but we can always use it to create something of value. We can always make it meaningful.
As I prepare to start my storytelling class at SpeakeasyDC in a few weeks, I’ve been sorting through different stories I’ve written and thinking about the stories I’d like to tell on a stage. The ones that are closest to my heart, that are like oxygen to me, leave me choked up. Sometimes teary-eyed. And I wonder, “How on Earth am I going to not only kick my stage fright (which is honestly so hideous my stomach turns just thinking about standing on a stage) but also find a way to tell a true story that matters to me, out loud for other people to hear?”
I start to think,“Oh God, this is the worst idea I’ve had yet. Am I insane? Do I get some kind of odd thrill out of being terrified?” I think the answer to all of those questions is a resounding, “Yes!” And I also think that’s okay. I find the whole process of telling my story to an audience terrifying. I can present business cases, teach yoga and meditation classes, and offer advice by the truckload in front of an audience without missing a beat. Letting an audience rummage around inside my mind and heart while their eyes are fixed on me? I can barely breathe.
But the thing is that I will breathe. But with difficulty, but I’ll do it. Maybe because of the training I get in the class. Maybe out of sheer pride. I’ll find a way to screw up enough courage to plant my feet on that stage, clear my throat, take a deep breath, and say what I have to say as truthfully and as clearly as I can.
Christa Avampato 