The call from a neighbor to my office asked, “Could you come home early? There’s been a fire in your apartment and Steve needs you.” I just thought Steve tried to light the pilot light in the oven & something blew. When I got home, however, it seemed like everyone in our apartment building was in my apartment helping clear the debris from a fire. A real fire. I mean fire engines/911/& a completely gutted, black bedroom.
The story goes that my Sir Galahad of a husband entered our apartment via the upstairs balcony in the middle of a raging fire, crawled thru the smoke-filled living room to unlock the front door just in time for the fire fighters to throw him to safety and take over our apartment. In the aftermath, smoke damage throughout, I kept thinking “don’t throw that out — it means so much to us — I’ll clean it. I’ll repair everything.” But no — everything went into the trash. Jewelry. Hats. Pictures. OMG, the pictures. I’d only just finished building the hall picture gallery with a tribute to both our ancestry. Gone. All gone.
And bit by bit, we rebuilt. I found a new hat, we primed and painted and recreated our safe haven — even better than it was before. Is there something to be learned here? Is there really a rainbow at the end of every storm? I like to believe that to be true. BUT . . .
Visualization of a dream, I’ve learned, only manifests thru good ole sweat equity. Somehow rebuilding our apartment was much more tangible than say, rebuilding one’s career.
How does one stay inspired?
The new 9/11 Memorial is incredibly inspiring. It honors those who lost their lives with the purifying surge of waterfalls; allowing space for reflection and meditation. This summer my husband and I walked barefoot on the grass between the Washington Memorial and the Lincoln Center Memorial, cooling off in the wading pool of the WWII Memorial in Washington DC. Mind-boggling to know how many lives were lost in defense of our American principles — and what beauty we can create in tribute to those memories.
In a weird way, I’m doing that with this website. I honor my past; I’m inspired by our unions who fight for diversity (being over-40 is now considered “diversity”); fight for respect in a media world where youth & beauty trumps talent. If you’re fresh out of college with an MFA in Theater, Film or Dance, you deserve to be paid for your skill. Don’t waste your time and talent on jobs that do not pay into your pension & provide you with health care. Encourage producers who want YOU to “go union.”
In the meantime, know that it’s never too late to pursue that dream. My daughters still think I’m crazy, but I would never trade the last few years spent manifesting Rehearsal Club Magic for dollars in the bank vulnerable to yet another crash.
Some things you earn in this life just can’t go up in smoke. They’re a part of your soul.
