Midnight in LA

Musings and brainwaves of an LA artist and storyteller. 

[midnightinla-blog]

Living in the United Divided States of America

By Natalie Camunas 

I write this essay because it is my duty as an artist and citizen of this country. It is my duty to stand up against, not our new president-elect, but to stand up to everything he represents. To combat his hate with my love. I want to address something and make it very clear, for everyone, who can’t seem to understand why this is difficult. This election was not about the candidates. It was about the platforms they have been brought to the mainstream. Opposing platforms. One based in love, hope, equality. The other, our new president elect’s platform, based in racism, homophobia, xenophobia, and misogyny. The despair that has risen is not about having elected a President we disagree with; it’s coming from the unleashing of wrath, anger, hatred, that is allowed to overtake our already great nation.

Election night will live in my heart for as long as I am breathing on this earth. It was the moment that rocked me, and what I for-see will shape me as an adult and artist. I sat in a living room with all types of folks, mainly women, both straight and queer. I won’t forget the collective sound of crying as our new president was announced. The tears that flew from our eyes as we sat in silence, knowing there was nothing to be done, except breathe and hold one another tighter than ever before. The pain was monumental.

I slept uneasily, and had nightmares of what the world would look like when I awoke.

I woke up, dazed, and thinking about the strangest nightmare in which a deranged racist man was elected into our most special office. Only, this was no nightmare, this is now our reality. I began to cry again, the pain in my chest so unbearable, I couldn’t breathe. The sadness I was feeling had a sort of familiarity but I couldn’t place my finger on it, then a friend texted and I knew. It was heartbreak. I am heartbroken that the beautiful place that I was born in, that my parents were born in, has voted to ensure my erasure.

This person, this man, this billionaire that has been elected by the “silent majority” is against me in every way that a person can be. I am a 2nd Gen Mexican-American Queer Woman.

This isn’t about liberals being sore losers.

This isn’t about being upset that Hillary didn’t win.

This is about the fact that someone will now be leading the free world with anger and hate. This man could overturn laws that protect me and my partner and my best friends in our daily lives. This is about safety. 

I could potentially no longer dine at a local diner.

I might be fired from my job. 

I won’t be able to marry the person I share my life with.

That’s all on a legislative basis. But what about my personal safety? 

What about the times when random white men speak to me and then quickly switch into broken Spanish so that “I can understand them better”? When will I stop being asked where I was born?  When will I stop being asked if my parents are legal? When will my partner stop from being body checked by men as we walk down the sidewalk together?  When will people stop seeing racist homophobic rhetoric and start seeing me? Us?   

I am devastated, but I am not afraid. I am not afraid because I live in a blue state where most of the folks around me believe wholeheartedly that love trumps hate. But for my QPOC in all that red, I worry for your safety. I worry about the little girl who hopped on her school bus this morning only to be told by a group of white girls “Shouldn’t you be sitting at the back of the bus today?” I worry about my brothers and sisters who live near the San Francisco home proudly flying the Nazi flag. I worry for the woman of color I went to college with who was sprayed by a water hose walking down the street in Venice, who was drenched until she moved to the other side of the street, where she sat in her wet coat and wept. I worry for my friend, a man of color, who went for a run on the boardwalk in Long Beach only to have a group of white men say “This one can leave too. We don’t need him.” Keep in mind, these incidents all occurred to real people and IN A BLUE STATE. 

This is day two into this man’s election, and the venom is seething out of our broken divided states of America.  

A friend told me he wasn’t surprised by this outcome. Saddened, but not surprised. He’s right. Love didn’t win this election. It was idealistic and maybe naïve to believe that there is more good than bad in the world. But here’s what I know to be true. Anger will usually win, because anger feels so much better than love. Author Janet Fitch wrote “Hatred? Now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but hatred cradles you.”

 And America? Well America has a long history of sweeping it’s problems under the rug and being cradled by the long bristly arms of hatred. We are, in every sense, a dysfunctional family, and we’ve just elected our abusive father to be the most powerful man on earth, hoping that he will love us, just after having beat the shit out of us. America has long been wounded, and confused, and just wanting to be heard. All of us just want to be heard.

The numbers don’t lie. The poorest of the poor, the whitest of the white, have elected this inexperienced billionaire to light the way. How that makes sense, I’ll never understand. But what does make sense is that he used anger to get to them. But for those of you who are angry and voted for this man as a part of the biggest white-lash this country has ever seen: Anger is reckless. It has no compass, no guide. It’s wild and ugly and primal. There might be no coming back, and that is the decision you’ll have to sit with for the next 4 years.

The mask has been removed to reveal the ugly foundation that is and always has been America. We are founded on genocide, on slavery, on theft, on blood. And we have just elected a president who has been endorsed by the KKK. The idea that we were living in a post racial America is a lie. White Supremacy has reared its shameful face, kicking and screaming to return to a time when anger ruled. This man promised that to you. He has encouraged you to “drain the swamp.”

That. Is. Not. My. America. 

So. For those of you in my life who openly or secretly (read: Cowardly) voted for the new president elect, I ask that you open your heart and open your eyes. See. Truly see the result of your anger. Bear witness to the evil that has been unleashed. They say that when you expect the worst in people, they usually deliver. So I choose love. I choose that eyes will open, and you will awaken.

I am hurt. I am scared. I am heartbroken.

But I will not cower. I will not run. I will not hide.

My mere existence is a radical act. Resistance and courage and fight runs through my veins, passed down to me from ancestors bigger and braver than I. As I cast my vote for the person I thought was most qualified to lead our nation with love and respect, I felt as if I stood on the shoulders of ancestral giants. It felt good. It felt right.

But I realize that feeling was premature. Now, I must be the shoulders upon which my daughters will stand on, hopefully, to reach and bust through the hatred and racism and misogyny that holds us all back.  

Until our sadness morphs into mobility and organization, today allow us the space to weep for those who are being made to feel less than. To you, my Muslim community, my LGBTQ community, my People of Color, my immigrant community, my women, I say –

YOU ARE FUCKING MAGIC.

You are love incarnate.

No amount of hatred or anger could ever dull the beauty that is your light.

Keep shining.

You are being held in love and power.

And as my good friend reminded me yesterday, we need to see the darkness to know where to shine our light.

[midnightinla-blog]

Let Hamilton be Hamilton, let it live, let it breathe, let it be successful...without you.

Let Hamilton be Hamilton

                   By Natalie Camunas

The hit Broadway musical Hamilton is causing a bit of a stir because of their verbiage in a recent casting notice. For those of you who are unaware, Hamilton is a play that explores the story of our founding fathers re-told with a primarily Black and Latino cast. The open call for the touring company called specifically for “non-white actors.” Lawyer and human rights activist Randolph McLaughlin cited “this preference for one racial group over another” is against the law in New York City. (You can read the news article published here: http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2016/03/29/hamilton-casting-call-non-white/)

This is a very interesting argument. I am a Mexican-American actor based in Los Angeles. I can’t even count how many roles I am not allowed to audition for because I am not white. Most Broadway shows, most TV shows, most roles in general are written specifically for Caucasian actors. So I do indeed find it “odd” to criticize a Broadway hit that has opened the door for so many actors of color. The lawyer, Randolph McLaughlin, says, “Imagine if a casting call was for WHITES ONLY. Al Sharpton would have a picket line.” Well, perhaps Mr. Sharpton and Mr. McLaughlin should peruse the casting calls of nearly everything currently being produced in Hollywood. Mr. McLaughlin might change his tune and see he’s barking up the wrong tree.

If this is a case based merely on semantics, why does the term “non-white” cause uproar, but “Caucasian Only” is perfectly acceptable terminology in casting? Is there an inherent attitude of acceptance that there are just more roles, (read: more opportunity) for white actors?

It is for these reasons that I began to write, for both stage and screen. As a non-white actor, I saw so many stories that were never about me. I couldn’t find myself anywhere mainstream. Upon the suggestion and tutelage of playwright, Josefina Lopez, I began to write. Now, I can’t stop. I’m writing us into lead roles. Because our stories matter, and more than that, our stories are about life, just like everybody else.

I think if you are outside of the entertainment industry, it might be difficult to understand how and why stories are told, and just how many people and hoops there are to jump through in order to get their film made. Let’s put it this way, it’s no easy feat. Last year, a good friend of mine directed a short film with an Asian-American actress as the lead (she wrote the film as well.) The film was reviewed and one particular reviewer (it should be noted that he is a straight white cis-male) voiced that he was confused as to why the lead character was Asian. It had nothing to do with the storytelling and that “there has to be a reason for alternative casting.” Yeah. Let that sink in. Our existence as actors of color is categorized as other-ness and needs explanation. Our existence needs explanation. Herein lies the problem. The ideology that folks of color are NOT the default, that our culture enters the room before we do. That is the sad truth that Hollywood is based upon. THAT is discrimination. Not a Hamilton casting notice calling for actors of color.

This is why it is so important to tell stories in new ways, in ways that include us, as people, as artists, as the center of our own narratives. Until we learn how to tell our own stories, things can’t change. Claiming our spaces and celebrating who we are is not “anti-white,” it’s necessary, especially in an industry that keeps perpetuating the narrative of us in chains, behind bars, cleaning houses, the list goes on and on. We are more than that. We are dreamers, we are writers, WE ARE ENOUGH. In the words of the closing song from Hamilton, “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” Let’s do it, let’s tell our stories. Pick up that pen, and write. Use your voice. Re-shape the narrative that is working against us.

Quote above by Tory Bullock, Actor/Writer/Director

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I’m currently living and working in Minneapolis, Minnesota on a show called DJ Latinidad’s Latino Dance Party. What just popped up in your head? Probably some sort of idea of what the show looks like, what it’s about, what music is being played, etc. It’s the way our brains work; we are prompted by a concept and we form what we think that concept is.

However, when it comes to seeing, experiencing, reviewing theatre, those preconceived notions of what things “ought” to be, look like, sound like, they should be managed and tucked away into the pockets of your mind, which is part of what makes being a good reviewer difficult.

Today, I read a post on HowlRound titled “Cultural Microaggressions in Theatre Reviews: A Call for Dialogue.” (The article can be found here: http://howlround.com/cultural-microaggressions-in-theatre-reviews-a-call-for-dialogue) Sighs of relief accompanied the reading of this article. I can’t tell you how it feels to read reviews for this current show. Most of the time it consists of holding my breath, waiting for that “spicy” reference or how much “flavor” we have. Yeah. It’s 2016 and Latinos are still being described as a food group.

Some of the most interesting feedback from our show has been the question, “But what about that piece is Latino?” That question irks me in oh so many ways. It implies that the show isn’t “Latino enough.” That were not wearing enough sombreros and speaking Spanish as often, or constantly discussing immigration and socioeconmic status, because that’s all we think about, right?  It implies that sticking to our “Latino” issues is what makes us…Latino. How dare we go outside your sharply drawn box and explore cultural identity in a way that looks different than we’ve done it before.

What would make the work more authentic for you? And the “for you” in this is the crucial piece of this puzzle. Audiences, no matter what their cultural background, have a preconceived idea of what they think Latinidad means, and when we don’t reflect that back to them, they’re displeased.

“But wait…why are these Latinos doing this silly piece about Lemon Jackson’s lemon store? It’s so goofy. How is this Latino?” Insert sigh here. It’s Latino because we’re performing it. Because it’s coming through our gaze, and our voices, and our humor.

I am Latino. Therefore, everything I do is Latino, because it is coming from myself, my brain, my voice. It’s all being filtered through my experience, my latino experience, which makes it authentic and answers my question of what latinidad is.

This is where it gets difficult for people to stomach. I’m not different from you. YOU think we’re different from you. And those are two very different ideologies. In addition to life experience that we share, I have another set of experiences, on top of that, that sometimes intersects, sometimes not, that involves my heritage.

I think it’s a scary thought for an audience to entertain that “This group of people I thought were so different from me all of these years…well, they aren’t so different from me.” We all laugh, we all sing, we all feel loss, we all love.

Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of my life that belong to my Mexican culture, to my Puerto Rican culture. This also comprises my Latinidad.  All of this to say, it’s dangerous to assume what something is, especially a cultural identity. I hope that when audiences come see the show, they can check their preconceived notions of Latinidad at the door, and open their hearts and minds to what we think it is, straight from a troupe of 7 bad ass Latino storytellers.

This show has been a beast to construct. From Day 1, we’ve wrestled and questioned, what is Latinidad to each of us, what does it mean to have a brown body in today’s social and political climate. Truthfully, the 7 of us can’t answer what Latinidad is for anyone, other than ourselves. We don’t speak for all Latinos. There is no finite answer. My experience as a 2nd gen college graduate is different from the grandmother who watched her family grow up speaking English.

But you know what, there’s room for all of it, for all of us. Our stories are valid. Our experience is valid. So far, that’s what Latinidad means for me.  

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Something is bubbling underneath our surface, and it’s beginning to seep out. I remember years ago I’d have so many run ins, awkward situations, and all around hurtful experiences regarding race that I thought were just happening to me.  It can be an alienating experience, like it’s you against the world and the world always has one up.

Now, in 2016, as we approach Oscar season and nominations have been announced, this is the second year in a row where not a single actor of color holds a nomination. Statistically, how is that even possible? Videos from celebrities vowing to boycott the Oscars are going viral, responses to those videos also going viral, interviews with various actors are coming out as well. Many folks, with the widely vocal exception of Janet Hubert and Stacey Dash, are in agreement that this type of shutting out is real, it’s happening, and it shouldn’t be.

Believe me, I think it’s about time that race and diversity has been thrown into the spotlight. I think it’s great that we’re all talking about it. But do you know what I think would be even better?; An actual dialogue about race and diversity, not just shouting things out into the ether and wondering how change might come about. So often “diversity” is used as a strategic catch phrase. Everyone wants to claim diversity, but what does it truly mean to actually strive for and achieve this holy grail of diversity? Diversity: the quality or state of having many different forms, types, ideas, etc. Therefore it would make sense that to tell an authentic story from a marginalized point of view, it will best be told by the folks who’ve experienced it. Diversity is not something that only happens in front of the camera, it has to happen behind the scenes as well, contrary to Matt Damon’s beliefs (aka Damonsplaining). More on that situation here:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-daily-dot/matt-damon-diversity_b_8173804.html).

The Oscar boycott is hardly about the nominations, which is what I think is confusing for folks on the wrong side of history. Jada Pinkett Smith might be upset about Will Smith not receiving an Oscar nod, but it’s so much bigger than that. It’s not about Will, it’s not about Jada, it’s about the exclusion of communities of color in Hollywood. There are no actors of color being nominated in part because the members of the academy are overwhelmingly white and male, but there are very few quality roles written for actors of color, there are very few narratives that include a story not centering around straight white cis maleness, there is very little inclusion of any community of color in Hollywood, which again, statistically astounds me. Los Angeles consists of 48% Latinos, 12% Asian, 10% African American, I can go on but you get the picture. Over 70%, SEVENTY PERCENT, of Los Angeles County is made up of people of color. How is it possible to not have that reflected in film? How? It’s not a rhetorical question, I’m really asking how and why this has happened, and continues to happen.

In reading responses, I’ve noticed a lot of pointing fingers. Blame being pointed at the academy, the academy then blames filmmakers, filmmakers blame writers, writers blame casting, casting blames talent agents, agents blame talent pool, and it goes on and on like a sick merry-go-round, without anyone taking any real responsibility. The truth is we all play a part in this, every single one of us. We all have a voice. We all need to come together, rise up, speak up. Inclusion. Acknowledgement. We’re here. We exist. Our stories are valid. It’s important to acknowledge that there is not a level playing field here. Not everyone has the same privilege and access. That includes the nominees. It includes the people that think it doesn’t include them.

So Kate Winslet, if you do indeed win an Oscar this year, firstly, congratulations, and maybe you can edit your acceptance speech to take a stand against inequality in film. Maybe you can use your platform to help shape the art being produced. In your Golden Globe speech you said “What an incredible year for women in film.” I think what you really meant is “What an incredible year for white women in film.” A far truer statement than what was actually said, no? To be clear, this is not an attack on white people. It’s an attack on the system. This doesn’t take away from the excellence and hard work of the nominees. But to be an actor, to be an artist, especially in a time like 2016, well I can’t say it half as well as Nina Simone did.

I choose to reflect the times and the situations in which I find myself. That to me is my duty. And at this crucial time in our lives when everything is so desperate, when everyday is a matter of survival, I don’t think you can help but be involved…I don’t think you have a choice. How can you be an artist and not reflect the times, that to me is the definition of an artist.

It is time to wake up. I urge nominees and members of the industry to speak out, the way Jessica Chastain did last year when the situation was nearly the same. Use your voice.

To me awards are just a reflection. It’s a symptom of the disease and the disease is the industry. If we had more diversity in our films it would be reflected in the diversity of the nominees. [I’m] part of the problem. We all need to work together to fix it. 

 Edit: Since writing this post, the Academy has since released a statement regarding the changing of voting rights and plans to increase it’s number of diverse members by 2020. Read the press release here: http://www.oscars.org/news/academy-takes-historic-action-increase-diversity

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I was at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica last night attending a show at the Promenade Playhouse. Yeah, who knew that was there right? I have been to Third Street dozens of times and had never spotted this little theater space in the middle of all the hustle and bustle! I saw ‘Shine’, a night storytellers take the stage and share a true-life experience. Last night’s theme was “Different.” Amongst the 6 storytellers and 1 songstress, an audience volunteer is also included in the mix, to share a story on the fly.

Each story was incredibly genuine and absolutely one of a kind. The stories ranged in topic, but the ones that moved me most dealt with race and cultural identity.  These are such difficult and necessary conversations to have, difficult because of how emotional it is to stand naked on a stage with only your experience, and hope that people listen. I had tears in my eyes for the entire last half of the show. The experience of hearing others be vulnerable and honest is nothing short of life changing. I felt…not alone.

The story, err, the experience I was most intrigued by…was the spontaneous story from the volunteer in the audience, Richard. He made it very clear (in a jovial, endearing JK Simmons kind of way) that he was not looking forward to this experience and he had not entered his own name, his friend did. He opened with “I’m not a storyteller…” and then something marvelous happened. He proceeded to share one of the funniest, honest, moving stories. It was the most incredible thing to witness someone who has proclaimed his inability to share story and watch him win over a crowd with honesty and his truth. He was nervous, but working diligently to get his thoughts in order. He was reliving every moment fully so that we could be right there with him.

Richard’s story reminded me of so many recent encounters I’ve had, whether with students on the USC campus or random folks I interact with, upon being asked what I do. “I’m an actor,” I say. I can’t tell you how many times people respond with “Oh you’re trying to be an actor?” Recently I had someone ask, “Are you trying to be a writer?” I responded, “No, I am a writer.” There’s a big difference between those statements, and why isn’t anyone talking about it? What makes someone a writer? An actor? An artist? There’s a growing epidemic happening amongst folks, especially folks in my generation; an incredible resistance towards asserting who they are and what they do.  

All of these “are you trying…” introductions made me think, why are we all so afraid to say who we are? Are we afraid of being judged? Maybe. “Are you trying…” is the equivalent of the overuse of the word “just.” It’s an apology. It’s hiding from the things we do well. I won’t lie to you, when I started acting, I did not call myself an actor. Come to think it took me quite a while until I actually claimed that title for myself, and only recently that I’ve truly found my root in the word artist. I do understand the unwillingness to claim something you don’t feel is yours, because you’re still learning. But I also understand that there’s more to it. These are loaded words, especially in our culture. Whatever artist or actor or poet calls up for you, it’s important to question how much of those thoughts are your own, and how much are what society has programmed you to think.

Ever since I was a girl, I so desperately wanted to be a singer. When it came time for college, I expressed my desire to major in something more artistic, to which my parents said, “But what will you do as a career?” In my household, being an artist was not a “real job.” Bless my parents hearts, who are both incredibly supportive of my path now, but they too had to unpack what they thought it meant to be an artist, and let me show them what it truly meant. For me, it means living in truth, allowing my body to be the vessel in which story can come through and speak. I had to work very hard to unpack what is society’s voice, and what is my own authentic self. Society operates upon making sure we move as a whole, no one can stand out too much. You must blend. That’s what the horror of high school teaches you, isn’t it?

Another storyteller at the show last night was a man sharing about how he came here with from Argentina his wife and two kids and how difficult it was for him to communicate. Even after taking years of ESL (English as a Second Language) he was met with blank faces. He just felt…different. He shared a story that a woman shared with him on a very low night in his life.

-Truth went to take a swim in the lake, so she left her clothes and went for the            swim. Just then, Lie came out of the water and stole Truth’s clothes. Truth came out and had to return to town naked. No one liked her, they made fun of her, shunned her. After all, no one likes a naked Truth. Just as she was feeling really low, Tale came in to hear her struggle. Tale then gave Truth clothes, and it became a Truth Tale.-

He described that as his “aha!” moment! The way that we can all share our truths with one another is to dress them up in story. Through storytelling, we can all share who we are and in turn, find ourselves in one another.

The entire evening was about sharing who you are, what made you different. It resulted in all of us, audience and storytellers, sitting in a room together crying, laughing; not about our differences, but about our similarities, our fears, our shortcomings. All of us feel less than, not enough, scared of our gifts, wondering if we’re “normal,” regardless of where we come from. Imagine if everyone got up and shared a story. Just got right up on a stage in some black box theater somewhere, and started sharing, with all eyes on them. Imagine how much love there could be. Imagine all the compassion. Imagine how different our interactions would be. If everyone could share one truth a day, imagine…imagine the world we could live in. To Richard and the Richard’s of the world, you ARE storytellers, you just haven’t told a story yet.

[midnightinla-blog]

 One of my fondest memories is walking around London while I was studying abroad there and taking myself on an artist date to the Tate Modern. Modern art has always felt so much closer to me than other time periods of art. Maybe it’s because many of the pieces are newer, and I have personal reference points to why they were created. Art, whether painting or performance art, in general is very moving to me. Obviously. Recently we’ve been talking about the War on Christmas with all of those ridiculous red cups (ooo scandal!), but how about the War on Modern Art?

 Something odd is happening with art. Everyone feels very far away from it, like it wasn’t made for them; it’s all too general, it’s for someone else, not intended to move them specifically. Sound familiar? Yeah this is a big reason why a lot of folks don’t like Shakespeare- it feels too far away. But if you take a closer look, it’s not far away at all. He wrote for the commoners, it was for the people to enjoy, not the rich, not the nobility, for us.

 According to the National Endowment for the Arts, visual arts attendance has declined significantly since 2002, this includes visits to arts museums or galleries. In 2012, 8% of Americans attended a non-musical theater show. EIGHT PERCENT. Art is dying. Theatre is dying. Why? Is it a result of all of us being glued to our iPhones googling about life instead of living it? We’d rather wait until they turn the book into a movie? We’d rather have a billion reproductions of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ than actually stand in front of it and look at the brush strokes and have them look back at us and stir what’s inside.

 Everyday we’re inundated with images and ads and sex and music. Jesus Christ, we see over 500 ads a day, consciously and unconsciously. The average human working memory can handle 40-50 bits every second. The reality is that as we take a casual stroll through the city (if you ever take a stroll that is), we’re being bombarded with over 11 million bits of data every second. We’re flooding our senses and yet interacting with none of it at the same time. I don’t think any of us remembers what it feels like to go through a day without constantly checking in somewhere or taking photos everywhere we go. I certainly don’t. But I will say this, there have been times when I leave my phone at home or by some freak accident my phone breaks and I am without my tether, and let me tell you, it feels so good. I have some of the best days. Just being present.

 In college I took a class about study habits. It was 2 units and a super easy A. It ended up being one of the most useful classes I’ve ever taken. A big portion of time was spent on uncovering why we procrastinate. Bottom line is, we procrastinate so that we can hide behind it. For example, “Oh crap I got a C, well that’s just because I wrote the paper the night before. If I would have actually tried, I bet I would’ve gotten an A.” And there it is. That two letter word that has us running in circles: IF.

 It also discussed a lot of how procrastination is about not taking ownership of whatever the task is. Like “Oh when am I ever going to use math again? What does it matter if I do well or not?” Well, maybe the actual subject matter may not stay with you in the long run, but the habits do my hypothetical-friend-who-loves-starting-sentences-with-“oh.” It’s taken years for what I learned in that class to actually sink into my stubborn brain, 10 years to be exact. Now, I take myself, and my work, my art, seriously. I wish I could have done that sooner, but everything in its right time.

 As an artist, I’m familiar with those voices in your head that can get really loud. I’ve found that trying to silence them almost never works. In meditation, when my mind isn’t quiet, I acknowledge the thought, and keep moving along. The simple act of hearing out the thought is enough to evaporate it. Sometimes they are passing thoughts that have no root in my real life. Other times I investigate. Where is this thought coming from? Whose voice is it? Is it your mother’s…your subconscious? Every now and then, it helps to take a peek over my shoulder and see just how far I’ve come. Be your own inspiration.

 Sometimes I think those critical voices, whether in my head and what I hear from other folks, are merely projections. “I could do that.” Things people wish they could do, things they desire to do.

 What makes you happy?

 What do you do every day that scares you?

 How do you push yourself?

 I have an answer to those questions everyday. And if I don’t, I make immediate changes to remedy it. To put it plainly, we have such precious little time, so why don’t we just sit back, and look at the scribbles on the wall and then go home and make our own scribbles. If you think you can do it better, prove it. Push yourself to do something you never thought you could do. It’ll feel better to create than to critique.

[midnightinla-blog]

I’m going through withdrawals. No not from an actual drug (wait, theatre isn’t a drug right)? I just closed a very heavy theater show that was, amongst other things, about the choices we make and the consequences of said choices. For months, it made me wonder about my own life.

Looking around right now at this sweet little French crepery, I am the only woman eating breakfast, without a child. I’m alone, writing, sipping a latte, relaxing. I feel their eyes on me. I wonder, how many of them actively chose/choose this life.  The screaming kids begging for cookies, the bags under their eyes, the palpable exhaustion. Don’t get me wrong, kids are great I’m sure, but no one ever talks about the reality of it, that it’s hard, and frustrating. Then I thought, how many of us ever actively choose our lives, kids or no kids? From the moment I wake up to the moment I close my eyes at night, how many choices do I make with complete freedom? Is freedom ever actually free?

We make choices everyday, taking into account spouses, bosses, kids, friends; the list goes on and on. But where on that list do you fit in? How many times a day can you ask yourself “What do I want?” and be able to answer that question with absolute certainty. In acting, and arguably in life, stronger choices make for exciting moments. Throughout the course of my 3 months working on the show, I kept wondering how I was so willing to dive into being frighteningly truthful in every moment on stage, while in my real life I was- dare I say it- afraid to make bold choices. Scared to make the really big choices for my own path. Constantly being weighed down by the thought that this might not be the right choice, what if there’s a better option I’m just not seeing yet. On stage, there’s a script, a director, a final destination, it’s thrilling to take as many risks as you can. Aside from it being thrilling, it’s my job as a storyteller. Everyone is big and brave and it’s nothing short of exhilarating. But how exhilarating can it really be when there’s a built in safety net? Wouldn’t life be so much more like what we see in the movies, exciting, scary, big, if we just jumped into those choices with no net? I want that life. And 3 months of practice making those big choices in my stage life helped prepare me for actual decision-making in my real life.

I read this article recently about choosing your partner everyday, and if you can’t wake up and choose them fully, leave them. I think there’s something interesting there and I was excited someone said it. It’s like the “Fuck Yes!” movement, about choosing the things that excite us. If your response to something is not “Fuck Yes!” you’ve got to send it on its way. I love the idea of unpacking commitment to what it truly is, a daily choice. For actors, crafting a performance consists of choices. “If I walk out right now, she’ll be angry.” “If I quit my job right now I won’t be able to eat.” “If I buy this car I’ll have transportation.”

Our culture engrains in us that we are simply not enough, that we need to consume to be happy, we need this person, we need that house, we need fill in the blank to be happy. Unhappiness sprouts from the idea that we have not achieved our ideal, our fairy tale. Nowadays everyone is quick to spew “I know fairy tales aren’t real.” But do we know that? Do we really understand what love can look like without it being written for us? Are we willing to do the actual work of choosing our happiness daily? How can we if we’re too busy wading in the “should’s” and “supposed to’s”? Can’t we just go to a different pool where we all have a cocktail and say Shit. This life stuff is hard.

Fairy tales are boring. I don’t particularly enjoy when things are wrapped up neatly in bows. Life is chaos personified. The things I find most intriguing are the difficulties of it all. When a new mom opens up and tells me that staying at home with your kid is lonely. When people become human. That’s what I’m interested in. The mishaps. The failures. The mistakes. The attempts. It’s what connects us. I want to get back to the present, the place where nothing else but the journey matters.

[midnightinla-blog]

“If people could handle their self-loathing, customer service would be smoother.” -YOU, Caroline Kepnes

Why should you read this? Why should you give me 2-5 minutes of your time? Because dreams exist. Because dreams come true.   Because this is a story of an actor, an artist, a storyteller, who worked her ass off working double shifts at not one, but TWO, restaurants for as long as she can remember, and is now waking up everyday exactly where she wants to be, and also apparently speaks in third person. Just shhh…go with it.

What do you day dream about? What does your ideal day look like? Already have your dream life? Then to you say I say Yes! I’m happy to know you and happy  you’re here reading. I want each and every one of you know that whatever is inside your heart is not only possible, but inevitable. What you believe will happen, will happen. It’s as simple as that. What you are seeking is also seeking you.

Let me ask you something. What are your thoughts when you hear phrases like that? Do you think that’s true for other people and not for you? Do you think some dreams feel too far away? Then this, is for you. This is about you seeing that I’m living proof. Living, breathing proof that all you desire in life is absolutely on its way.

To understand my journey, we’ll need to start at the beginning.  

I’ve never been a fan of the term “struggling artist.” It’s disempowering. Discouraging. It implies that for one to be an artist, struggle is inevitably married to the artistry, making it feel big and heavy. Now, I’m not saying that hardship is nonexistent as an artist, it is there, but it is a reality as much as the success is a reality. And when I look back, those moments of struggle were what provided me the most fuel to keep moving forward. Because no matter how slowly you are moving, taking a peek over your shoulder and seeing just how far you’ve run, walked, crawled, is real. As long as we are learning, we are growing. As the years have passed me by since starting my journey as an actor, an artist in this city, 6 years and counting, I’ve encountered and experimented with a multitude of ways to fund my artistry. And I want to share my journey with you.

Since completing my conservatory training, I cycled through many jobs. I’ve been a professional floral designer (yeah, I can design the crap out of some flowers), a gogo dancer, a project manager at a non-profit company, a communications coordinator at a different non-profit, and most recently, a waitress.

For the last two and half years, I’ve waited tables. For the last year, I’ve waited tables at not one, but two restaurants, and they’ve been double shifts, every week. The thing that makes waitressing tough is it’s not just about serving food to people, you’re serving their ego, their insecurities, the good, the bad, and the ugly. That quote at the beginning of this post is definitely rooted in truth. There have been days that I swear I need to quit because it’s making me doubt the good in humanity. But then something magical happens. Strangers help me remember why people rock. From getting $50 dollar tips on $12 checks, to having people write notes on receipts about how much they appreciate me. At the end of the day, I do it for one reason: the love of storytelling. I walk into these restaurants, give them 20 hours of my life a week, and in turn, I’m able to live the life I dream.

I remember when I was in conservatory, one of my classmates lived in a bachelor apartment (which means no kitchen, no traditional rooms really, it’s four walls—that’s about it) and pretty much lived on beans and pasta, and sometimes rice. I remember thinking “Jesus, is this what it takes to be an actor? No money? Hardly any food? A teeny apartment?” Sounds judgmental, but its where I was at. That being said, I’d never met someone who believed in something so much that he was willing to risk it all to devote 100% of his time to attaining that dream. It was, nothing short of, inspiring.  

Since doing all that restaurant work, I was able to let one of the jobs go a few months ago. I have leapt into the arms of my destiny and the universe has repaid me handsomely. That whole “leap and the net will appear” adage is one I take seriously. The world respects taking risks. It’s the only currency with any value.  

I think there is something truly beautiful in the quest to attain what people say is impossible. Tell me I can’t do something. I promise you, I’ll find a way to do it. But…is doubt really what we should be gifting people? Think about how different the world would be if we encouraged one another. If we were ALL on our paths towards our dreams, helping one another get there, with words, with music, with intention, with love. That’s the kind of world I want to live in.

I don’t believe in being a struggling artist.  What is our job as actors?  Our purpose? Storytelling. Having the ability to create rich full something’s out of nothings. Creating beautiful little things everyday. Our real work is to live honestly, to live as big as we can so that we can inform each and every story, every line with something new, something only we can uniquely add to it. To push ourselves further than before, to the limit, and beyond it.  

What do you want for your life? No matter which dream you’re chasing, don’t struggle. Work. Hard. Be in it. Every moment of it. Don’t be afraid of the work it takes to get there. You are a beautiful soul placed on this earth to accomplish all that you desire. This profession of artistry, storytelling, is my life. I live it, I breathe it. It’s the reason I wake up in the morning. I don’t struggle. I don’t struggle because I’ve worked 14-hour double days at restaurants so that I can have the life of my dreams. I don’t struggle because I know where I’m headed. I don’t struggle because I trust my journey. In my young 6 years of working as an artist, I’m finally figuring out what works for me, what I need to be happy. 

So go read. Go eat. Go travel. Go explore. Go love. GO LIVE. Do whatever it takes to create the life you’ve always imagined. And if you need any inspiration along the way, I’ll be here to give you a little nudge in the right direction.

-N

[midnightinla-blog]

Gratitude.

Recently, I've been working on one thing, everyday. That thing is gratitude. Being thankful to take a first breath when I wake up. Being thankful that I'm waking up in a bed. The list goes on and on. The truth is no matter where you come from, no matter what is going right or wrong, you have something to be grateful for. The energy that accompanies this gratitude is tremendous. It's grounding.

I've been using my day job as practice for everyday gratitude. I've really been listening when people appreciate a meal and thank me for it. I let it land. There's something truly beautiful about being in the service industry. You come in to have a yummy warm meal, and I provide that for you, along with a smile and some chit chat. It feels nice to be thanked. I don't think I've ever let myself feel the weight of that. For the longest time, when people have said "Thank you" to me, for anything, I usually find a reason to also thank them. Now I'm working on listening and responding with a heart felt "you are welcome." Some guests at work are such a pleasure. Really truly sweet people that grace my path for a mere 30 minutes and then mosey along to their next destination.

I was inspired to start this blog after seeing the street art posted on a street close to my work. I was excited yesterday to walk by and see it again. But in true Los Angeles form, it had been ripped away and now adorned with some nonsense scribbled over it. I was momentarily sad that someone could ruin this beautiful bit of light. But then, today, I walked by and a new message was posted (see above).

"Do something every day to remind this city why the hell you're here."

Again, this found me in a timely fashion. I'd been having a rough day and was feeling discouraged. Even in reading the new art, I felt disappointed. What HAD I done today?

My shift went by quickly because when it rains in LA the world craves ramen. Everyone and their mother (literally, one mother and daughter waited 30 minutes to be seated and they were the most kind people) wanted ramen tonight. I was running around, trying to keep it together and slangin' more ramen than one should during the course of a 5 hour shift. Finally, 9:45pm, our last call, rolled around. Relieved. Once someone walks in after closing, I give them the usual "I'm so sorry we're closed, we open tomorrow at 11:30" speech and send them on their way.

Tonight was different. A man walked in, at 9:50pm, and asked if he could still eat. This man...was Anthony Keidis. I had already greeted him but as he came closer and I looked him in the eye I said "Hi." (Side note: It must be such a strange experience to be so well known and for people to constantly feel like they know you so well, yet you don't know them.) I said Hi because it felt like I was seeing an old friend. This man who has lived in my car and my home and my heart for years upon years was standing in front of me.

I told him he could sit anywhere he'd like. Let me preface this by saying we get well know actors and musicians at my restaurant ALL the time. It's never a thing. But tonight, of all the nights... of all the ramen joints in the world... he walked into mine.

His girlfriend came in to join him, they ate, they talked, they laughed. We stayed open an extra hour just for them. As he was getting up to leave, I shouted:

"Wait! You can't leave yet. You can't leave without knowing how much your art has inspired my entire being. Your music has seen me through some of my most rough times. And I just...I don't know what else to say besides how thankful I am for it." He listened. He was looking at me, genuinely hearing me. He looked saddened by it. 

He said "Well I'm glad my music could be there for you. I hope times have since been lighter?"

I responded "Yes! We're in a lighter time now!" He chuckled.

Then I shared "I went to your concert last year for my birthday. It was phenomenal."

He said "Yeah, which one?"

"The show at the Staples center"

"Oh yeah! Right on! Well, happy belated birthday to you. Come here give me a hug."

Then, right there, in the middle of a small 7-booth restaurant on Sunset Blvd, a legend held me. It wasn't just his voice in my ears anymore, it was him in my arms.

He left. And I couldn't help it, I started to cry. I was so moved by his light. His tranquility. His glowing energy of love. Nothing BUT love from that man. That's what I've been noticing when I interact with these "famous" people. It is undeniable that their energy is on a different wavelength. I feel them so clearly and so strongly. How positive and grateful they are just to be alive. That's a wavelength my soul wants to ride.

Me thinks 2014 is the year I feel the weight of gratitude. Not a heavy cumbersome weight, but the real earthy beautiful weight of life, and how it can pick you up and carry you to greatness, if you allow it to do so.

On a similar note, I've been re-watching the TV series The Office. I saw a few episodes here and there when it was on the air but never from the beginning. I have been watching a few episodes weekly (I'm currently on Season 5 and how it keeps getting better I'll never know) and usually I'm laughing and crying just as much.  Talk about a show with heart. These actors, particularly Jenna Fischer, was relatively unknown before landing their roles. What a blessing for them. She wrote a fantastic open letter to actors everywhere that has particularly inspired me over the years, which can be found here and boy do I encourage you to read it:

http://www.dailyactor.com/2009/03/jenna-fischers-advice-to-actors/#more-3666

Anyway, The Office has infiltrated my heart and soul in a very real way. I'm so thankful to have it. Guess who came in to eat at my restaurant? BJ Novak. One of the shows actors, writers, and sometimes director. (He'd been in before but this was before my Office watching). I told him that I didn't watch the show when it aired, but I'm watching now, and from one artist to another, I thanked him for the subtleties and the beauty of comedic timing and talent that is and will always be, The Office. Again, a gracious listener. He heard me. He thanked me.

I am learning deep in my bones that there is no greater feeling than sharing gratitude with artists who move you. Don't ever hesitate to tell someone what you need to tell them. Give it to them as a gift.

Tonight, amidst my happy tears, there was an undeniable WOW moment of  "I'm supposed to be NOWHERE else than right here at this very spot in this moment." The world knew I needed a little nudge to remember who I am, what I love, and the path I'm roadtrippin'. I've been having more and more of those occurrences lately. I don't think it's a coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence. I think it's because I'm finally listening to the gifts the world is gifting to me. The universe will cradle you in nothing but love, if you choose to be brave...and listen. 

[midnightinla-blog]

So...

I'm walking into work today...

to my job at a restaurant...

as a waitress...

when I come across this street art on a street I walk 4 times a week. I'm not sure if you believe in angels or signs or any of the cosmic magic that makes this world go 'round, but I do. Oh I very much do. Why? Because moments like these happen far too often for me to even try to ignore them.

Sometimes it feels like the world is shouting at me over and over "See? You're meant to do this" or "c'mon don't give up! We haven't even gotten to the good part yet!" 

I believe in magic. I believe in fate. I believe in belief. I don't know why. Maybe it's because my mother made sure I believed in Santa, always, no matter how old I was. Even now, as a 27 year old (well almost but March is just around the corner) woman, she still gives me a gift at Christmas from Santa himself.

I guess for people who have a hard time believing in magic or destiny or anything not concretely supported by fact, dreams must be a difficult thing to pursue. But that's why people like me exist. To remind them that magic is real, destiny exists, and dreams really do come true.

I saw the most incredible show this weekend at the LA Gay and Lesbian Center called The Beast of Times, written by and starring Adelina Anthony, along with performer D'Lo. I didn't know what I was in for but by the time I was in the thick of the show, I felt something stirring in me. A spark. A reminder that THIS is what I do. I tell stories. I communicate with my mind body and soul. For a moment, it all became so clear. All the chasing of the co-stars and commercials and the hustle and bustle was silenced. I remembered the most beautiful fact about my life: I'm already living my dream. I am a creative who has the privilege of telling PHENOMENAL stories, one of which will be premiering this Spring at one of the largest recognized LGBT film festivals, Outfest. I'm already here, living in my now, in my dream, in my nightmares, all of it. I'm in it. Present. Breathing. Letting it all wash over me like a tidal wave, and all I have to do is ride that wave like the Piscean in me can.

My path has never been more clear. I've never felt such passion and determination for anything else. Storytelling. Honoring voices. Creating something out of nothing. This is my life's work. This is my art.

I am an artist. I...am an artist. I'll never EVER lose sight of that.