Listening: the lost art form

"I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen."

                                                                                                                     --Ernest Hemingway

I’ve come to learn that listening is an art.  Like any art form, you have to practice it consistently to have any ability to do the skill well.  When I was five years old, I decided piano was a good instrument choice for me, and my parents came along side my decision by saying that if I wanted to take part in learning the piano, I had to take part in committing myself to a long term agreement of training and practice. In retrospect, I’m glad I had parents that made me follow through, because now the piano, after all those grueling childhood hours, is not only my therapy but also my joy.  The same goes for listening, it takes daily practice and longevity to train your ear for a full 100% engagement mode.  And you have to train your ear to not only hear the words that are being sent through the air, but actually hear their tone, their meaning, their depth, their purpose and their truth. 

We treat things so frivolously in our culture. We don’t question the ins and outs of our world, we just take words at face value when there are so many levels and shelves of information that we are handed daily.  Not only is that information glaring at us, but our doors are shut to hear that information, greatest reason being that we are mostly consumed with ourselves.

We’ve all talked to people that are not present in a conversation. Frustrating isn’t it?  We’ve all energetically tried to engage with that one on the other side of the receiver who is obviously disctracted. We’ve all repeated something for the 40^th time wondering where the listener was the last 39.  We’ve all become drained trying to get in a word edgewise to the one whose mouth is the only thing that functional. Truthfully, it gets exhausting.

“Be still” is a reference the Bible uses that most Americans could not comfortably exercise.  The ability to stop, be silent, sit quietly, let your mind rest, take captive your thoughts, no music, no TV, no this-activity or that-activity, no unnecessary stimuli, just stillness. In that place of utter solitude, if you listen, you begin to hear. And the greatest voice will rise up to speak to you: your heart. It will begin to tell you things that it doesn’t normally get to say…it will begin to share truths that you normally don’t pay mind to, it will begin to confide secrets that you may not know, it will finally have it’s chance to be vulnerable and honest and heard. But, you have to listen.

The same goes for your neighbor—the one who sits across from you in whatever circumstance.  You have to take that divine moment with that individual and create a place of stillness. To do so you will need to put yourself away, you will have to let your needs and your thoughts rest on the sideline as you welcome the words and thoughts of another.  In this place of welcoming you listen, letting grace and mercy be the landing pad of their words, letting good reason allow you to filter these formed sentences into levels of depth and meaning. As you practice this, you will soon begin to not only hear the words of another person, but you will soon begin to actually hear their heart—the trueness of who they really are…the most delicate piece of them that they most want you to know.

Listening is an art form, but you have to practice, so you can joy in the beauty of someone else's words.

Chaplin: The Unsuccessful Smile

During my whirlwind of a week in NYC, I enjoyed an evening of theatre with my newly acquired friends from New Jersey.  I sat between the couple, front and center, as we watched the story of Charlie Chaplin’s entire life funnel into a two-and-a-half hour experience accompanied by intermittent songs.  Up to this point, my knowledge of Mr. Chaplin was next to nothing except to know of his comedic movies, particularly styled moustache/hat/cane combo and composition “Smile.”  Things I didn’t know were his British roots that included a highly dysfunctional mother, his numerous marriages not to mention lovers, his business partnership with his brother in the film industry, and his desire to move into dramatic films away from comedy.

On a theatrical level, the show brought a real humanness to this man whom I’ve always considered just a caricature and not necessarily real.  But you were able to see many glimpses of the theatrically enhanced truth of Chaplin’s life: the unwillingness to deal with a very sick mother, the knock-down drag-out fights exiting his numerous divorces, his dealing with neurotic fans (not to mention gossip columnist), and his desire for fame and fortune which began to rule his life.

While watching the finale (giving no plot lines away) there was quite a celebration of Chaplin’s life that lead me to the question, are we celebrating Chaplin as a person or are we celebrating Chaplin as an artist?  Celebrating Chaplin as an artist I have no problem with, but Chaplin as a human, I struggle. 

One phrase that kept pervading my thoughts during the show: profession trumps people.  My definition is simple: it’s when a person solely chooses their career over people they claim to love, honor and value. It’s when the thought or drive of success becomes the hierarchy in one’s world, and they will sacrifice whatever it takes to attain it. Or, it’s when one chooses a career as one’s hiding place so there is no dealing with the everyday of life.

I clearly saw this effect on both Chaplin’s brother, who he eventually fired from his studio, and Chaplin’s wives who always begged for quality time but never received it.  Reason being was because Chaplin was climbing so hard to the top of the success ladder no one could even keep up. All they saw were the bottom of his shoes.

Have you ever seen a resume on a tombstone? I suppose if you paid the extra fee for the engraving of such an expensive honorarium, you could solidify your accomplishments. But when you are pushing up daisies, what does it matter?  And why are the decisions to strive to the “top” come at so great a cost? It is worth it to undermine, ignore, hide or hurt those around you for the great gold star of success?

I find it fascinating that the humans that are so damaged in their upbringings are the same humans who have the greatest ability to make you laugh. And during that laughter, we neglect to look back and see the source of where that joke and gag are arising. Making someone laugh creates peace, it calms the waters, it covers an atmosphere saying, “everything is ok.” Except that laughter doesn’t heal hurt, it only ices the wounds for a little while.

Chaplin could make me laugh. What a gift one human gives another: laughter. What he gift he gave us. Yet, Chaplin couldn’t live in his movies forever. He had to go home at night and in the morning wake up beside many people who shared his bed in rapid rotation. He had to look at his brother everyday at the studio. He daily went about his life knowing his mother was just miles away and mentally sick. What did he offer these dying connections: a joke? 

He best describes himself:

Smile though your heart is aching

Smile even though it's breaking.

When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by.

If you smile through your pain and sorrow

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You'll see the sun come shining through

For you.

Light up your face with gladness,

Hide every trace of sadness.

Although a tear may be ever so near

That's the time you must keep on trying

Smile, what's the use of crying.

You'll find that life is still worthwhile-If you just smile.

Chaplin’s life carried sadness, and he covered it with laughter and success. If only he would have learned to accept the pain and sorrow, understand the aching of his own heart and make friends with his sadness.  Then, he could have truly smiled.  

Dashboard Light

Sitting on a make-shift curb in the midst of an old cotton gin, now revamped as a community ground of sorts to facilitate this specific evening, my mind was stirring. The grounds were filled with diverse food suppliers, Damien-Rice-wannabes moodily exerting their musical craft from a rickety stage, a local theatre group trying to gain artistic strength flexing their free voice muscle for local social causes, various back-wood designers with big city prices, and three port-a-potties...such variation in atmosphere…such variation in people. 

My legs were tired. I needed to sit down in the very near future.  After a wonderful southern plate of food: collard greens, black eyed peas and pimento cheese grits, I finished off my meal with a homemade popsicle made of peaches and basil when off in the distance I saw a nearby curb calling my name. The entertainment was beginning and the only way I could remotely enjoy it was to let that curb support my physical exhaustion. Sitting there, I began to watch people, a favorite activity of mine, and I began analyzing all the different people groups wandering in the courtyard wondering how these mish-mash of adults had come to choose their hairstyles, their clothing, the shoes on their feet, the piercings on various parts of their bodies, there pick of tattoos, etc.  Then suddenly, I heard this question in my mind, “What do all of these people have in common?”  I thought about it, looked individually at a few more passerbys when the answer came as easily as the question did. “Like me, all of these people want to be significant.”  This world opened up to me. It was as if someone put glasses on my face and my blurry vision went to 20/20. 

That’s what I’ve been dealing with and I haven’t even seen it.  Significance.  This of course began leading me down a path of personal questioning that I still haven’t even begun to answer, or don’t even know if I can answer.  Not only did it begin to question my personal world, but more so my professional world: acting.  Is the acting world a place where you can really find significance? You don’t get applauded for who you truly are, you get applauded for whom you portray. You get praise for your performance, for outwardly putting on a character far beyond what you naturally are. The oddness is that you do find some odd satisfaction and significance in it.  We actors drink praise like holy water—thinking in some way it will cure us of every empty well not filled in us. We can’t get enough. But it’s unfortunate that we base our life’s significance on what the praise pots are really filled with: temporary water. 

You hear throughout your life from healthy leaders that significance is from the inside out and not vice versa.  It’s knowing who you are created to be, and in reality that creation has nothing to do with career.  How many careers do you see posted on a tombstone?  All you get is your name with two dates balanced with a dash. That dash is like a blink of an eye, but it’s so complicated at times isn’t it?  We want that dash to be so much, we want to be ‘something’ huge in that dash. We want to be recognized on the street, loved by all we come in contact with, the best singer in the world, the richest business man there is, another Mother Theresa-but better and more effective...but I can’t help but wonder how one would gain significance in that?  It really just seems like popularity.

My dash: that is my stirring right now. I think for some time now, it’s been temporary water, but I need more. I’m desperate for more. And the ‘more’ is only something that can possibly come from asking the director to turn off the spotlight for the time being. 

Iceberg Dead Ahead

No, I wasn’t on a ship that sunk. But my bank account has sunk a bit, not too mention I’m battling to stay above water with my joy-as this passenger aboard ship tries to get to the bottom of horrible navigation from leadership we are supposed to trust. I’m flailing fighting against the idea to be “joyful in all trials and tribulations.”

Yesterday it rained. Last night it froze. My car was about two miles from my friend’s house. When taking my exit, police lights shine brightly, much like the star in the east. Just beyond that star is where my destination lies. Unfortunately after this wise man made a closer examination, the realization occurred that someone hit an ice patch and found their way into the sidewall of the ramp. Immediately my gut said, “turn around.” I wish I had listened. My wise man score just dropped to a “b”.

After thirty minutes, traffic began to move. Joy rose up in me. My nerves were already beginning to nudge me in anticipation of getting to my destination safely. A parking space at an apartment complex never sounded so good. Halfway up the off ramp, all of we ramp passengers come to a stand still. Thirty minutes passes. An hour passes. It was time to make friends. Out of my car and into the cold I went. It felt like being at a PTA meeting with parents who weren’t happy with the school system. Although one man was content to be sitting still after his car had recently three-sixtied on the main highway. After the meeting it was back to the car to get warm. Another light, yet not the star of the east, but despair—the gaslight. The yellow couldn’t have shouted at me any louder. The options: turn of my car and be cold or stay warm and go ahead and call AAA for gas. Survey says: car off.

Two hours pass. It was getting colder outside and inside the car, and I was getting restless and more nervous. After two hours of fidgeting, I felt a small nudging from the Lord to spend some time with Him. The first thing I asked for was for Him to supernaturally fill my gas tank and my car with heat.

Thirty minutes later a cop arrives. It is now 12:30 am (three hours into the process) After assessing the situation, and after realizing he couldn’t even drive halfway up the ramp, I was at least hoping for a verdict. All of us received one. We had to abandon our cars for the night because due to the iceberg at the top of the hill, no one could pass. We were then asked to come back at 8 am to retrieve our cars. After getting two bags from my trunk, I struggled up the hill, using any car I could to help me ice ski to safety.

8 a.m. and the car is nowhere to be found. After investigation it is learned that all the cars were impounded and towed away. Two hours later, $139 poorer, and irritation at a new level, phone calls are beginning to be made as to the reason for this debacle. No answers yet, but this steamboat is full speed ahead.

Mary Christmas

Mary had to not only become pregnant with the Messiah, but must have been pregnant with many questions. She must have had so many thoughts and feelings as she took upon one of the greatest miracles ever. Dealing with the fact that she, out of all women on the earth, was highly favored by God and was the chosen one to carry salvation within her, yet face her people, friends and family with information that in the natural would never be comprehendible.

As my mind contemplated Mary this morning, I couldn’t help but be quickened to the thought that we are all impregnated with a miracle within us. There are stirrings in us that can only be accomplished in a supernatural way. There are stirrings in me- dreams, visions- that seem like impossible walls to scale, and like Mary are met with immediate fear and questions. The Angel put all fear away with a quick retort to not fear. It seems as if it were a command. Why should there be no fear, because there is favor. Favor is what allows the birth of dreams, a birth of royal things that take the throne and rule the kingdom. Something that seemed so insignificant as pregnancy became the equivalent of universal freedom for all people.

“I’m the Lord’s servant…may it be!” Trust fills those words. Mary came into the acknowledgment that humanly this was an impossible situation, but as the angel told her, nothing is impossible with God. A woman who was filled with humility became the key to revolutionize this world. A woman who stepped out in courageous faith birthed an unshakeable kingdom.

Sometimes you have to say and declare things before they happen. I wonder if Mary in faith said, “May it be” before she really believed it could be, and the evidential truth followed her faith. Or perhaps in that moment something rose up in her that she stood with unwavering strength in her protected favor. All in all, as we know the Lord has impregnated us with dreams we can easily hear the everyday world seems to laugh at us in its impossibility. But impossibility isn’t possible with God.

May it be.

Reality TV Blog Style

A few days ago, a friend made a comment that I should have my own reality TV show after reading a Facebook post describing an unfortunate event in my life. I heartily agree. Not only do random odd things happen to me, but for some reason I tend to encounter strange people. This last week, I unfortunately wasn't wearing my head cam so I will blog the reality for you to enjoy what was missed!

The first is a story that actually won't be shared. Incredibly embarrassing was the event, but left me and a dear friend in tears as I told her what happened. And the only reason she found out is because she called me right after the event happened. Lets just say it involved a bag of carrots and digestion.

Two days later, in preparation for a current show I'm performing in, I sat poolside working on my guitar skills. I had two chairs with me functioning in two different roles: one to support me, and one to support my music. The chair that was supporting my music was also attracting a wasp who didn't seem to have anything else to do. At first the wasp did his thing, and I kept strumming. Then for some reason, a change of events began to happen: when the wasp was ready to take a lap to the other side of the pool, he felt the need for a fly by of my face. It started to annoy me, so I took my script and took a strong swipe at the wasp. The CD that was inside frisbeed out and flew a good distance away. After retrieving my CD, I came back to my seat where the wasp after just a few short minutes once again started his fly-bys. Lets call the wasp Maverick. Maverick was on my last nerve, so I picked up my script again, and with a hearty home run swing, the script found its way out of my hands, into the air and landing with a flop into the pool. (Enter expletive here) My lifeguard instinct travelled me quickly over to the victim, and luckily after triaging the situation realized I didn't have to jump in. I pulled the soaking wet victim from the pool and rushed it into the house where I had to pull apart page by page the almost drowned lines and music, sitting it out over the entirety of my house to dry.

Two days later I was with a friend at the Costco concessions stand, waiting patiently to order my food, when suddenly I find an older woman in my personal face space. With no introductions or everyday pleasantries, she cuts to the chase.

"What kind of bike do you have" she asks.

With a perplexed face I replied, "Excuse me?"

"Bike" she said, "What kind of bike do you have."

"A bike? Like a motorcycle? I don't own one sorry" Then looking down I realized I had a faint graphic of a bike on my t-shirt which naturally made this woman think that I actually own one. I mean--usually when I see people with horses on their shirts, my immediate thought is, oh, they must have a Clydesdale at home.

"Oh, you are talking about my shirt" I said with understanding.

"My son is a champion" she said adorning a smile.

"That's great" I said supporting her joy.

"Next please" the concessions attendant pipes up with great volume. So I stepped up to order my food in internal thanks that this awkward conversation was forced to stop. Thinking I was in the clear, I then hear my elderly friend spout out some foreign motorbike name.

On auto repeat I said, "Excuse me?"

She repeated the name and followed with "If anyone ask you want kind of bike you have you just tell them (fill in the bike brand here)"

I didn't know what to do with that. I collected my food and drink and quietly slipped away. I'm glad she didn't see the rainbow on my flip flops.

Nashville With a Big Red Bow

Through my life, I see how much I'm blessed. It's daily. But sometimes the gifts come in a little bit bigger of a package than normal. Some would call the gifts luck or random: but I would disagree. I would call the Giver who gives the gift--wise. One who knows just when to give a little something extra.

On October 4th I made my journey to Nashville, TN. My first stop was my living quarters: the house of my host family. The door opened and I was greeted by two amazing people: Jeff and Cindy Loring, not to mention a homemade soup accompanied with fruit, cheese and crackers. From the moment I stepped in their door I was instant family and was going to be taken care of for three weeks except that "taken care of" is such an understatement of how they really treated me. I felt like royalty. We ate many meals together, had many conversations, hit the town, watched Antique Roadshow and Dancing With the Stars on regular occasion, laughed, and just got to rest in one another's presence. I spent many hours swinging on their porchswing, playing the guitar, basking in the sun, watching the little puppies have there outdoor activity time and just being.

The next door I stepped through was to the home of my Hello Dolly cast. We can call them my second Nashville family. How precious they all turned out to be. From the start I was received with such warmth and kindness. As I think on each cast family member such fond memories surface: Ashley doing her lazy eye Minnie Fay: Michael talking about prostitutes in the aisle during the middle of a show; Carrie making me belly laugh on many occasions; Graham taking my First Call lyric quizzes; Bonnie just sitting down and having good conversation; Nan giving the best hugs ever; Kirk being my downtown Nashville pal; Katie proving her true title of the karaoke queen; Maggie tying my apron before each show; and the list could go on and on. I find myself smiling now after making that list. But it was so good. It was a show I was so proud of, a character I really felt true in portraying, and a performance I wanted the world to see.

The city of Nashville was such an amazing place: the food, the people--it is a city that is warm and homey. Everyday before the show I would either visit Frothy Monkey or Bongo Java for a pumpkin muffin and a coffee of sorts. I looked forward to it. I looked forward to every day and would hate when my current day would have to end. I feel like I had so much to do, so much to see, so much to share with other people. Three weeks was not enough.

Tokyo, Japan is a place I never dreamed I would have lived. To be honest Asia is a destination that would have never been on my "to visit" list. But I was blindsided by a wise gift. I remember my very last day at Tokyo Disney, I walked behind my outdoor theatre and I looked up in the sky and told the Lord, "You just gave me a gift with a really big red bow on it." My last performance of Hello Dolly, before the show started, I returned to that same outdoor alter, looked up at the sky and repeated the prayer that came out of my heart just years before, "You just gave me gift with a really big bow on it." The Giver did. And I'm so grateful.