Let Us Compare Mythologies

There’s been a lot of talk around the internet lately about manifestos and life lists, and I love that stuff. Seriously. Big life lists are sensationally exciting to me. And manifestos? Color me drooling. I’ve had the life list for awhile now, but felt I really needed something more concise…a, well, manifesto. If you like. Oh, I know you’re not supposed to do these “me, too” blog posts. That’s okay. I love reading about what people want to do with their lives, and I reckon others might, too.

So here it is, my manifesto.

Ask for what you want. There’s this fabulous book I read in my early twenties, when I was still operating under the notion that my life’s path lay in the world of show business. It was all about hustle and strut then [WAIT a sec—it still is!] and although I loved that world, I often found it hard to reconcile my introversion* with the nonstop party I needed to be.  Anyway, I needed encouragement. Something to foster my bravery. And this book was it. It’s a little dated now, just right around the edges (e.g., the internet was still a newish thing then), but the advice is still great. More than anything else, this book encouraged me to come right out and ask. (Because it turns out that, in fact, they can’t read your mind. Also: interpretive dance tends to confuse people. Much better to just ask.)

Defy categorization. I’ve never fit in. Anywhere. Too poor, too rich, too ethnic, too white, too smart, too young, too old. It was a bit of a nightmare during the formative years, as you might imagine. And to some extent, the fear I developed of never finding a group of people who would get me has stayed with me. I’m interested in a million things and very good at a few things, and possibly those things cannot be combined to score me the corner cubicle.  But at the ripe old age of thirty-four, I’ve decided: fuck it. Oh, look: I’m a free agent now, with what’s shaping up to be my dream job, and am surrounded by crazy-inspiring, super-supportive, vibrant, intelligent people. The end.

Be you. I love Gretchen Rubin’s site The Happiness Project. I’ve been known to spend upwards of an hour combing through the archives. One of the things she’s done is create her own personal commandments. The first of these is “Be Gretchen.” Simple, yet so profound.  Be you. It’s not an excuse for moral slovenliness; it’s a call to action. Be the honorable, true you that’s in there. That’s who you’re meant to be.

Collect your “NO”s. Prior to working in entertainment, I had grand ideas about becoming a working actor (a working actor generally does not wait tables, in case you’re wondering what the difference is between an actor and a working actor). One of the best lessons I learned in my acting classes was this: you have to go out and collect your “NO”s. As an actor, a lot of your time will be spent applying for jobs you will never get. You’re selling it like the rent’s due, all the time, and only a very small percentage of those sales will come to fruition. Sound familiar? Yeah. I thought so, too. It’s about not wasting time taking things personally [a lesson I am still learning]. The sooner you meet your “NO” quota, the sooner you’ll hear your yes. Yes?

No one else can speak your piece. The other day one of my amazing clients sent me her answers to my Brand Alchemy Session questionnaire. Among her thoughtful, intelligent offerings was this gem:  “No one else in the world is just like me – it is up to me to allow my truth to be spoken, or else my ideas will never be out there in the world.” It stopped me dead in my tracks. I saw with an almost surreal clarity that my approach has been backwards. I just didn’t know it. It’s my responsibility to speak my truth. And it’s your responsibility to speak yours.

Listen. Always. Everywhere. Listen to what people say—and to what they don’t say.

Say thank you. Always. Everywhere. People don’t do this much anymore. It matters, and it stands out.

Comb your hair and show up. This one is courtesy of Bob Brasier, my favorite real-life rock star. When all else fails, when you can do absolutely no more, when you’ve got nothing left to give. Comb your hair and show up. I’ve repeated this one like a mantra every time I’ve found myself faced with a mistake, a tragedy, an embarrassing situation. It reminds me that showing up is better than not showing up. And when things get overwhelming, it can be infinitely helpful to reduce our overly-complicated lives to a yes/no checkbox.

Thoughts? Comments? What’s yours?

*I’m an extroverted introvert, not the regular kind. Much like a floodlight, I am either ON or OFF and require lots of OFF time in order to function. (And yes, it is tiring being this complicated. Le sigh!)

#5 is my favorite.

I use GoogleVoice primarily for business. If I get a business call at home, I can just answer the land line and rest a little easier, knowing the call won’t be dropped due to the sporadic cell phone coverage in my hometown. That aside, I think the main benefit of having voice-to-text messages delivered to my phone and my inbox lies in the fact that, generally, I can get an idea of whether or not my client is angry. That’s about all I can tell from the text, but it’s something. Hey, it’s free. Here, some excellent examples of the voice-to-text messages I’ve received.

1. Hi Emma, it’s so if you are doing calling.

2. I think you’re probably a better word to describe it, but there’s just something about it, but I’d like to just seems really 9 cents off and something that if someone was reading yet.

3. Anyway, I’m calling about the photos that you sent tapes. I guess they look ok. Other not great but whenever you wanna call into Scott 243.

4. Also, can you throw the Warriors resort referral service and I get free referrals from that.

5. Hi. This is Susan. I think I want to be put on a bro.

Lessons From Mennonite Country

Last week, my son and I trekked out to the East Coast to visit dear friends of mine. California natives, these two badasses sold their home near the beach, bought an impressive acreage in the relative wilds of upstate New York, and promptly opened a creative agency together. That was four years ago, and I’d not seen them since. My son had never met them at all. I’d tried a few times before to make the trip work, but something had always come up: a new expense, an emergency something-or-other…but finally, everything came together, in that particular way that lets you know it’s right and good and in the cards. That is to say: it all happened very, very quickly. The skies parted, the angels sang, and bang!, we were on our way. This was A Very Big Deal.

(There’s something to be said about visiting someone who’s seen you at your worst more than once, particularly if you’re an uneasy houseguest like I am. It takes the sharp edges off. I tend to worry that I’m putting people out, and I experience these uncomfortable mini-fits of panicky oh-no-their-handsoap-smells-different or what have you, which are absolutely ridiculous but factor in nonetheless.)

Anyway, this Very Big Deal was Extremely Wonderful. I reconnected, my son connected, we communed with the land, we breathed clean, sweet, fresh air and roasted marshmallows and rowed around in the pond that’s oh look, right outside the back door. We held chickens and fed horses and had strong, hot cups of coffee outside in the chilly morning. I relaxed on a cellular level, truth be told. And I even managed to come away with a few life lessons. None are earth-shattering; they’re more simple truths, confirmed in brilliant Technicolor.

1. Even when it’s good, change is uncomfortable. Having more or less become a cyborg in the last few months [and surely my webgeekier friends would disagree, since I don't have an iPhone and prefer not to use 8 million types of apps and productivity tools--but for me, total cyborg land], it was very strange not to be suckling at the interwebs teat for hours on end. You may well scoff at this, as any reasonable person might (and I wouldn’t blame you), but it didn’t feel right simply because it was different. By the middle of the second day, though, it was over and I’d found I’d simply switched tracks. (And, as long as I’m admitting embarrassing things: it was a relief to know that it didn’t take much longer than that. I was a little afraid I’d become one of those people.)

2. Listen. To your hosts. To your traveling companion. To your body. Nap when you need to. Eat when you need to. Give them a break from you when they need it. Take a break from them when you need it. Tune in to the cues; they’re all around you and they know whereof they speak.

3. Let it go. You won’t see everything. Things will be closed. You’ll only be able to spend 20 minutes some places instead of the two hours you’d allotted. You won’t have all the conversations you’d intended. You may hate what you thought you’d love. It doesn’t matter. What matters is how you navigate.

4. Compassion beats awkwardness every time. We visited a neighboring Mennonite family who’d lost their husband/father nearly a year ago; he was killed by the horse that pulls their buggy. At one point I found myself standing in the horse’s pen with most of the kids, the mother, my son and my two friends. It was absolutely overwhelming, seeing these sweet, bright, loving children petting and feeding the animal that had killed their father. Having just met them all, and knowing next to nothing about Mennonite customs or social mores, I was hesitant to offer my condolences. But I couldn’t not, obviously, so I simply hoped that she’d forgive me if I was speaking out of turn somehow. We had a brief, gentle conversation about her loss, about how highly my friends had thought of her husband, about how lovely her family was. And the awkwardness disappeared.

5. Make it a point to be around the ones that you love and who love you. With every passing year, I realize how very much I gain from spending time with people that know me almost better than I know myself–and love me anyway. With these people, it doesn’t matter whether we’re visiting an incredible monument or just sitting around the dining room drinking wine and laughing for hours on end. (For the record, although our hosts gave us a wonderful grand tour and I loved every minute of it, my favorite moment from the trip was Sunday night between 9 pm and 2 am, when we–wait for it!–sat around the dining room drinking wine and laughing for hours on end.) It recharges you, gives you new ideas, new ways of thinking, new energy, new jokes, new memories. It makes all the difference in the world. Truly.

You need not travel for these axioms to apply. On the other hand, if it’s true that life is a journey–and it is–then we’re constantly traveling. And though we can’t control the transitory nature of our time here, we can control what we do with the time and experience. I’m really digging my travels of late. How about you?

text and photos copyright 2009 emma alvarez gibson.