Lake Michigan Epiphanies

Improv teaches commit.

In order to have a successful scene, one needs to commit fully to where they are and what they are doing. Accept! Accept! Be there for real 100% and then see what happens. Usually funny, truth and the unexpected happens. It's why I love improv.

I spent eleven years in New York City without ever really fully committing, truth be told. Sure I had an apartment (several in fact!) I had friends and a community and a church and jobs and other things that make a home, but I never really made it my home. Of course, I would never admit that at the time. No way. New York was home!

Don't get me wrong, I loved New York, truly, but it was never really home. It was always a place I was for a while. I always wondered inside when I would leave. I mean, I kept an apartment in Minneapolis for that entire time! I had furniture in Minneapolis! Wine glasses! Things! Minneapolis was always my fallback. "Well, I can always return there!" (and who knows I still might for cry-i...) After all, friends and family and potential employment lived in Minneapolis. And this is to say nothing of the extended time I spent in Mexico, being gone for months at a time. I think it some ways it held me back from fully being present and accepting NYC as my home. I don't think that was bad or good. It just was.

And now I have moved to Chicago. And I almost felt myself falling into the same trap. "I'll try Chicago for a while. Who knows for how long..." Not that there is anything wrong with that. It's how I have lived my last 14 years, but something has shifted (age?) and I feel the need to lay down some roots, to stake some claims, to be fully present where I am and in what I am doing...to commit. I said it: I feel the need to commit. So I went back to Minneapolis and picked up my wine glasses. They're all here now.

So, yes, I live in Chicago. And for now that's where I'll be. I'll still likely flit off to Mexico now and then to run an artist residency or two, as I do love Mexico :), but probably less. I want to work in Chicago and be a fixture, not a guest.

Recently, I was walking on the beach of Lake Michigan near my new apartment that I have committed to being in for at least the next year or two, and I was thinking, "I'm super lucky!" I have work I mostly love, an agent who believes in me, opportunities in Mexico and elsewhere, I have new friends, a family who lives close, an amazing new apartment that makes me happy and I can walk to a beach!! The beach!

I am here and the truth is --- I love it.

And even if sometimes I don't...just saying the words changes things.

"How do you like chicago?"

"I love it!"

I'm committing. And then --- who knows? Maybe Chicago will commit to me.

Rings and all.

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale....

I've been digging around again in the land of storytelling for a new client I have with KSi. Our goal together was to create better, more authentic storytellers in their company, which will then also translate to a better communicating of the brand. Think of JetBlue, Google, Amazon, Starbucks---they are all brands with a strong story and we buy into those stories---daily! We buy into how those stories make us feel. We become part of an brand event they create for us---like a Facebook event but bigger and more subtle. Thats what a good brand story is. And I help to train better brand storytellers.

That session inspired me.

So I decided to start doing my own storytelling again. I used to tell stories in NYC, even winning a MOTH Story Slam. But I hadn't performed a story on a stage in years. But last week, I went to a storytelling event in Chicago---Story Club. I hadn't planned on telling a story. I wasn't really prepared, but there were a few spots open and they kept asking for volunteers. I kept saying "no" to myself. I wasn't ready. But then I asked myself: What was I waiting for? I wanted to tell a story and as unprepared as I was, the fact was I wanted to tell a story. So I dug around in my mental files for a story.

I had just told a story at the recent corporate training about jumping off a train in Prague, but how I used it there was more anecdotal. So how could I flesh out a full story, moments before I would tell it here? I sat at the bar, nursing my oversized beer (possible problem??) and figured it out. Then I went up to the host and asked if I could tell my story.

I ended up winning the audience vote that night---mostly because I jumped. 

We all have stories inside us. Sometimes we're not ready to tell them. Sometimes we haven't even identified them yet. But they always have value. They define us. Our stories make us who we are. And we all have one. It just depends on how willing we are to jump.

How willing are you to tell your story when the opportunity comes?

Playing with Fire

I recently got a day of work on NBC's drama, Chicago Fire. Yay! I play a woman named Claudia, who accidentally leaves her truck in... DELETE PLOTLINE HERE SO AS NOT TO BE SUED BY NBC DELETE PLOTLINE DELETED KEEP READING PLOTLINE TO BE REPLACED LATER

First of all. Really good lunch. Nice job job network television.

Second of all, the cast and crew were amazing. I know people sometimes say that and you're like "Whatever. Amazing-sch-mazing! Doesn't mean anything." But seriously, they were really great. Fun to play with in every way. It got me to thinking... (uh-oh)

What made that day so fun? Aside from it being a really great gig, what else made it so fun? I realized it was that the whole team was actually functioning as a team and they welcomed me into that world with ease. They had a sense of joy in their work, playfulness, silliness. They trusted each other and me. They treated everyone with respect, even a l'il ol' day player like myself. They did their job, but did it kindly and filled with gratitude and  a sense of play. It felt like I was part of something. I suppose like how you would to feel in any workplace team you are a part of or how you would think an actual fire department might behave given the nature of their work.

Consider me a fan.

My episode airs Tuesday, September 30 on NBC. 10/9c  Check it out.

New York. Again. One more time

I am feeling melancholy.

I am back in New York to finish things. (Although I wonder if one ever "finishes things" with New York City.)

I am back in town for ten days to pack/clean/socialize/experience and, well...finish. I have more or less officially moved to Chicago. My things are there. My work is there. My cat is there. So I must live there.

And New York? Well, New York is seemingly my past. But yesterday, today and for the next nine days, it is my present. And in it, I find myself nostalgic and torn, content and discontent, assaulted and embraced, inspired and annoyed. New York. It's everything.

A friend said, "New York never changes" And this has given me pause. It feels like it indeed did change. Or I did. I'm not sure which. New York still offers all it did: a dizzying array of everything. This is what I love about New York. Anything is possible: opening an improv school, creating your own work, traveling to the middle east as a playwright on commission, working as an actual paralegal, falling in love with a refugee, selling Iraqi art, dinner at 4am, summer in the Hamptons, unlimited mimosa brunch, discovering Time Warner cable is your mortal enemy, Times Square blackouts, Broadway auditions, ludicrously asking Ludicrous for water, sitting in the jury of "Law and Order", overshadowing Sarah Jessica Parker, pizza for a buck, cocktails for 22, an A train teen acrobat show for less (It's showtime!!), homeless man poetry readings, cheap mani/pedis, meeting soon to be friends from all over the world...literally. It's all here. It's all still here.

And yet, it feels different.

Maybe I need more space or more quiet or more family or more work or less options or less stimulation or less concrete or less isolation. I don't know yet. I could stay here forever. Easily. But I never wanted to. After ten years...is it time to leap into the next?

Seems I already have. I think I'm done.

They say "New York will always be here if you want to come back." But people really don't, do they? Or I won't. Probably. Sure, New York will always be here, but it's not the same. Once you leave, it's not the same; you're no longer in the club.

As a committed liver and lover of New York, you are part of a club. It's unwritten, but we all know we belong. We have all agreed to put up with the crowds and the crazy and the rats and the garbage and the noise and the urine and the tourists and the tight otherwise-impossible-to-live-in-spaces in exchange for...everything. And when you agree to leave that, you become merely an outsider looking in; no longer a member of the club --- just another observer slash admirer of New York --- from the outside.

But today, I am in the middle.  Not in or out. Still here, almost gone. But still a card carrying member.

I am standing on the precipice between old and new, past and future, New York and non-New York. I made the choice. Or New York did. I'm not sure which.

But it's over New York. Damn.

Don't get me wrong: Like any old, hard-to-get-over love--- I will always long for you, I will always dream of you. I will always...wonder.

But I will no longer live here. With you. Like this.

In other words...it's finished.

...with love and gratitude.

transitions

Sorry for the radio silence!

I'm back in Chicago from my three months in sunny Mexico. Woe is me!

(honest to God, I sat on this beach. ridiculous.)

I was happily directing the brand new international artist residency in Akumal aptly titled the Akumal International Artist Residency. (Click on the link if you want to know more about that wild and crazy experience. There is a blog on the website as well, tracking the adventures!) I met wonderful artists and helped them share themselves and their work with the sleepy seaside community of Akumal and its neighbors. Many wonderful events and happenings occurred for which I am grateful-- Cesan showed us how to paint with the sun, Katarina showed us young confidence, Magda introduced us to a mermaid, Naomi made us see with our eyes closed, Aaron taught us perspective and Sarah stood in the water for 12 hours making us think and more, more, more! So many vivid experiences on the Mayan riviera. Such a 10 weeks! And now I'm back.

It's a little cold.

I'm getting resettled in my new home in the midwest. Transitions are hard.

Improv shows us that transitions can be important and not something just to blow past on the way to what's next, that the transition can have meaning and maybe even...lead to whats next -- a different "what's next" than you thought. That's why I love long-form improv -- transitions can be fun! So, let's look at what you have to do to make that work on stage.

First of all, you have to be present, pay attention -- look, listen.

You also need to say yes to what you're gifted. Just take it.

And perhaps most importantly, you need to play. You have to be willing to play.  Play the game, play the ride, play the impulse.

Just follow the flow, and voila! you're in the next scene. Magic.

So, maybe that's true in life's transitions too! Maybe at these points in our lives that are uncertain, wobbly even, we just need to look and listen, say yes to what the universe presents us...and play.

Let's both try it and see what happens. Deal?

As always, your comments and questions are welcome. Would be nice to converse...

(not Converse---the running shoes. Just to be clear. Ah, ocean brain.)

Community (not the TV show)

As you may know, I recently moved to Chicago. I moved to be closer to my family. But a move is hard. When you are single and don't have a family of your own, you have to find another way of finding community. Often it's friends. They become family. They become your community.

I have an Iraqi refugee friend who recently got resettled here in Chicago. Alone. No family. No, I'm not on the path to fall for another Iraqi, but I am trying to make a point.

We need each other people. Without community we are lost. Dorothy Day said:  “We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”

Community can be one person or a full entourage. It's your people. Finding community is finding your people. If you're unhappy, maybe you haven't found your people!

When I first moved to New York ten years ago, there was a time when I a mess. I felt lost, alone and had no real community. I had two dear friends, who saved me, but I had no sense of belonging anywhere. And I suffered. I was lonely. I missed my family. I missed my home. Eventually, I found a neighborhood and school and church and yoga studio and neighbors. And all this contributed to my well-being and my sense of community. All this ultimately made me happy.

Have you found your community? Good for you! Is there someone around you who could use a helping hand. Can you help another find their community? Can you help them find a sense of home? Look around. Be proactive. Is there an organization in your community who works with recently resettled refugees? or homeless people? Or even easier, is there someone across from you on the train, or bank line or sidewalk that could maybe benefit from a genuine smile, greeting, offer of help? Can we try to be more human with each other? Turn off your smart phone. Facebook can wait. And observe. Look. Participate. Don't let life (or opportunity) pass you by.

In improv, this might be called: making someone else look good. We use the concept in scenework to remind ourselves that the better someone else looks, we look. Make them successful, we succeed. (this is also the essence of team!) Make them happy, it contributes to your happiness. Contribute to their life, it contributes to yours, enlarging your own sense of community, of family. It's a win win folks.

Take care of each other out there.

“Every person is defined by the communities she belongs to.”

― Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead

pushing pause.

The weather has been crazy in the Midwest. Super cold and then mild and then super cold again. Difficult to figure out how to dress every day! Difficult to weather the change.

My 95 year old grandpa just died. We were very close. We talked 2 or 3 times a week. I visited him from across country 4 or 5 times a year. We were very close. I miss him. It is a difficult change to weather.

Life, of course, like the weather, always changes. Nothing stays the same. Ever. No matter how hard we cling to the current, it is beyond our grasp, and becomes the past. It flies away in the winter wind.

Improv teaches us to let go of the past, to live in this moment, to say yes to what is given us here and now—bitter winds or bitter loss, staggering failure or triumphant success. But sometimes I want to linger a bit, slow down time, live in the past, remember what was. This is one of those moments. I am not ready for this change quite yet. I will be soon, but not quite yet. So I sit. And as the wind howls outside, I wait for the sun to shine once again, for the weather to change, to weather this change.

Running Into Your Past...

As many of you know, I have worked a great deal with Iraqi refugees --  trying to create awareness and change for these millions of displaced people. While in New York, I have done this through working with The List Project, selling paintings and writing various articles, a play, a book with Veterans Book Project and most recently, a memoir.

After touring the play for 2 years and finishing the book, I have taken a bit of a step back from advocating for Iraqis. I needed a breath, some space. I made a move across the country. I'm even doing a Christmas show for Pete's sake!

But one day, after climbing up the 3000 stairs of the elevated Chicago "El" train platform, I make fleeting eye contact with a man. I smile and turn away to look at the train map of Chicago (...still being new here and all) when suddenly I sense the man next to me.

"Excuse me," he says in broken English. I recognize the accent. Come on, really Chicago?

He shows me a piece of paper with directions written on it in English and sure enough, Arabic.

"Chicago?" he asks, pointing to his paper. Still not super fluent in the Chicago public transportation system, I look at the map with him, locating the Chicago stop in Chicago, both of us strangers in a foreign land.

"Yes, 11 stops from here" I offer at last, trying desperately to remember my numbers in Arabic before realizing I only learned 1-10 anyways.

"OK," he responds. "Sorry. I speak Arabic. No so English. I Iraqi." Of course you are. What else would you be? I smile.

"Asaalam al-aikum" I greet him, grateful to remember the phrase.

"Ahhhh!" He is clearly happy to partially recognize his own language. "You? Arabic?" he asks, confused.

"I only speak a little. Shway-shway," I answer.

"Ahh, shway-shway. Little! Yes! Very good!"

Once onboard the train, I try to explain that I advocate for Iraqi refugees, that I do plays and books to tell stories like his. Forget about it! Neither his English, nor my Arabic could help us through that attempted communication! He goes on to tell me that he and his wife and three children just settled in Chicago two months ago. They fled Iraq, spent a year in Lebanon until fleeing to Damascus for three years, waiting for resettlement.

"At end, Damascus very bad, no good, very bad," he adds with both hands gesturing no, as well. His face changes when he speaks of those years.

"But you are all safe?" I ask, needing to act out "safe" and let's be honest--- "you all". Why can I remember no other Arabic!?! What is the word for "you"!?

"Yes. Now. Ensh'Allah." There's one! Ensh'Allah, yes. Ensh'Allah: God-willing, they are now safe.

It's not easy, this transition to a new country, new city, new people, new culture, new language. It never is. Being a refugee has to be one of the hardest things there is --- especially one from Iraq, with all our prejudices and stereotypes in this country. I can see it on his face. But I also see the joy on his face meeting me...a possible friend, someone in some strange way familiar, or at least kind. I think it is no accident that I was to meet this man today. I think I needed it and I think he did too.

"Thank you," he says to me before he gets off at the 11th stop. "You very nice."

"Afwan," I respond. His eyebrows raise in recognition of my attempt at his language. "Yes! Afwan. You welcome. Very good!"

"Ma'asallama!" I shout out to him waving goodbye, now in full glory mode with my Arabic.

After I settled back in my seat, I smiled once again: my first Iraqi friend in Chicago; first of many, no doubt.

Knee Signs

I need my knees. We all do. Knees are necessary to walk, move, travel -- all things I have been doing a lot of lately! Transplanting to Chicago requires knees. Well, of course, do the math, I somehow damaged my right knee a few days ago, half way into my move, making it very difficult to walk, climb stairs, move boxes...you know...basic moving stuff. Sigh.

Why? Why, oh why knee god would this happen now!??! Why!?

It made me think. Is there a reason I have a knee injury, of all possible injuries? (Especially since I own braces for ankles, elbows and wrists, but nothing for knees. Of course!)

As my mom would say...there are no accidents.

This injury has literally forced me to slow down and accept help. My sister went to get the car so I wouldn't have to walk, I hired movers, I accepted the fact that I couldn't unpack in one day! Maybe its the universe forcing me to slow down, forcing me to accept help, forcing me to just breathe through this transition. Maybe the breathing will help me land, maybe the pace will inspire peace. Sometimes the signs are obvious. And simple. We just need to listen.

Just sit, Kim. Slow down.

Oh, and ice. Don't forget to ice.

Like A Goldfish!

...so I decided to move to Chicago for a year. I had great responses from several theatres after a bunch of meetings. I was welcomed and shared and introduced and auditioned. I felt like now was the time, if there ever would be a time. But I wanted to wait until I had a job offer to secure things. I was nervous. The sensible thing to do would be to wait.

But I've never been particularly sensible.

I decided to just jump! After all, this is what I teach: JUMP! So move to Chicago, I decided.

And then miraculously, two job offers came in. Big job offers. Good job offers. I had to laugh. I have been stuck in molasses for a while regarding my living situation. But when you jump, the net appears. I believe this! Improv guru Del Close said it like this: "Fall, then figure out what to do on the way down."

I have been not jumping for a year. I have been "hopping" from place to place like a frog, but the minute I actually jumped, support came.

Lesson: Be brave. Jump. Your net will appear too. And if not? Well...you'll figure out what to do on the way down. :)