Readers Write: “Endurance”

Ruby_Sun

☀️Good News Alert!☀️ A piece I submitted is included in The Sun magazine’s Readers Write section (Sept issue)! Readers Write is perhaps my favorite feature in The Sun. This year I challenged myself to submit something every month and had to chuckle at the cosmic timing: I received word about being included on the topic “Endurance” just days after I ran my latest marathon.

Running has taught me a lot about myself. I can see directly how early experiences of confidence in running have catapulted me to where I am now, personally, physically and creatively. Here are the medals I’ve received from running full and half marathons (and one ultra marathon!), and, perhaps most special of all, the one from the first 5K I ever ran in 2013. Never dreamed I would be this person, but here we are.

Medals
More so than endurance running, this piece describes the dynamics I endured in my last relationship — one with a verbally and emotionally abusive man. Most of my friends had no idea the degree to which this was happening, mostly because I was embarrassed to tell them (file under: signs you’re in a toxic relationship). The piece describes merely the quaint tip of the iceberg of what it was like to be with him. I remember viscerally the internal conflict I felt between my self-worth wanting me to stand up to his bullying and the inherited lifetimes of conditioning telling me to stay quiet and small. These days I am stronger and have more tools but this is still a work in progress for me.

Pain that is not transformed is transmitted. No one is immune from this. Today I am speaking directly to my cis male friends: Men who have not healed their own trauma cause harm to others. FULL STOP. That harm has a daily impact on womxn, children, folks with marginalized identities. Harm takes MANY forms. Even good guys cause harm. Men, if someone tells you that you are causing harm, literally the least you can do is listen. If you had any idea of the infinite ways womxn twist and bend themselves to prioritize your comfort, it would/should make your heads explode. Centering men’s comfort has been a survival skill for generations. We need your help to disrupt this.

Here is the piece. Thank you for reading!

Sun_Endurance 1Sun_Endurance 2

Writing the Perfect MONKEY

Originally published on Artist Soapbox on 30 July 2018

Greetings, Soapboxers!

Earlier this month, several friends and collaborators gathered to read and hear the latest draft of my upcoming play, YEAR OF THE MONKEY. If you’ve ever put your work-in-progress up for critique, you know it is a singularly excruciating, insecurity-stoking and necessary experience. I clawed my way to that draft and now, armed with lots of helpful notes and personal revelations, it’s time to revise.

Great. I can’t stand this part.

I knew this was coming, but I’m annoyed anyway. Why am I making such a big deal out of this? I’ve got a lot of great feedback to plow into this thing but I feel angry and scared and, honestly, I have been so frustrated over this project that I have contemplated quitting several times.

Ah, perfectionism. My old friend.

At several points along the way, this project has felt like I’m using a tweezers to build a sandcastle. Thomases, by birthright, are unapologetically verbose yet I have no access to this endless supply of words. When I sit down at the keyboard, out come the tweezers. Why? Because I want it to be “right.” Because I want it to be “good.” Because I want to turn it in and never have to do it again because it took so much out of me the first time. Because perfectionism is my beast. Perfectionism would rather stop me before I start. Perfectionism would rather I edited my work and myself into non-existence rather than pick up that bucket and fill it with sloppy, wet sand.

Cue the irony.

After the script read-thru, two different people remarked that a few of the scenes felt unnecessarily short and they could tell I was editing myself. I had been so focused on cutting away anything I deemed extraneous (exposition, talkiness – bad!) that I didn’t leave enough substance to establish some of the objectives and relationships. Their advice? Haul ass and go for it. Fill up those buckets. Save the tweezers for later.

Sloppiness and precision both have their place in the process. Doesn’t sloppy sound more fun? I’m into it! At least in theory. This might be a “both/and” right now.

I know I will get to a space where I’m having more fun, feeling loose and making a joyous mess. But I also know there’s old pain at the root of the perfectionism and I want to make space for that. Pathologizing my stuckness isn’t helping me. Berating myself for not having more fun seems a tad counter-intuitive.

Maybe I’m not exactly where I’d like to be, but I am showing up. Every day. Maybe the words aren’t flowing like wine (note to self: BUY MORE WINE), but they’re coming. As I’ve told myself a thousand times, “Show up for the work and the work will show up for you.” Ugh, that sounds so smug I want to punch myself in the face.

This is eerily familiar. Perfectionism. Resistance. Finding ways to nourish yourself. Time to walk this talk.

‘Til next time, Soapboxers.
MT