Here I am

It started as early as I can remember. Role-playing in my Barbie Jeep with my fake husband about our evening's plans. Performing for myself in front of the mirror- very dramatic pieces that included phrases like, 'how dare you?', and 'i can't believe this.' Cameras. At the sight of one, I would grab a piece of bark from my mother's imitation ficus tree, use it in place of a microphone, and put on a one-woman show. Or I would just pose and tell my mom to 'look at me!' Child fashion shows. Singing in church. School plays. Oh, school plays. Every year, my elementary school held a themed musical program called May Day. The first year, kindergarten, I played Martha Washington in Yankee Doodle. Somehow, it didn't matter that I was wearing patriotic colonial garb with a head full of spirals, I was shining. Beaming because I got to perform on a stage in front of people and entertain them. My mirror was a fantasy land. Lovers, friends, enemies, suitors, myself being all of those things to other people. I created entire scenes by looking in the mirror and talking. Sometimes they were crying scenes. Sometimes I was flirting or falling in love. It didn't matter. I was lost and I was creating and at ages as early as four, I was doing the very thing I am doing today: exploring emotional truths under imaginary circumstances. There is nothing I dreamt of more than growing up and performing. The warmth of the lights, the magic of a crowd, the thrill of the applause. I fed off of people. Their stories, their energy. Every chance I got, I sang, I acted, I entertained. I searched for performance camps, clubs, classes. It was as much a part of me as breathing air or having feet. It just...was.

When I was around nine, I auditioned for a traveling children's choir called Kids in Tune. I rehearsed for my grandma while she cleared a downstairs room. Would I sing Mariah Carey's upbeat and catchy Dreamlover, or would it be her inspirational power-ballad Hero? Naturally, she chose Hero, so that was what I sang for my audition. And I made it. I was in! Finally. This was my chance. This organization sang at the White House and traveled all over, doing benefits and special events. I. Had. Made. It.
Almost. After I received the good-news message on my answering machine, my mom told me she didn't feel like making the 45-minute drive to rehearsals every week. I was crushed. I hated her for it. Parts of me still do.

Thank God for May Day. That year in school we did a number from Free Willy. We were told to wear bright clothes, so I chose a hot pink Loony Toons shirt and black spandex shorts. (This was at my heaviest, I have no idea why.) We hit the stage in pairs and guess who was the first one out? That's right. I was so excited I could hardly stand it. I didn't have to get lost in the crowd or blend in. It was all eyes on me, Taz and Tweety. (I made sure I was on the downstage side.) The scene began as if we had just woken up. You should have seen my yawn and stretch. Those other kids. Pft. They weren't even committing. For all that audience knew, I had just rolled out of a coma.

In the 8th grade, a wondrous little thing called Odyssey of the Mind entered my life. OM was a creative-problem-solving-through-performing-arts organization. There were only seven students 'allowed' in, and we had to write our own skits and sketches, make our own props and costumes, and be as original as junior highers could possibly be. For the Christmas show at school that year (along with my writing debut- a 1950s skit, Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree: Nerds vs. Preps) we OMers wrote a holiday-themed, blind-date show. My friend Justin White played a well-endowed woman from the Bronx with inflated-balloon breasts and wig that fell off mid performance. I played an airhead who chewed gum gigantically and fell out of her chair a lot due to 'zoning out'. My best friend Beth played the game show host who I'm pretty sure was a man. She played a man a lot in OM which I loved and thought was really hilarious because I was always jealous of her perfect body, so any chance I got to shine and she was duct-taped and mustached- yes. For our competition piece, the OM headquarters sent out the highly anticipated synopsis packet which told us that year's theme, rules, and requirements: Choose any Shakespearean play and make it decade-specific, any decade of your choosing. Rewrite in your own words, keeping the work recognizable, and under 8 minutes. Must have two original songs. One fully handmade costume piece, along with a fully-functioning set-piece, fashioned from 100% recyclable materials.
We did Romiette & Julio: Young Love at Woodstock. We made a jacket for my character, Romiette (as if you had to wonder) out of nothing but tie-dyed coffee filters and Mod Podge. Juilo was in a band at Woodstock, (how we fell in love) so we made a fence to surround his stage out of PVC pipes and the plastic rings that hold six-pack drinks together. We won the regional competition and got to go on and compete in Nashville (where I live now) for the state-wide competition at Lipscomb University (where I attend college).
Sidenote: Beth and I snuck into the boys' dorm and stole a pair of bright yellow Umbro shorts that were worn for years after by multiple boys, friends, and boyfriends.
We placed 4th in Nashville, so that was our last stop. But every minute was gold (gold: the color of Justin White's braces.).

After 8th grade, I became a high school cheerleader until family life became unimaginable and over-bearing, so I took a break from everything. After high school, I went through a 'brave' phase where I died my hair every color, including black & white, (together, at the same time) wore a lot of sideways belts and off-the-shoulder 80's tees, and got a tattoo. On my chest. Of a big, blue sparrow. They couldn't exactly cast me as Elizabeth Proctor when I went to my first post-OM audition. So I gave up. I gained about 30 pounds, started teaching preschool, and saw a lot of live music. I had fun, kissed a lot of boys, and had a lot of friends. But something called me away. I packed up and moved to Nashville, black & white hair, 80s tees, and tattoo in tow. I worked in another school, made some more friends, kissed some more boys, and decided to go to college. I lost the 30 lbs, grew out my hair, and got a teaching degree. One of the boys I kissed would be my last. He asked me to marry him. I said yes. One day in the library, while working on that teaching degree, I told him that I knew it sounded crazy, but that I wanted to pursue acting. He said it wasn't crazy at all, that we should find an acting class for me. So we did. The guy from All My Children was the director of the school. I called to ask him if it was a pipe-dream. He told me to come in and read a scene with him. I went. He asked if I wanted to do comedic or dramatic. I told him I had only ever done comedy and that I couldn't do dramatic because I would laugh. He said, 'then we're doing dramatic'. And we did. After the scene he said something I will never forget: 'Never tell anyone you can't do dramatic.' I started his class a week later. It was on-camera which I had never done before. We were assigned scenes and scene partners, and read them cold. I was overwhelmed with joy and excitement and sense of belonging and disbelief. I was in a real acting class with real actors and a teacher who had been on the cover of People Magazine. It was in that class that a director/producer cast me in my very first film project. Within two months, I had an agent and a Taylor Swift music video audition. Within 10 months, I was cast as the lead in a 1940s British farce at a professional theatre. The month after closing that show, I got a principal role in a Carrie Underwood music video. The next month, I found myself on set with Sam Shepard, Carey Elwes, and T-Bone Burnett, for a TV show pilot. I have since done several commercials, feature films, short films, music videos, and plays. Crazy what a little encouragement can do. Thank you, sweet husband.

After doing 'real' theatre, I realized that I needed training. Justin and I were headed to the Big Apple, until a job promotion for him changed our minds. I decided to look at colleges with performing arts programs. We saw shows that the universities put on and I judged from there. I called Lipscomb, the school I was most impressed with, and scheduled a meeting. The campus was beautiful and it was surreal being back at the place where I had performed as a kid so long ago. I fell in love with the people instantly. I was offered three scholarships and a grant. I started in January. My first audition there, I was cast as the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I was nominated for an Irene Ryan award for that performance. In January I will go to Florida to perform before the judges. My nine-year-old self is getting a second chance. Maybe I'll sing Hero.

Another opportunity Lipscomb gave me was an almost month-long stint at the Gately/Poole Acting Conservatory at Northern Illinois University. I worked with renowned acting coach Kathryn Gately, and her husband, Richard Poole who has produced on Broadway and had a theatre on 42nd Street. I went with two boys from my program, Matthew and Caleb. Matthew and I had been cast in three scenes together in school (all romantic) and Caleb was one of those charismatic flirts who charmed all the girls until they learned that he was “just being Caleb.” However, I must say that he proved to be much more than just a charismatic flirt. By the end of our time at the conservatory, he had become my protective friend who yelled at a guy when he wouldn't leave me alone, and someone who really cared about people. He, very surprisingly, became someone I could trust. My brother Caleb.
Matthew. He and I were cast together for the first time during a workshop for the conservatory, months before going. I had had one class with him that semester, to which he rarely showed up, and when he did come, he had a very this-is-so-annoying-I-can’t-believe-I-bothered-waking-up-for-this kind of vibe. So I had figured him for a jerk. A red-haired, decently muscular jerk who sometimes wore a very thin Avett Brothers baseball tee. That sparked my interest. If he liked the Avett Brothers, he couldn’t be all bad, right? The jury was still out. Wait a second. Make that two classes. We were also in a Saturday morning modern-dance choreography class together. I think the better parts of my brain were trying to protect and shield me and my pride from that memory. It was a disaster. After a knee surgery and seven years of degenerative disk disease, I was about as agile as a baby caribou. Matthew didn’t posses much more grace. I’m not sure what his excuse was. Watching him ‘dance’ was like watching a moose try to walk for the first time after a serious accident, whose knees were in desperate need of WD-40.
At the workshop, he and I were paired together in a scene. It was a scene about a bride who got freaked out at her wedding and ran away, through the forest, in the rain, and came upon a cabin where, coincidentally, a strapping young man lived. I played the freaked out bride. He played the strapping young man. In the scene, in one of the more tender moments, he brushed the hair from my shoulder. Suddenly he wasn’t a jerk anymore. After our scene, he told me we’d go to Chicago and do a scene together, and it would be ‘epic.' He had no idea.
After that, we were cast as confused lovers in a scene from Spike Heels, and then we did Act II of Ibsen’s Enemy of the People in which I played his wife. Obviously, we got to know each other pretty well. People kept saying they loved casting us together, seeing us play opposite each other because of the chemistry. That damned chemistry. When we got to the conservatory, we were told right away that no Lipscomb students would be paired together. Until we were. Richard cast us as two, you guessed it, confused lovers who were having an affair. Except that, this time, it was different. We had to kiss. No, we had to make out. No, we had to passionately slam one-another into a wall, on top of a violently cleared table, then onto the ground where we were instructed to make loud, exaggerated, orgasmic noises on top of each other while saying our lines. Remember when he said we’d have a scene together in Chicago and it would be epic?

Vehement make outs aside, the people I met at this conservatory are some of the most authentic, kind, honest, open, hard-working, hilarious, crass individuals I will ever know. My friends.
Lindsey from Vegas who all the boys fell in love with. Short hair and smiley eyes. Strong and opinionated, sweet and fun-spirited. Could talk about any movie ever made. Loved music. Made no apologies. Favorite word started with f and ended with k.
Angelic. She's like a shot of Jack on a lace doily. Tiny, curly-haired firecracker who hates being called things like 'tiny' and 'firecracker'. Spitfire New Yorker, through and through, with a heart of gold. She has no idea how pure she is.
Hazel. Innocent. Smart. Beautiful. Brave. Love. Delicate. Sixteen. Hazel.
Ariel. Tall. Serene, sweet-spirited, soft-spoken. Sincere. Hilarious without trying. Generous. Awesome free-styler.
Tatum. Beautiful, beautiful Tatum. Who could make some of the most hideous faces any man has ever seen. A true talent, the way she could morph that face into ungodly images. She was a free spirit. She felt like a dream girl from the 60s- gentle vibe, dirty jokes, easy voice.
James. One of gentlest people I've ever met. His face was pleasant and trustworthy. His voice was soft and kind. He only wanted to do the right thing, always. But he would never admit it because he is also one of the most humble people I've ever met. Used to be in death metal band. And man, did he have good hair. 'Cape Cod hair.'


Chicago showed me some pretty important parts of myself. Parts I had either forgotten or ignored. The work we did gives no other choice but to listen to your insides and follow that truth. For me, sometimes happiness is easiest, comes most naturally, but may not always be the truth that I acknowledge. The conservatory was a safe place where feelings like rage, chaos, anger, sadness were not only explored, but encouraged. Truth. It’s where I am now. Right, smack in the middle of the truth.
Since I was a little girl, I dreamt. I tried. I pushed. I failed. I was let down. I got brave. I grew weak. I got up. I got inspired. I got knocked down. I was revitalized. And cheered on. And here I am.

Here I am.

casmir pulaski day

sufjan makes me feel like portland and portland makes me feel whole and new and pure. which makes me think of jesus. which fills me up with goodness and light. i remember sitting in that bedroom in the farmhouse on the land of the family who all lives next to each other. sunlight was pouring in and the air was moist and i felt clean and refreshed and alive. i will spend my whole life always trying to have this feeling. beauty and nature and air. it's my heaven.

naps til after 9pm

i am up entirely too late to have to wake up at 7:30. i am sitting on 6 hours and 45 minutes right now. that is not enough.

let's list some of my near-future goals:

getting accepted into performing arts school in nyc, fall '10
losing 15 lbs (which feels completely impossible)
to be a really great actress
to work as much as much as i can before (if) going to performing arts school
being successful in acting once (again, if) i finish performing arts school
to be more fashionable- i don't care how this sounds.
to follow through with getting involved in the community and small groups
to have a really well-decorated place
to work with amy adams, drew barrymore, jennifer aniston, reese witherspoon. any/either/or.
to be on ellen and/or jimmy fallon. because i like them.
to be respected as a great actress
to not feel like a total moron after typing every one of these
to never stop learning
to have really long hair
to have work that i'm proud of
to not give up until it happens
to be toned and not jiggly
to be cast in a really great play
to be friends with taylor swift and tegan & sara. like, best friends.
to keep reading
to memorize my monologues
to star in something spectacular

all of my dreams seem ridiculous and lofty. some are silly and funny. some are serious. but they're all things that i want in some capacity, so it counts. i don't feel like i'll ever get there, but i never thought i'd have an incredible marriage with an incredible person, either. i guess i'll just stay the course. i wish my dreams were simple, like being a great gardener or an antique collector. but i guess if they're easy, they're not dreams. it feels big, impossible, and scary. god is telling me, 'so has everything else and you've gotten this far.' so i'll just keep on going. never knowing, but always trusting.

6 hours, 25 minutes. i should really get some sleep.

mushing, cause i can

right now i am sitting on my bed, in my apartment in nashville, where i live with my husband, to whom i have been married for 3 months and 15 days. it is the most effortless thing, thus far. the two years we've been together have been, really. it's just...easy. turns out, there is no magic trick- he's nice to me, i'm nice to him, we both really like to laugh and go places, so we do. he's the easiest person i've ever known. i am blessed. he treats me so well. it's what i always wanted, growing up, as a little girl- to feel pretty and cared for, and appreciated and loved as a whole, without ever having to hurt. it's honest and respectful and considerate and really, really fun. some days when i'm tired, or having back spasms, or when he's had a long day at work and just feels like being quiet, it's still great. he is my best friend in the, if-we-were-in-junior-high-we-would-get-separated-for-laughing kind of way. every night before we fall asleep, we just laugh in the dark for about an hour. it's wonderful and ridiculous. i can wear bulky mom tennis shoes around him, with no makeup, and hair that hasn't been washed for a week, with my retainers in, and still, he does things like, leaves me notes on my mirror about how he thinks i'm perfect. and i've never loved so purely in my whole, entire life.