First page of the philadelphia archive.

change.

Posted by jessica on Nov 23, 2011 with 4 Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
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I’m different, guys.

No, it’s true. Like, something happened inside of me somewhere along the way that made me less afraid or something. I like people so tremendously. Life is so interesting and people contribute a lot to make it so.

But, right–I’m different now, I think.

Case in point: Today, I ran into a guy who I did a show with a few years ago. We recognized each other and had one of those conversations that feel alive. You know, like, you’re both seeing each other and so fully inhabiting the moment and captivated by whatever it is the other one is saying. And it made me a little sad, because I didn’t really give him the chance to get to know me back when we did a show together. And I missed out on getting to know him.

I was quiet then, I guess.

Fast forward to now.

During Chicago, when the director mentioned that those of us who have a hard time not talking should probably bring a book to tech rehearsals, many of the cast pointedly stared in my direction.

Because I am not so quiet now.

And there’s this place in Philadelphia I’ve been to called the Please Touch Museum. It’s wonderful because every last thing that is on display is meant to be explored and discovered and felt and understood. Kids love it, but honestly, I like it, too. And, well, maybe life is more like the Please Touch Museum for me now. And, you know, this could sound entirely inappropriate so please, let’s keep this family, okay? But my point is that I am glad I am not wasting time afraid to discover the people around me. I am glad I am not missing out on this.

For me, being shy is a good excuse for letting someone else do the talking at the drive- thru window, maybe; but there is no good excuse for missing out on what’s so vibrantly around you. The people. The rainstorms. The books. The places. The questions. The answers. The humor. The challenges. The growth. The everything is everything, as Lauryn Hill says.

something to sing about

Posted by jessica on Nov 28, 2009 with 14 Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
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Tonight we broke out the craft table and started coloring.
Christmas scenes. The manger. Evergreens and wreaths.

And now I am listening to Christmas music and instead of trying to wonder what it all means, I am just letting it happen.
The transformation that comes from believing in something greater than yourself.
The small inkling of hope that comes from seeing beauty in the ruins. Something familiar in the wild. I imagine that’s what the British settlers must have felt when that first little baby, named Virginia Dare after the Virgin Queen, was introduced to Roanoke. It was probably no small relief when they saw with their eyes, felt with their hands those soft little baby fingers that gave evidence to the mysterious cycle of life that continued despite being so very far from home.
I remember as a teenager going to some crack houses in Philadelphia, handing out hot egg sandwiches to people who were skinnier and sadder than they should be. Everywhere I looked, the story was not good. All the clues–the boarded up windows, door frames that no longer bothered with an actual door, kids in ragged clothes that fit somebody at some point, but it sure wasn’t them and it sure wasn’t now–added up to a people who had given up hope.
Until I met him.
One guy, whose name escapes me all these years later, was different.
Not because he didn’t quickly grab a sandwich or wasn’t addicted to crack or worse. But because of two things that still stand out clearly to me now:
He looked me in the eyes. Like we were both people. Just people. Neither better or worse than the other. Maybe luckier, sure, but not better. And what’s that saying? We’re all on the same level before the cross. Well, that’s true. And we are also all made up of DNA, of thoughts we learned to think from the way the world has reacted to us through the years, and a jumble of painful wounds and loving touches that make us who we are today.
And there was an air of transcendence about him also. I felt it when he opened his mouth and sang for me. He sang Amazing Grace and I couldn’t help but believe it. All of it. I saw the wretchedness of his home, felt where he has been and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he needed somebody and was not about to turn grace, any grace, down.
And there he was, just singing. In the ugliest place in Philadelphia, it was beautiful. Like an alter not built from materials that can crumble with the passing of time, but made from a raw honesty and the desire to look up, up, up; past these old buildings and even the charity that would fleetingly last the afternoon, he sang and made life better.
And no, a song can’t fill your stomach and no, a song can’t pay your bills, but it sure can transcend you. It sure can remind you that there is something more to life than our own hollow desires and the way that we clumsily hurt each other.
And I guess that is why I am going to keep on singing.
Because I want to look up, up, up. Not in denial, necessarily, but in belief that there is still something to sing about.
Sorry for the deep thoughts (by Jack Handy). Maybe next time I listen to Christmas music I will write about silver bells and whether or not an angel or a star should top the tree.
Um, totally a star, by the way.

the deeper magic

Posted by jessica on Oct 5, 2009 with No Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Loved Ones, Thoughts and Feelings
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Lately I’ve had this one phrase running through my mind. And no, it has nothing to do with the recent travesties committed against me at the Philadelphia Airport. It has a lot to do with love; everything to do with love. And it’s a question, though not my question. I am not going to pretend [...]

oh, flying.

Posted by jessica on Oct 4, 2009 with No Comments
in Funny Stuff, Thoughts and Feelings
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I know why they won’t let you check in for your flight. You’re late! You. Are. Late…!!! Said the man standing behind me while waiting at the Northwest counter. I looked into his light blue eyes and couldn’t decide what was more annoying, the shade of his crystalline eyes or the jovial tone he used [...]