acting · action · courage · direction · faith · intuition · letting go · maturity · performance · poetry

Just Row, Darling, Just Row.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, I’m feeling both immensely relieved, and a bit of an
emotional hangover from all of the worry and intense “gotta get it done”ness of
the school semester. I finally finished
my paper for my Shakespeare class, and emailed it to the teacher last night at 9pm.
Granted, it was only six pages,
but this whole working plus school thing really walloped what I was able to
give to school, and squished everything else into weekends that wasn’t school
and school sort of got shunted along every day, moving down my calendar like a
shuffle board disc – I can do it tomorrow, I can do it tomorrow. Like Scarlet
O’Hara – After all tomorrow is another day.
Which may be true, but tomorrow has been another day of
intense activity, and not in any way better than the day before it.
So, the paper is done. My third out of 4 semesters of my MFA
degree is done. And again, relief but… a big dose of “uhhhhhh….???” aka now
what. I’m familiar enough with situations like these to not have to worry too
much about the “now what”, but rather to just show up for what’s next, even if
that’s do the dishes (which, duh, I do have to do), and also, as I’ve been
doing more of lately, follow my little internal nudges, cuz they seem to have a
better idea than I do about wtf is going to happen or is meant to happen, or
which way I should row.
It’s funny. I had mini-epiphany a while back which went
something like the following: I only need to row. I don’t need to know which
way the boat is headed, I’m not steering, I’m not making the waves do their
thing – I only need to row, and I’ll get there.
But that didn’t quite
sit right with me. Sure, I agree, do the next indicated action – which for me
at the moment is to wash up and get ready for work (I’ve decided – for now – to
do my blogs in the morning – I procrastinate them at night, and then end up
past my bedtime – plus one thing I really did learn from all this paper-writing
pushing was that I really do write better in the morning. I’m a morning person
– sort of. I’ve already had one cup of coffee! – I’m more of a “mid-morning”
person – catch me at 10:30 or 11, and I’ll be ON IT… perhaps that’s also cuz
the other two cups of coffee will finally have kicked in…).
In any case, rowing is great – I can row, and sit backwards
and still question where the hell are we going. But I also do believe that it
is sort of my responsibility to have some vague idea of which ocean we’re in –
to extend the metaphor beyond its bounds! Maybe that’s still just me wanting to
have some control, some idea of control if I know where I am, where I’m
heading, and more about what I need to do to get there. Maybe that it doesn’t
sit comfortably is just all part of the action and practice of this thing – to
sit in the discomfort of not knowing, but to do the work anyway.
I don’t know what will happen at auditions. What will happen
after school. What will happen tonight, even! I want to know – especially the
“after school” part. Somehow I’m way more willing to let the audition stuff be
how it will be – I’m way more que cera cera about it. Because I really know that I can’t control the outcome, I can only
control how I show up and prepare for it – how I do or do not do research, take
action, practice, and look for an acting coach, like my acting friend suggested
to me. Somehow, letting go of the results of this is easy. Partly because, to
me, it also feels fun. It feels like an adventure. Like trying a new ice cream
every time. Like, I wonder what this flavor tastes like. So, of course it’s
easy to show up more lightly to those. (But I will say, I’m sure I wouldn’t
have always felt that way – which is why it’s taken me so long to even get here
to stage zeropointone or wherever I am.)
But, “after school,” the looming deadline of “you ought to
know.” More lies. I don’t know. I know that school has been the best thing I’ve
done for myself in a while. Not cuz I get to study and write poetry – that’s
cool, but it’s not where my passion is – but cuz I get to have this time to
discover all this new stuff about myself. I said when I arrived that I wanted
the two years of school to offer me time to “solidify my foundation within
myself.” And I think I’ve been doing that. Concretizing who I am, how I want to
be in this world – to have the time to become someone who can show up to
auditions with a sense of fun.
I am uncomfortable not knowing. I am uncomfortable feeling
like I’m not taking the “right” actions (not writing a sample syllabus, not looking at
teaching jobs, not knowing where I will live or want to live). But, I also don’t
want to teach. … So, that’s leaves me with a WIDE field, and too many options
feels a little like none at all in my fear-brain.
So, before I talk myself out of the awesomeness that is my
ability to show up and let go of the results, out of the awesomeness that is I
FINISHED my semester, I’ll go get my second cup of coffee from my microwave and
pray that all this rowing is better for me than I can possibly see. 
action · balance · finances · integrity · letting go · maturity · responsibility · school · self-care · spirituality

Suddenly Seymour

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I did it again. I agreed to a job that I didn’t stop to
consider whether I wanted to do it, but rather whether I could do it.
At about 3pm yesterday, I get an email from a woman I’ve
babysat for before saying her sitter cancelled, and could I sit for her
tonight. Almost immediately, without pausing to consider one way or the other, I
email her back and say thank you, but I have my final paper due for school
tomorrow, and I really need to concentrate on getting that done. But think of
me for next time.
Then, my brain starts in. Couldn’t I finish the paper before
I sit for them? Sure, I’ll barely get home, scarf down some food, and rush out
to BART where she’ll pick me up, but I could do it, right? I mean, I want her
to know I’m a reliable babysitter, someone she can call on to pay me x amount
of money. If I don’t take this job, she won’t think of me next time. If I don’t
take this job, I’ll be out a handful of cash, and I could use it.
So.Many.“Could”s. I could do it. So, I email her back, and
say, you know what, I think I can do it. Let’s meet at this BART station at
this time.
Then, all of the reality of my over-commiting sinks in.
Really, Molly? I’m actually back at home, jacket still on, sitting on my floor with my
Shakespeare paper open on my laptop when I realize that I’ve done it again.
(Oops) 😛
And so, now, at the last minute, I text her and let her know
that I thought I could do it, but I really can’t, and that I’m so sorry for
accepting a job that I couldn’t really take. She texts me back to say No
worries. But, it stuck with me.
This is one of those death-rattle behaviors. These are the
last vestiges, it feels to me, of a behavior that is on its way out. But, as is
usually the case, the Universe will give me a few more opportunities to see if
I’m really willing to let go of accepting things I don’t want to do, can’t do,
feel I “should” do. Am I ready to stop chasing the crumbs?
Cuz that’s part of what it comes down to. If I don’t show up
for this thing you’ve asked of me, you won’t give me love, esteem, validation.
If I don’t show up, even in a resentful, exhausted, crippled manner, you will
forget about me and I will be invisible.
Obviously, to a rational observer, these are lies. As more
likely, when I am rested, refilled, and available in mind and body, then am I more able to give anything at all.
People are not asking me to give from the dregs of my well to them. They’re
asking normal questions. And I’m offering them my dregs. That’s not fair to
anyone involved, and certainly, then, when I flake.
I had a situation this weekend where a woman had agreed to
meet me at a time and place, and I made effort to get into the city to do so.
While I’m on BART, she texts to say she can’t make it, and I’m furious. Way
more pissed than the situation calls for – and I know it’s because it’s the
same behavior I dislike in myself. Why agree to something when you know you
can’t do it?
My flakiness is a result of agreeing to stuff that I can’t
show up for. I agree to stuff I can’t show up for because I maintain a system
of belief that you will only love me and care about me if I’m Super Molly. I am
willing to let this go, because it’s just not working anymore. Super Molly is a
flake, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I’d rather be human Molly, making
commitments I know I can, and showing up to those fully and without resentment.
I’d rather be human Molly who doesn’t need to feed on the approval of others
for my sustenance. As human Molly, it means that I am equal to
you – no better, no worse, and I don’t have to prove I’m either.
Finally, in meditation this morning, I had the song
“Suddenly Seymour” from Little Shop of Horrors come to me (yes, sometimes my meditations are weird). But what
occurred to me about it is that the song’s “Seymour” = my Higher Power. (fyi, i get tons of puns and sight gags in my dreams and meditations. my mind/heart is one that would cook something like this up with no problem!) My HP is “here to provide me” with
everything I need. My HP, “treating me kindly” with “sweet understanding.”* I don’t need to depend on others’ approval for my
self-esteem, I don’t need to depend on my fear-based thoughts when I answer
requests from others, I don’t need to dig from my dregs to be a member of this
world. We’ll see how willing I am to let go of all of this when the next
opportunity comes up, but (I hope) for today, Seymour’s my man. 

*and because I can’t resist… “I’d meet a dollar/approval, I’d follow it blindly – A job snaps its fingers, Me? I’d say sure!”

humilty · letting go · maturity · recovery

The Buddha says hello first.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

It’s a good thing a friend of mine told me this yesterday in
regard to another situation, as I ran into a woman today who I have some discomfort with.
Earlier this year, I was attempting to make Oakland
friends and so was having lunch with this woman who I’d begun to pal around with a little. She was telling me about a person who’d offended her, and began to generalize about people who were “doing it wrong.” I got a little defensive at her blanket statement, and thought that her
thinking someone else was doing it wrong was wrong. Of course, I did not see
this irony at the moment.
Instead, at the moment, I pulled a Molly, and began to give her my own
bit of unsolicited advice. I am a Queen of unsolicited advice. It has so many
different disguises, it should own a costume shop. Sometimes, it looks like me
telling you what I’ve done, so as to
insinuate what you should do. “Well, I know when I was in a similar situation,
I did xyz,… [pregnant pause, where they’re supposed to get the hint of what I’m actually
telling them to do].”
Sometimes, my unsolicited advice looks like me telling you
what other people have done who I believe have done it the “right” way. “Well,
I know when my friend went through a similar situation, she did xyz,… [pregnant
pause, where they’re supposed to get the hint of what I’m actually telling them to do].”
“I’ve heard about this book/website/meditation/ointment that might be
helpful…”
“Have you considered…”
“I used to do that, but now I…” (ha! that’s
always a good one – people loooove that)
Cuz F U, Molly D. Who the hell am I. I don’t know what’s
“right”. What’s right for you – even what’s “right” for me. Places where I
get mired in the “right way” to do something are usually places where I’m
scared to let go of my perceived control. If I don’t tell you what to do, you
won’t survive. If I don’t figure out what the right way is to do this thing,
I’m not valuable.
All of these are crap.
I dated a guy once who had a gluten allergy, and when we’d
be out at restaurants, I found myself making sure he knew what had gluten and
what didn’t … as if he hadn’t lived for 30+ years without my help ordering from
a menu. I caught myself on it eventually, and laughed, but yeah, the idea that without
*me* people are not going to “be okay.” I
know where this comes from – there were years when I did have to take on doing things “the right way” to ensure that things got done at all, that shades got drawn in the morning, that hair got combed. But,
I’m not 10 anymore, and the situations are entirely different. 

And most importantly
of every single thing, these people are not asking me.
That’s something that’s pointed out to me regularly – “Are they
asking you?” Hey Friend, so you’re telling me about this situation in your life
(housing, job, money, love, family), and obviously I’m a guru about this shit,
so why don’t I tell you precisely what I think you should do.  …. No. 99.9% of the time that they’re
not specifically asking me my opinion or my advice, they’re not asking my
opinion or my advice. Actually, it’s
probably more like 100%, but I still want to get my wedge in there somewhere! ;P
So, anyway, back to the woman I ran into today. We haven’t
really seen or spoken to each other since our mildly combative lunch date
several months ago, when I began telling her her perspective was (perhaps) skewed, and she told me very directly that she was not asking for feedback on
her perspective, period. So, I saw her today. And sure, I still have my
opinion, but she’s not asking me, and really, it’s none of my business. (Mind
my own business and have business to mind.) And I remembered that quote from
yesterday, that “The Buddha always says hello first.” And so, I said hello, she
said hello, we were cordial with superficial pleasantries, and said goodbye.
I don’t need to be “right” here. And I would really like to
stop telling people what I think about what they’re doing when they’re not
asking me. As, no matter what costume I dress it up in, I end up looking like a
witch. 

compassion · crush · family · forgiveness · generosity · joy · love

circa 1994

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, I have a new crush. Not that the maroon 5 singer wasn’t
delish (see “pulling a carmen” blog), but, I just finished watching “Junebug,” a movie with amy adams and
alessandro nivola – and I dunno folks, but something……. Y-u-m. Lately, I feel
like there’s 15 year old girl inside me who’s been making these choices for me,
as it’s been a while since I’ve had “star” crushes. Although, of course, the
billboards for crazy stupid love (not steve carrell – sorry steve!) and the
new Sherlock Holmes have been lovely head-turners.
When I was home in NJ packing up my room, I found my stash
circa 1993 1994, so I was 13ish at the time. … Johnny, and Keanu. I had pages
and pages of them each taped over my bed. On the wall above my head was Johnny,
and to my right was Keanu. In the mornings before school, I would watch a half-hour of either “Speed” or “CryBaby” – yes, very different movies. And at night, I would
kiss each of the gentlemen on their paper lips. Ha! I was a girl. It was great. The
Johnny pools of deep luscious brown, and Keanu in a crumpled suit in a claw foot
tub in the middle of a field of weeds.
It’s funny what we remember. Like how much our music tastes
are concretized when we’re young. When I was getting ready for the dance party
last night, I threw on the LIVE album, Throwing Copper – also 1994 as it turns
out – and although it wasn’t as uptempo as a party prepping moment and I
changed the cd, I still knew all the lyrics. The things we touch back to. The
nostalgia that becomes a part of our persona. It’s interesting.
At 13, however, I was a frizzy haired gangly girl with acne,
coke bottle glasses and a gap between my front teeth. (Like many middle
schoolers!) And so we cling to idealized images from Bop! magazine, and
the tortured melancholia passion of a rock album.
Hm. It’s sorta nice to look back with compassion for the 13
year old, to hold on to some of the things she liked, to hold them today as
funny stories and taste values.
To undeftly switch gears, but surely related in some
stratosphere, I sent Chanukah presents to both my parents this week. As some of
you have read, I have been working toward some semblance of reconciliation with
my mother after our 6 month incommunicado status. And though we have been
texting, and though she sent me a card on my birthday in October, well, I
finally shipped to her her birthday present – from June. Our final conversation
was around then – I’d already bought these very “mom” presents – an old
fashioned magnifying glass with a beautiful fake mother of pearl handle (it’s
funny cuz she’s old) ;P and a set of red painted coasters with a bunch of
different roosters on them – to match her red couch, a self-identified marked
leap for her into color a few years ago. The presents were perfect. Then we
careened into the minefield of our relationship and I got indignant and
punitive and never sent the gift to her. It’s been in my closet since June.
So after talking with Patsy last Sunday about sitting with
the idea of what it would be like to send her a Chanukah present without
expectation, I took the present out of my
closet. And sat it on my desk. ! Two days later, I picked up an empty box from
work. Two days after that, on Thursday, I brought the box into the city and
shipped it to my mom. In the box, I’d wrapped the gifts in white and blue
tissue paper (Chanukah colors, naturally), and put in the watercolor “giraffe in a scarf”
card I’d painted, with a note on the back that I thought she’d like these
things and I love her, and happy holiday. (btw, there’s a cellist somewhere in
my building or the one next door, and he’s really good – and he’s practicing
right now – it is so gorgeous.)
I wrapped the box, and was conscious of letting all of this
go out across the country to the Upper East Side with love. With the spirit of
giving – which demands no return, which doesn’t even demand she like it – but
just truly to say, these reminded me of you, and I love you. Yeah, it took 6
months to get there, but, I am here now. And she should get them soon.
To my dad, I sent something similarly freeing. As I feel it
now, it’s miraculously powerful to get to give these gifts to my parents – not the
gifts, but the freedom, if only momentarily, from my judgment of them. To my
dad, I sent one of those LL Bean canvas tote bags that literally can hold a
small child. I had it monogrammed: “D & B”. My dad, Drew, and his fiancé,
Barbara.
My dad has recently begun signing every email to me, “Love
Dad and Barbara.” This has pissed me off. That my relationship with him is now
no longer with him, it’s with a pair, with an entity that is “Dad and Barbara.”
But, as I’ve almost always said over their 10 year courtship, I respect her
because she makes my dad happy. And that is true.
So, I sent it with a card, To Dad and Barbara, May you use
this well in Florida, Love Molly. Because guess what, my dad loves her. He
wants to be identified together with her. He wants to be one of a pair, and
it’s none of my f*ing business how he wants to be identified. It’s like a
person adopting a gender pronoun that they prefer to be called. Who cares if
you have a penis, and want to be referred to as “she.” I would call that person
whatever the f they wanted to be called – it’s not my call. And, so, neither is it my call to exclude Barbara,
even in this way, from my life, or from my Dad’s life. So, to D&B. And off
it went. And truly, I do hope
they use it well in their new home in Florida. I know it’ll mean a lot to her,
and it means a lot to me to see this stubborn, snide child give way to an
inclusive, loving adult. It’s pretty huge.
So, like I said, I don’t know how these topics relate, but
they’re what’s on my mind. A 13 year old girl-like crush, and no-strings-attached
consideration for parents. I can live with all this multi-faceted nonsense,
because it’s human, and whole. And 13, or 30, I still think this man is delish.
😉
abundance · adventure · creativity · faith · gratitude · holidays · joy · laughter · self-care

Heart Art and Romance.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Today was a good day. I worked my desk shift at the gym, got
to talk a little trash/indignation about the leering guy who came into class
yesterday … and got kicked out. A “back spasm” doesn’t allow you to sit & stare at
women whose legs are up over their head with their cooches hanging out. Then I
came home, began to boil some cinnamon for ghetto air freshener, and cleaned my
apartment, including the dishes.
I normally would not have done that, having been awake at
6:45 this morning, but I had a girl friend coming over to meet for an hour, and
if it weren’t for those weekly meetings, my house would likely devolve into a
sanctuary for monocellular creatures. So, it always makes me feel good to clean
it up – I do believe that my home environment is a direct reflection of my
headspace – hence the post-nuclear disaster.
After she left, I took a good old fashioned nap. After
that…I went on Theater Bay Area, and took my own kick-in-the-butt from this
morning’s blog and emailed 2 casting directors…and…signed myself up for an
audition slot in January…for a musical. That’s right. A musical theater
company. Cuz, whatever dude. I’m gonna suck at anything I do in the beginning.
and this IS the beginning. So, whatever. I’m going to try my best – maybe NOT
do what I did for Sunday’s audition and actually learn my monologues and songs
far enough in advance to really feel confident. … well, confident-ish.
There are two more casting calls to apply to, but they only
list phone numbers, which is a whole new level of fear ;P so, that’ll wait
until Monday – normal business hours, right?
Then, I got ready for a party. A holiday glitter dance party
to be exact, and man was it fun. I saw people from SF I hadn’t seen in a while,
and met new people who live here in Oakland, plus my SF transplant/defector friend, who I’m really glad to have on this side of the Bay.
I danced, I was silly, and energetic, and shy and awkward,
and *tall* in my lovely heels and skirt I wore again :). And I drank a lot of
ginger lemonade punch, and laughed at others’ silly dance antics – and some
really good dance battles! It was fun. I hadn’t felt that in a long time. I was
really glad to be there, social awkward self-centered fear aside. I had fun.
Some of the women were part of an Artist’s Way group who had
their annual “check-in” today, and were going to do an intention setting. It’s
like new year’s resolutions, or any resolutions, only instead of all the
self-will-power of a resolution (damnit, it’s gonna happen – THIS year),
it has the openness and groundedness of being rooted in love, truth,
self-respect, and ultimately, Faith.
So, I got to write down my intention on a piece of paper,
and we all walked out of the house party to the backyard like a wonderfully
powerful, giddy coven under a full though cloud covered moon, and around the circle we voiced our intentions, burned them, and said a
little prayer/blessing of honoring our intentions into the universe. It was
pretty affirming – and so unexpected! I’ll tell you mine, because, hey, an intention
isn’t a birthday wish, it’s a statement of what I intend to do, and to bring into
my life through my action and adherence to my core. It was short, as I didn’t know it was happening till last minute – but that also helped me to
edit.
“To follow thru with my heart, art, and romance.”
Simple, yeah; silly, to some; but, to me, that’s what
I’m doing, and I intend to continue doing it. 

abundance · balance · decision · healing · holidays · recovery · school · self-care · work

While the going’s good

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Hey folks – how you been? I’m currently sitting at the desk shift at the dailey method – yes at 7:15am. I traded my shift from last Friday with this Saturday, as I knew I needed the morning free last week, as I was getting ready for my teaching demo etc.

What I did do this Friday, yesterday, was my classical song for voice class – in Italian. Surprisingly, that song went much better than “Have yourself a merry little christmas,” which was the holiday song I chose to sing. My teacher emailed me earlier this week to say another student was going to sing that for our “Holiday Performance” class, and I could do it, but I might want to choose a different song.

So, I paused, and thought about it. And the next morning, Wednesday, my mom texted me to say that Meet Me in St. Louis would be on TV that night. … For those of you who don’t know, Judy Garland sings the above song in that movie – and it’s really sad and beautiful. It’s at this moment after a little girl has just slain the snowmen she made of her family in the backyard because they’re moving from that house, and Judy come fetches her and comforts her (all while in this gorgeous fur coat and bright red dress), rocking her and singing that, “We’ll all be together, if the Fates allow, Until then, We’ll have to muddle through somehow.”

The song always gets me, I cry like a little girl.

So, when my mom texted me that the movie would be on, I decided to sing Have yourself a merry little christmas anyway. And when I sang it yesterday, all drama and all aside, I dedicated the song to my mom. And I totally teared up then too. Now, granted, it was not the performance of my life. I was really nervous, and all full of jiggling emotions, and I was all dressed up in heels and a really hot pencil skirt I’ve worn once because it was a class party, and we’re supposed to dress up for classes when we perform – which is all to say I was also a little …embarrassed? about looking so nice.

But, I sang it, and as is almost always the (genuine) feedback, the class and the instructor said that I have such emotion and presentation and stage-presence. So, maybe my voice is not Judy today, but I showed up with my whole heart & body anyway. And sometimes that’s enough. I’ve heard the “stage-presence” thing often enough to maybe stop dismissing it. My teacher actually said That’s something you cannot learn. So, that felt good. And next it’ll be time for me to leap again and show up for another audition, or rather, email back to some casting calls.

I had an interesting moment this week. I was offered a temp gig over my winter break from school at the awful, Office Space-esque company I worked for before. I’d hemmed and hawed on it, trying to see if I could stay with the interior design firm instead, but they couldn’t guarantee that they would need me in January, or for how long. So, I accepted the job.

Then, on Wednesday, I’m being driven home from class by a school-mate and she’s telling me how she’ll be using the break to really begin thinking about jobs after graduation (in MAY!), and I tell her, well, I’m going to be working full-time in the city, and I’m not going to have one day of holiday the entire break, and I’m actually looking forward to when classes will begin again (in over a month!), because then I can finally breathe again.

Anybody else sense a *warning* in the above? Any tinge of resentment against the job I haven’t even started yet? A large bout of self-pity for not having any time off at all? An intense feeling of overwhelm? Well, yeah, I finally got that too. And on Thursday, the next morning, I met with a girlfriend at lunch to talk about NOT working AT ALL over my winter break from school.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that I would be able to afford not working over winter break. But, it did in my morning pages on Thursday morning, What if I don’t work over break? Can I?

So, that morning, I crunch the numbers. If I don’t work over break (3 weeks – as I’m with the interior design firm til Christmas), I will be entirely covered – entirely covered – through the whole month of January. And what happens mid-January? My student loan replenishes, and I will have enough. I do have enough. I *don’t* have to work over break.

But… being the mind-f*king woman that I am to myself, I work the numbers as to how much I’d earn if I did work (despite ALL self-care information to the contrary). How much would I earn? Enough.for.a.car. A used car, but enough for a car.

What could I use that car for? AUDITIONS!!! Holla!! …. What else? The live modeling gig – they require you have your own transportation as many of the gigs are all over the Bay, at various schools, universities, studios. So… I need a car, right? I need a car to help follow my dreams right? I need a car to be more available for auditions & for gigs, right? … I need a car under these circumstances when I would be working myself so hard that I nearly cried talking about it with my girl friend at lunch on Thursday, right? …

Luckily, my friend is wise, compassionate, and has a mountain of faith in all of our dreams. She said that she doubts that the Universe would make it this hard – that she doesn’t believe in the kind of Higher Power, if you will, who would make us grind ourselves to the bone for our dreams. If it’s meant to be, it usually is simple. That does not mean easy – we have to do work on our end – but look at so many of the things that have just “fallen into place” in my life (See “Wordless but Effective Chant” blog). In each situation when I’ve given up forcing myself into a situation which did not fit, I was led to something which was immensely better.

That continues to happen. So, … my friend and I made an action plan for me. First was to call my temp agency and to decline the job in cubicle purgatory. Also along those lines was to affirm that I would be more conscious next time I was offered a job before I accepted it. I actually hadn’t really asked myself whether I wanted it (I knew/know I didn’t; I was just focusing on having continuous work, as I thought that’s what I needed). So, that’s my action of reparation for the future – to do things differently. Hopefully.

I did call the temp agency, and she said, So you can’t work even a little? And, I said, No. (with all the attendant thank yous and I apologize, etc). And she said, Okay, Thanks for letting me know. And that was that. Cuz, despite the fact that the woman at the new job asked for me specifically (I’d worked there last year and she and I got along really well), and that she rejected other applicants, and that “she only seems to want you,” … (some ego may be mixed in here too, huh). Despite all that – I AM NOT the only woman able to adjust the margins of a 300 page Word document. I am not the only woman able to recalibrate your Table of Contents. Yes, it’s hard, because the whole document is fucked and it’s mind numbing to highlight and tag and adjust and readjust – it’s time consuming and takes patience and diligence – but guess what, I’m NOT the only woman, or person, able to do this job. I appreciate your faith in me, and your appreciation of work I have done in the past but,

Anty needs a recharge. ;P

The other action items were to look into getting away over break. Getting somewhere out of the city, somewhere warm. So, I’m looking into that. Reaching out to my network of elves, I mean friends. If it doesn’t work out, my girl friend will be out of town between Xmas and New Year’s and offered me her place in the city. So, that would sort of be vacationy, and also would mean I wouldn’t have to commute in if I’m doing city related friend things. It’s just an offer, a generous and sweet one.

But, just to know that I will have OPEN TIME. FREE TIME. Time that isn’t filled with dubious stains on BART seats; institutional recycled air; or resentful exhaustion – that’s my Christmas gift (or Chanuka rather!) to myself.

My part of this whole bargain is also to *do* some of my thesis. To email the theater companies. To check out an open mic (that’s one of my self-assignments lately).

But, also, Super Molly, part of my assignment is to take a long walk in some semblance of outdoors, even a park in the midst of a city. To paint my toenails. To see friends. To see new friends. This is a vacation after all.

If the Universe wants me to have a car, it’ll be easier. If the Universe wants me to get an audition, I’ll go “buy a ticket” and apply. If the Universe wants me to feel calm, useful, and available, I’ll let it.

acting · action · courage · creativity · fear · laughter · letting go · performance · self-care

Must Be Present to Win

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

There’s a parable that goes something like this: A man in
Italy goes every day to a statue of Jesus, and prays every day, “Jesus, please
let me win the lottery, please let me win the lottery.” This man, every day
goes to the statue with the same prayer. “Please let me win the lottery.” One
day, the statue comes to life and says back, “Then buy a ticket.”
So, today I bought a ticket. Metaphorically. I threw my hat
in the ring. … Also metaphorically, I really like my hat.
If my audition back in April or so was a belly flop with my
eyes open (OUCH), then this was a belly flop with my eyes closed. So, it means,
I’ve learned 😉
On my way out, I texted several friends to say I sort of
blew it – my 2nd monologue went better than my 1st, the
first being too much of a Shakespearean tongue twister I just couldn’t get
memorized. But, that I did it.
A friend then called me and told me her story of her first
audition and not even knowing what they meant when they asked what she’d
“prepared.” And so, we learn. I learn. Sure there’s a twinge of disappointment,
but more than that twinge I feel like I now know several things: first off, I know how long it takes me to memorize something – and it’s more than 12 hours!!
Yep, I really only started to memorize today, although I chose the
monologues…yesterday? Friday? So, yeah, good to know. and then also good
information to not beat myself up. I gave it a really good go. But it was also,
as I’ve said, a week of insanity with school and work, and so, good enough is
good enough here.
I give myself an “A” for effort. And next time, perhaps I
can prepare longer in advance.
The other things I’ve learned are, a) I can show up (Hurrah!
good for me!) 🙂 b) where to get headshots done; c) I have allies.
More than any of my other times of leaping off a cliff, this
time I asked for more help, followed through on those suggestions, and
reached back out to people – this is a
newish thing for me – as I sometimes feel that if I’ve asked you for help once,
that’s it, my lifetime supply of asking that one person that one favor or for
one bout of help is used up. No more, well dry, try someone else.
That’s.Not.True. Sure, some people aren’t the giving type,
but for the most part, the people in my life are invariably giving, kind,
supportive, and generous. So, I asked for help a second time, and my acting
friend showed up for me. And you know what? She’ll probably even take my call
next time too 😉
So, that’s the end of this one round (at least I believe so – callbacks are
tomorrow, so I’ll know soon enough whether I am or not). But it’s one round,
not the match, or game, or series.
I’m also more willing this time to “fail,” which I’ve heard
is the key to any success. Being willing to stumble is the only way to learn to
walk, right? Persistence. Patience.
And maybe my next belly flop will be a cannonball instead.
(Whether that’s a “better” thing or not, I have no idea) 😉 (thank you friends, for your support)!!

adventure · courage · laughter · modeling · performance

Somebody feed the models.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

welp, if i still took drugs, tonight would have been a nice
night to do it. as it was, i was perfectly present for the shrieks of the event
coordinator, the reverberations of increasingly drunken model cackling in a
room the size of a postage stamp, and the soreness of my toes.
That said 😉 It was pretty cool. It was just a long night –
from 5 – 11, and I left just as things were really getting “swinging” – there
was a band who was just getting their gear set up on the runway we all walked –
I more like ran, than walked. I was first, and I felt like I didn’t have
anyone’s cues to follow, and just sort of went, spun a few times and left! I’m
sure I did just fine 😛
I did meet a lovely man as I was passing out chocolate
balls. (yes, but, no, they were not schweaty.) But as I was leaving I didn’t see
him, so what will be will be. It was nice to flirt in a very light-hearted not
too serious way. Just talk-ish as we watched the other models in the non-profit
clothing.
I also wrote out my monologues for tomorrow, as I’m one of
those kinesthetic learners, and need to write something down in order to really
remember it – tell anyone who has seen me with a sonnet of scribbles on the
back of my right hand (I’m lefty – and I won’t lose my hand – perfect
note-taking).
It was intense with a lot of chaos happening, but it was a
gorgeous old Victorian house in San Francisco right on Alamo square park – near
the Painted Ladies aka the Full House houses.
There’s not much else to report today. I’ll get to see if
any of the photos will be useful for my portfolio, but really, I’m more
intrigued by acting these days than modeling. I did see one girl I’d done
modeling with earlier in the year for the same non-profit – this sort of very
Kate Moss accented blonde model…who is studying to be a teacher at this really
prestigious union of schools. So, she said she’ll let me know next time she
does stuff, and sometimes she even gets paid 😉
It was my first “runway” show – I’d done a little bit of
photo modeling before, but mainly for friends, and nothing “serious”, really. I
do have a profile on a professional website for photographers and models, but,
hell if they’re not really creepy.
I once met up with a photographer over coffee to talk about
his vision, as he’d emailed me, and I was new to the site and thought, well,
I’m not going to say yes without meeting him, but sure I’ll meet him – IN
PUBLIC. He did a lot of nudity, and I wanted to talk about that, as I wasn’t
sure I was comfortable with that (with google these days!! I may be a teacher
myself one day, or a mom!). So we met in a café, and he was telling me about
his “vision”… and in walks a woman who really seemed surprised to see him there
– and he introduces me to his wife. The woman glares at me, then at him with a politely plastered smile
on her face. Then when she leaves with her coffee, he tells me that she’s a
therapist over at the hospital that’s nearby.
Hm, a guy with a thing for having women place realistic
skulls over their vag while otherwise totally naked, and a woman who dives into
often sick people’s brains. Yep, a perfectly fucked up match.
In the end, I declined the offer to shoot with him, despite
his protestations that his images were “relatively tame.”
So, I sometimes troll my profile on that website, but for
the most part, keeping my clothes on when recording for posterity seems like a
good idea. Well, that is until the artist’s live model audition in January!
(but, it’s paid, accredited, and highly professional – really!) 😉
adulthood · courage · direction · maturity · recovery · sex

Undoing Betty Crocker

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Almost finished with week one of the end of school insanity
shuffle. Tomorrow i do my friend’s fashion show. Sunday I have my audition in
SF. and today I did my teaching demo for my Creativity and Spirituality
workshop.
It went really well – my professor almost cried as another
girl was sharing – and this all about a 20 minute collage. I felt really
grateful to be able to share that work with these women. It was good – I did a collage too –
and this one also had someone at a microphone. (In the spring when I
co-facilitated this workshop, I pasted a rockband mick jagger
cartoon yell/singing into a microphone).
But, to get heavy for a minute, that’s not really what’s on
my mind at all. If you’re not in the mood for heavy, read yesterday’s or check back tomorrow – I’m
sure I’ll regale you with something fun about the fashion soiree.
But, for now. This Calling in the One thing. An exercise of a few days ago was about
making peace with our bodies, the next was about peace with our sexuality.
I’ve used the terms before “Betty Crocker” and “Vixen” – I
vacillate between one and the other. Most of my Vixen happened when I was drinking.
It was like the side of fries. The cigarette with a drink. It was just known
that if I drank, I was going to sleep with someone – or at least make out – and
likely in public, to everyone else’s discomfort.
It was a continuation of “just fucking make me feel better.”
The more anonymous, the better, because then I never had to face the shame I
actually felt, or the reason I was running with scissors in the first place.
When I stopped drinking, it was like – well, not to be
crude, but if you put a plug in the jug, I sort of put a plug in me otherwise.
I had a friend around that time who used to be a male prostitute and he told me
that he didn’t have sex for a year after he got sober because it was just
associated with all kinds of other things. So, I became Betty Crocker again.
Here’s the heavy – add in to this damage and abuse I’m
already doing to myself the fact that like one out of six American women I’ve been raped and sexually assaulted, you can imagine the chiasma of all this creates a rather dark
misshapen understanding of what sexuality is, or what sexuality can be.
In CITO, she does say
that for people who have particular trauma to seek help around this as we move
forward, and I’ve been back with my SF therapist for about two months now,
since I started keeping track of my money and knew I needed it, and could now
afford it.
So, yesterday, I’m in her office, and loathe as I may be to
bring this up, I start talking about my feelings of ambivalence around sex – how I dissociate, or how my sexuality, locked in a box, comes striking
out in a ravenous bolt of acting out, and then quickly retreats before I can …
stop it? question why it…I…need to treat my sexuality like a, well, sin, i
suppose. Something you indulge in secretly, silently, shamefully.
We’d been talking about other things, my audition, my new
headshots, and then as soon as we begin on this, my body tenses, I stop
breathing (or breathe so shallowly, it’s like I’m not), and she says, well,
Molly, you have sexual trauma.  —
My brain goes SO WHAT. So do most people walking around. So What?? They don’t all suddenly go all fight or flight.
Therefore, today, when thinking about singing this song I
haven’t rehearsed for class – to prepare to perform in one of the most
vulnerable ways there is – to sing – there’s no hiding in that. It’s just your voice, your breath, what you are able
to pull out from your soul, and sorry lady, my soul is just a little too
rattled for that today.
I asked her if I could sing next week – and lovely woman,
she said yes. (She asked if I were well, and I said, “Physically” – she
understood immediately.) I’ve been a mess all day, the dragon at the head of the cave having been poked wide awake and sensing impending approach. So, yes, I rented a zipcar to
get to class (and to get, finally, to the grocery store and get much
yummy food) – but I needed the cocoon. I needed to not feel more jostled by the
world today. 
So, why tell you? Why “reveal” all this? All this hard, and
yucky, and “nobody wants to hear about this stuff” – Because that voice is the
voice of my pain and fear, and it has kept me a wounded antelope for years. Repression,
denial, they’re our natural responses, but this has outlived its usefulness. So
I’m seeking help; I’m giving voice.
I don’t want to be Betty Crocker, nun of the knitted socks
and rom-coms. I don’t want to be the Vixen, fly-by-night assassin of self-esteem.
I want to be Molly – human – with scar-tissue – but
preeminently, whole. And available for the wonderful thing sex can be.