EarFULL: Say My Name

I dialed my hair salon, crossing my fingers they could fit me in for a quick bangs trim. She assured me this was possible and asked for my name. "Kerry." "Last name?" "I, uh, um, I think it's Alexander? It might be Alexander..". It wasn't Alexander.

I don't know my last name.
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"Your name is already taken, you'll need to pick a new one."

She slid the forms to me and I handed her a wad of cash that I had been carrying around with me all day. I had dreamed about the day I would get my card and be in one of the unions for actors. I remember saying I would sleep with it in my bed every night, I just wanted it so bad. My need to be externally validated strong as ever; for someone or something else to tell me I was good enough. I want to shake that person and tell her the card is less important now - it still feels great and I'm proud of it but it's less important, in all of the best ways.

We sat around in rehearsals thinking of new names for me. When I got home, I scrolled through hundreds of surname and baby naming websites. I wrote and re-wrote a list with my mom of family names. Nothing felt right. I tried adding in my middle name, a middle initial and even changed my first name to "Kieran" for a few days (pro-tip: don't change your first name, it is an unusually strange experience to be referred to as a different first name). Nothing felt right.
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We were driving in my family's van on the way to yet another practice or activity. I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10. One of my friends rode in the backseat and we played a game called "think up Kerry's stage name" and talked about if I would actually ever change my name. I was certain I would. I hadn't even really started acting yet.
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I hung up the phone with my friend, Alex. We had fallen into a pattern of talking on the phone, creating a bond and a friendship where before, there had just been the cringe-worthy story of how we met. Both back home post-graduation, he in the New England area, me in New Jersey. Both heavy thinkers, reliant on writing and music for sanity and slowly beginning the process of figuring out who we were, or even what that meant. I sat with the phone in my hand for a few minutes, tucked into the corner of the couch my mom had just bought, feeling the weight of the world and the excitement of what was next all at once when it hit me: Alexander.

I googled the meaning: defender of mankind. Yes. Alexander.
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We weren't visible to the audience, situated behind a large set piece, and in fits of giggles.

"Wait, I've got one! Kerry Robert Brown!" 
"No - Kerry Sondheim" 
"Oh, God, could you imagine? Hello, my name is Kerry Sondheim and I'll be singing from Into The Woods."


We played this game a lot: think of Kerry's new last name. I had been Kerry Alexander for about a year already and still wanted to change it; the strangers that I tentatively spoke to at rehearsals were now my family, helping to name the baby.
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His voicemail started boldly, as they all do: "I don't know who this Kerry Alexander person is but I'd like to leave a message for Kerry Anderson." The smile in his voice was audible. The smile on my face widened.

The only person, who is not a medical practitioner, who still calls me my actual name. Occasionally throwing in a Kieran to poke fun or just because he likes the way it feels to say it or because it makes me laugh, who knows.

"Which email do you want? Alexander or Anderson?"
"Anderson. I don't need the Alexander one."

As though he already knew this name wouldn't last.
Sometimes I wonder if the name I picked had to do with him subconsciously. I wonder if years ago, during one of the time's where we weren't speaking, when I would hide from him for months and wanted nothing to do with him, if any of the reason I chose it had to do with him. I'd like to think it didn't. I'd like to think it did. I still don't know.
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I've tried out all of their names; the ones that mattered. We all do this, pairing our first names with their last names to see how it sounds, naming imaginary never-gonna-happen babies based off of their surname. Do boys do this? The ones who can say the word 'relationship' without faltering or looking like they may pass out? Do they practice their girlfriend's first name with their last name? What about the scared ones? Do they catch themselves saying the name of the woman that they just can't walk away from, with the addition of their last name? Does that tiny act make them panic and not return her call for weeks?

Don't answer, I don't want to know yet.

I joke that I'll know my last name when I get married and though I slightly hate it, I mean it. It's not an identity, other-half, missing-puzzle-piece thing. I feel whole and alive and joyful on my own and am more proud of that than of having a small card that allows me into a waiting room (see section two, above). Maybe I will get married, maybe I won't, maybe I'll change my name in the union to what I'd prefer to go by, maybe I'll grow into the name I have now. Who knows. I just can't wait for the day when someone on the phone asks for my name and I know the answer and can clearly, lovingly say it.

EarFULL: Here's to here.

Here's to the life's that I am not living.
The Susie Homemaker that I am not.
The apron I'm not wearing
and the food I'm not cooking.
Here's to the diapers that I don't have to change (yet)
and the fact that I can be as selfish as I damn well please.
Here's to the Subaru I'm not driving,
the early morning, rise-and-shine that I do not have to polish.
Here's to the garden that I am without,
the yard that I am without,
and the quiet, empty streets, crickets chirping that I do not hear.
Here's to the fact that this may be the only time in my life where
I do not have to attend any back-to-school night's nor
work on any projects due the next morning.
Here's to the places that I do not live in.
The ones who have the sounds of
basketballs being bounced on the walk home,
wagon wheels creaking as they're pulled up the hill,
dinners being had on the outdoor deck.
The places with bright lights that actually turn off eventually.
The kinds of places where you leave a spare key at your neighbors.
Here's to the alternative universe me
who sees flowers blooming
instead of dead rats.
The person who can open her closet door fully
and doesn't not have to be afraid walking home.
Here's to the other me, somewhere out there,
with a mother-fucking washer and dryer.
I hope she appreciates it as much as she should.

Here's to the truth that I'll get there when I get there and
until there is there, there is only here.
Here's to being able to get any kind of food at any kind of hour
and the magical wave of an arm that gets you a ride to your front door.
Here's to seeing Brooklyn sunrises and Broadway shows
and bar after bar after bar.
Here's to having friends every several blocks
and hearing more languages in a single day than someone who works at the UN.
Here's to never having to see people again if you do not want to and
here's to the inexplicable joy of running into someone you love.
Here's to the thousands of no's that live in this city and
the most beautiful Yes's that are waiting for me.
Here's to crying in joy over a vacuum cleaner
and the fact that I will love my future washer and dryer more than any has ever been loved before.
Here's to this moment that is right now and the knowledge that it is perfect.
Here's to knowing I can leave any second that I decide to
and that it will still be here, waiting for me, letting me return if I want to.
Here's to trusting that you're always where you should be
and here's to the imperfect, ever-changing, growing, blooming creature
that is you,
that is me,
that is here.

TruthFULL: Free Bird

There are some days when I have absolutely nothing planned. No meetings, no work, no babysitting, no social activities. Big ol' pile of nothin. Yesterday was one of those days.

In the morning, I ran over to a friend's place to see her before she leaves town again. Mostly because I love her a lot but also a little because it made me feel better about the day. This way, I would definitely have something to report. Look at me, so fancy with my plans. As I got home, my phone lit up with a text from one of my favorite humans. The generality of his message and the fact that it was early in LA told me he was bored, looking for someone to talk to.  I immediately fessed up:

"My day is too empty today, makes me uneasy."

His reply came quickly, "Me too".

I was totally taken aback and then laughed at myself. This man is someone I regard to be one of the most successful people I know. He is living his dream, making damn good money at it and has a full life outside of work. In many ways, I admire him and look to him as a role model for my career. (Don't tell him any of this, k? Great, thanks.) Here was this person who has achieved so much, with a whole day of nothing planned. I thought over the past few days of his texts and realized this was probably the case for many days now.

Lightbulb: What we do, as artists, comes with the inevitable downtime. Long stretches of time between gigs. Days on end where you have a lot of time for the internet and no use for your craft. The kind of days where your employed friends make jokes about how lucky you are to be able to sleep in or do whatever you want. The kind of jokes that sort of burn. This is as big a part of our career as the time we are actually working. Perhaps even more so.

Second lightbulb: These are the days where the art you make is conceived. The days you spend wandering Manhattan alone will later turn into a short story that will eventually become a full length feature film. The lonely hours you find yourself trapped in will be birthed into the hit song you write. The times you look at your calendar only to see absolutely nothing scheduled will become the joke you tell that sparks the interest of the agent who gets you your first big break. This is the part of your life you will draw on for inspiration in your acting class, your improv group, the piece you are choreographing.

Everything you're waiting for is actually beginning right now.

Words and truths are comforting but action, at least for me, always feels better in the moment. So, what do I do when an all too free time hits?

1. Stop feeling sorry for myself. As soon as I start climbing on to the self-pity train, I jump off of it as fast as I can. I remind myself that I'm damn lucky to be alive, healthy, intelligent and pursing my dreams.

2. Bust out my certainty staples. I've found that if I have certain things that I do every day, I feel much more balanced. These have become the things that fill the void for certainty in my world that currently has none. For me, this means: going to the gym, meditating twice a day, finding time to write and making a fresh juice. I can rely on these things when my world feels shaky.

3. Get a change of scenery. I love my apartment but girl has got to get outside to shake the I-have-nothing-to-do blues. In addition to changing my locale, I'm also forced to get some fresh air. Fresh air = fresh perspective.

4. Do the things I actually need to do. You know those 547 emails in your inbox that can be cleaned out? Receipts that need organizing? Tedious errands that need running? Texts that, oh I don't know, should be answered? Do all of those things. Hell, do ONE of those things. You can not imagine how good it will make you feel.

5. Think/Write/Figure out what it is I want. Make action plans. Imagine what I would be doing if I could be doing anything right then and then do it if possible or create steps to get myself there. Paint the perfect picture of my perfect life so I'm always moving toward new goals.

6. Relax. Attempt to relax. Attempt to relax for at least 5 minutes. Or, okay, at least 3.

7. Make phone calls. I kind of hate being on the phone. My best phone usage in suburbia was when I was driving but it sure is hard to call friends from underground in the subway. However, while I hate the phone, I sure do love my friends. Hours of free time means I can make a few calls without worrying I will lose my entire day. I can have two hour long conversations and still have enough time to do other things.

8. Listen to myself. This is a fun game called "shut up and hear yourself" and comes via sitting alone quietly. I especially enjoy the version "what do I want to do now?" where I think of what I want to do and then go do it.

9. Practice that art form I love so much. You know how all you need is that one meeting/audition/etc that will change your life and/or give you a job? If you use the free time you have to practice, you're ready for the job. If you're like me and sulking on your couch about how you have no friends/job/life/etc, you will not be. When I pick up my guitar and sing, I feel ready to sign my record deal.

10. Fucking revel in it. When I hit my most mopey place, I remind myself that I won't ever have this time again. Not only will new jobs come but obviously I will then be famous and almost never alone again. Plus, I'll be married with kids and dogs and houses and I will pine for days gone by when I had so much free time. I'll wonder what the hell was wrong with me that I didn't enjoy it. So, to please my future self, I revel in the glory that is right now.

I honor this truth: I am exactly where I am meant to be right now. Even if it is my couch.

Oh, and my yesterday full of nothing? Turned out to be a pretty damn good day after all.

Here Comes The Sun:

This is for trying new things.
For pushing into that feeling that doesn't ever feel so great.
For greatness.
This is for patience when you've run out.
For running out.
For running.
This is for the way it feels to let yourself feel.
For feeling nothing.
For feeling everything.
This is for time that is fleeting.
For fleeting thoughts.
For freeing thoughts.
This is for being free.
This is for you
and the way you look at me
that gives you away.
It is not an elephant in the room,
but God Himself there with us.
The company is welcomed.
The company is laughing.
This is for me
and the way that I don't recognize myself
and all the ways that I finally do.
This is for front porches and front stoops and front yards
who keep the stories
I keep in the back of my brain.
This is for going back.
For going forward.
For swing-sets and sunsets and set-ups and upsets.
For letting it settle.
For never settling.
This is for meeting you at 2
and meeting you at 20
and meeting me at 25.
This is for meeting halfway between our houses.
For all the houses you had.
For finally being home.
This is because love will fill you up
until it spills up and out,
until you have no choice but to share it.
This is for sharing the words unsaid to anybody else.
For the things that go unsaid.
For the things that don't need to be.
This is because I know you are on the path you should be.
Your feet would not be on this ground if it wasn't for you.
This is for you.
This is for you.
Take it.

Where You Lead:

Something incredible happened recently: I met Alexis Bledel.

There are a few key things you should know about me: I love my dog more than most humans, I enjoy a good adventure, I frequently wear a tiara for inspiration and I have a slight obsession with Gilmore Girls.

So, as you may imagine, anything involving anyone from the show would delight me. But one of THEE Gilmore girls? If Lauren Graham had also been there, I honestly would have had to sit down.

Here's what I wore:

Top: Forever 21; Sweater: Urban Outfitters; Jeans: J Brand; Boots: Modcloth (& Vegan!)

Nails: Purple with a Purpose, OPI. / Redheaded bombshell: Gillian.

This outfit felt casual enough that I could have easily been coming from work but also cute enough that I wasn't too underdressed. I had worn the jeans and sweater all day, only swapping out the top and my boots in place of my daytime converse kicks. What would you wear to meet one of your idols?

Alexis (I use her first name as we are now obvs bff) is currently in Manhattan Theatre Company's new play "Regrets". It boasts a terrific cast and I was honored to attend the first preview and after-party. Check it out if you're in town. And if you've never seen my favorite TV show, catch a rerun sometime. Lauren Graham, Melissa McCarthy & Alexis teach a masterclass in comedy during each episode.

Many thanks to G for bringing me along and for dealing with my minor squeals of excitement, over-enthusiastic giddiness, and for taking outfit pics in the office.

You And Me (But Mostly Me):

Grown-up truths:

1. You always know what you need to do. Instead of running around doing every possible other thing, just do what you know you need to do.

2. You already have all the answers. Be still, be quiet and listen.

3. You will absolutely mess up your manicure the second you leave the salon. Then again at home. And just a touch more when you go to sleep that night. Every time.

Fearless:

I walked into the room with my guitar in my hands. I had been so intent on making sure she was already with me that I left my audition book on my chair. For those of you who aren't theatre actors auditioning regularly, your audition book is pretty much completely necessary to, in fact, audition. It contains your music.

Upon realizing this, I made some kind of muttering to myself sounds, let the door close as I stepped back out, grabbed my book and went back in. Hire me, hire me, I'm so together. We did the brief chit-chat thing, I chose to focus on the young man directly in front of me. Six people behind the table with another at the piano so I had to choose someone, anyone. As I dragged a chair over to the center of the room, I spoke as clearly as I could,

"Just so you know, this is the third bravest thing I've ever done."

I'd peaked their attention now and even made a few laugh. The woman two people to the left of my chosen focal point person startled me:

"What were the first two?"

Her eyes were so wide, so honest, that I knew she wasn't making fun. Her glasses were lowered slightly on the bridge of her nose in a way that told me she was kind. I smiled at her.

"Ha, uh, we can talk about that later if you want."

Made them laugh again. I took a seat, drew a breath and told them I would be playing some Taylor Swift.
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Later that night, he was walking me home. We had just turned onto my street when the topic of my music came up. "Sometimes I think the more classes I take, the more people I talk about the business with, the less I know what I'm doing or think I'm any good. I feel like they took something from me. And with my music - that's mine. It's mine. I don't want anybody touching it or messing it up."

He let me finish my thought before he responded. He is excellent at that. "So maybe that's something you just do for yourself. You don't have to turn it into a career. You still have acting for that. Music could just be for you."
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I had gotten through the first verse and refrain when I looked up at the panel of people in front of me, eyes directly on the guy I had picked early on: "Should I keep going?"
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"Oh, fuck them!" She speaks in a way I envy, a way that sometimes reminds me of who I think I used to be, sometimes who I think I am. "No, no, no, fuck them. They think they know anything? No. You know that guy on Smash? Plays the director or the husband or someone, I don't know, I haven't seen it. Anyway, when he went in to audition for the part of John Lennon, he turned his chair around and faced backward. He sat in the chair, facing backward and sang his whole song that way. When he finished, Yoko Ono said that's exactly how John would have done it. Guess who got the part? EXACTLY! He did. They don't know anything! You are the one with all the power."

I nodded, biting my lower lip. Desperately wanting to believe her. Desperately wanting to shake myself, to remind myself that I already fucking know this. Wondering what happened that made me forget. Simultaneously angry that I let myself, while forgiving, accepting, knowing everything was to get me to where I am.
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I played through the entire song, only looking up that once to ask if I should continue to play. When I was finished, they all had smiles on their faces as though somewhere between the time I entered the room and now, they realized this actually was the third bravest thing I have ever done.

It was later in the week that I realized that was the first audition that had nothing to do with 'them'. That one was all for me. I didn't care if I got the part, only cared that I did this scary thing. I realized that I already knew the answers: all of the things she said out loud for me; that I am called to do something with this music; that I must keep going.

It used to be enough to be adorable. That sounds shitty, I know, but it's true. I did the adorable, well-groomed, put-together, little miss perfect musical theatre actor thing so, SO well. (Google my headshot, you'll see what I mean.) Hell, I could still do it if I was into being masochistic. But I had to quit pinning my hair back and singing the same three songs the same way I had to quit every other destructive-to-myself behavior. When I say 'enough', I don't mean all I had to do to get a job was be adorable - I mean 'enough' for me, for who I wanted to be. There's so much more now and maybe I'll never be in another musical again in my life (I wish I could explain in writing the shock that just sent through me) but dammit, I will be interesting and rough and tired and beautiful and brave.

I will be the kind of brave that sits, shaking, playing her guitar in front of other people.

If God is a DJ.

I found myself en route went to get ashes. I'm not sure if it's those four years spent in Catholic school or my fascination with St. Patrick's Cathedral and the ability to observe so many different types of people all joining together in the same pursuit. Perhaps it's just who I am. Regardless, I went.

The line wrapped all the way out of the church, down the steps and winded it's way back toward Madison Avenue by the time I joined it. For the next 40 minutes or so, I listened to the family behind me, the woman muttering to herself in front of me and the various passerby reactions of how they were not going in that line, no way, no how, this is crazy.

I decided to give up Starbucks for 40 days. Partially for selfish reasons as my bank account and my waistline will be highly benefitted, but also because it's an actual challenge for me. Admittedly, I spend way too much time there for reasons of comfort and sugar. I have that gold card that comes with your name printed on it and makes it all too easy to swipe it just once, twice, three times more.

More importantly though, I decided to give up being unkind to myself. In other words, to be aware of how I treat and speak to myself. The easiest way for me to do this seems to be to determine if I would say to one of my best friends what I'm saying to myself. For example, when thinking about my career, I would easily tell myself that I don't know what to do, it's never going to happen. When speaking to a pal, I'd be encouraging her, helping her make an action plan and sending her love notes to remind her she has someone who believes in her. It's an interesting thing to observe my own thoughts and behavior. I tend to be so fixated by observing the people around me, sometimes I forget that I'm even visible. My favorite people to observe are kids; they're so brave, so open, unaware of the silly societal rules we learn as adults. Sometimes I solve problems or determine how to spend my time by asking myself what I would do if I were six. Always seems to do the trick.

To be honest, two weeks in and I'm not yet sure what's harder: Starbucks or kindness.

As we finally climbed the stairs and made our way into the church, in an effort to quiet her young daughter, the mother in line behind me said: "Time to be quiet, we're in God's house now". Her daughter switched her voice into a hushed whisper and without a beat, replied,"Where does God keep his TV?" 

I demand to be surrounded by beautiful things.

I wear a tiara on my head for inspiration and to remember my own worth.

I wear a tiara on my head because it's fun and silly and free.

I wear a tiara on my head because I want to.

I stay up until it's so late that it's nearly early (case in point: it's almost 4 am as I type this)

and when I begin to write, I often can not stop. Not for food, for human interaction, for anything.

For awhile I thought that meant I should stop writing but now I know that it means I must.

I have glorious adventures and get to go, see, be, do, experience things I never thought I would always knew I would. I take pictures of all of these things with the best intentions to upload, post, share them. But I almost never do. I want to share these here - tell you how tonight when we left the restaurant we were both shocked to find how many hours had passed. How the Upper West Side sounds at night and that the buildings in New York City sometimes feel like you're walking through a painting and how it had started to pour out of nowhere. I want to show you the pictures I snapped of the chocolate cake they brought us (maybe I'll get to that one) and what I wore and the signs on the walls.

But mostly, I just want to write.

The idea of living beautiFULLY, to me, is this need to surround myself with beautiful things, beautiful thoughts, beautiful sights and words and sounds all while living deliciously and completely fully. Stretching my arms out so they reach as far as the night sky spreads and drinking in every second. Trying that class, buying that dress, saying those words.

Wearing that tiara and knowing you are enough exactly as you are.

Letting inspiration filter in with the sunlight.

Dancing alone in your apartment

and saying no to as many things as it takes for you to learn how to say yes to what matters.

And writing, writing, writing the whole time.