Asking for help with your dream might not be in the genes…

“Let there be many windows in your soul, That all the glory of the universe, May beautify it…” “In Tune With The Infinite” Raph Waldo Trine

I’m sitting by the fireplace, as the small flames are crackling away, warming my soul on this sunny Sunday morning.  Yesterday, there were tiny shoots of grass and bulbs making their way into the light in our backyard.  It’s definitely the beginning of spring, the best time of year.  The engine of nature is revving way high.  I feel the energy of transformation: from sleep to a burst of color.  It’s intoxicating.  Early spring.  Time to break through and go for full flowering.

So goes the dream seeker.  Winter offers long dark evenings to let thoughts and ideas marinate in our brains.  As the light begins to emerge, the energy of spring calls.  “Get going.  Just take one small prance in the right direction.”

This morning, after a busy night in the dream world which included walking from France to Ireland amid raging water and lard (don’t ask), I started the day.  When I say “started,” I mean thinking.  Listing.  Stuff started coming up.   Monkey mind chattering away.   How do I get my show to Off Broadway?  Who will produce it?   Do I have enough Murphy Oil Soap to do the whole floor?

I definitely need help.  So many questions, so little time.  What’s the cure?  Just take one small prance in the direction you really want.

Fact is….I need suggestions.  More than that, I need advice from people who actually know what they’re talking about.  Who do I know who knows about getting shows produced?

A name comes up.  An actor/writer/producer with much Broadway success.  He just completed a run of a hilarious Off Broadway show that I loved.  I could send him an email.  On Sunday morning?  How desperate does that look?  Oh well… it’s just one tiny prance in the right direction…

As I write the email, I keep it upbeat and give him an out, to wit:

“BTW, if you can’t stand the thought of getting into this stuff with me because
a) it makes your head hurt
b) it’s sinful to respond to biz emails created on the Sabbath
c) you have to make your own triple expresso and then clean the machine yourself…
…I still love ya, Dude, and totally understand.”

And, another actor/writer/producer comes to mind as I summon my courage and click the “send” button to the first one. This other actress has done it all: Broadway, tv, film. I email her a request for advice and click “send.”

So what, you may ask?   You have some questions, you ask some people for advice and then go on with your day. What’s the big deal?

I’ll tell you what’s the big deal.  It’s the part where I ask for help and actually hit the “send” button.  That’s the challenge.  Truth is, I have Promethian challenges asking people for help.  Why?  Please.  Don’t ask.  It’s just true. I’m sure there are a million reasons embedded in my psyche.  But I have no more time for delving into these depths.  Bor-ing.   All I know for sure, is that I not programmed to ask people for help.

I descend from a line of self reliant types.  Again my mother is a fine example.  Starting at 75 years young, By her 80’s she was on a roll, doing tv comedy and print modeling.  One day, she got a call, asking her to show up for a “go see” for a print ad.  It was an audition but, since she was in her 80’s, living in Jamaica Estates, Queens, and the “go see” was in a land far far away (lower Manhattan) the producers offered her a round trip Town Car.  Gratis. They’d pick her up at her home, drive her in great comfort, peace and cleanliness to lower Manhattan, wait for her to audition, and drive her back to Queens.  Classy huh?

“Oh no – that won’t be necessary.  I can take the subway,” my mother told the producers.   She turned down the Town Car!  She then put her NY Times in her rumpled cloth bag and ambled 15 minutes through her lovely ‘hood to the bus stop.  She stood another 10 minutes waiting for the bus, watched patiently as the driver lowered the steps, clambored on and rode it to the subway.  She climbed down into the subway, step by step, paid her senior reduced fare and boarded the F train at its last stop, Jamaica:179th Street .  She rode the F train underneath much of Queens Boulevard, under the East River, under midtown Manhattan, all the way downtown, where she managed to switch trains to get to lower Manhattan.  Once in the depths of Manhattan, she emerged from the subway and carefully found the studio where she had to wait in the lobby until the auditioners got to “go see” her.  After her two minute walk in,  hello…thank you very much…are you sure you wouldn’t like a Town Car back home?…Oh no, it’s not necessary, she grabbed her cloth bag and reversed the whole procedure.  Five hours later, she made it back to her comfortable chair where she promptly collapsed into a nap.  BTW – she didn’t get the job.  Not that one.  But she did get print ads.  One of the big ones was hanging in  subway cars for months: “The Big New York City Clean Up” ad  in which she wore a most unattractive house smock and brandished a broom.  She rode the subway every day for months for a sweeping look at herself.  We were all so proud of her.

So, today, genetics notwithstanding,  I took one tiny prance, asked for help and hit “send.”

May a Town Car soon glide me to my Off Broadway debut.

Elizabeth

Who’s taking one tiny prance in the right direction…genetics nothwithstanding?  Just post and hit “Publish”.