I Would Like to Report That I Am Thriving (Deranged Edition)

I am currently in Los Angeles having the most important professional experience of my entire career.

Let me say that again, because it sounds fake even to me:
I am at the Pasadena Playhouse working on the world premiere of my new adaptation of Lerner and Loewe's Brigadoon, which, yes. I wrote. Like… I wrote it. With my human brain. And now real actors—gorgeous, talented, emotionally available unicorns are speaking the words and ideas and character arcs out loud while I sit behind a table laughing and crying and pretending I know what I’m doing and not, like, Googling “what does the playwright do during rehearsal besides spiral?”

 

To be clear: this is all, objectively, the dream.

So naturally, my body responded by lighting itself on fire. Because, let's not forget: I am me. 

 

At one point, mid-week, I had the very fun realization that maybe I’m not “not good enough”… Or maybe I am simply a woman who has been expertly trained—by the ambient noise of culture—to hate myself on a cellular level despite a decade of therapy, a spiritual trip to literal Siberia, and several well-intentioned journaling phases.

 

Because here’s what’s wild: nothing around me suggested I was failing.

The work is good. The room is phenomenal. The people are extraordinary.

And yet my brain was like "Yes, but what if you are secretly a fraud and everyone is too polite to say so?"

 

So let's review. Within the span of one week, I have:

• Had a full-body emotional meltdown (positive) hearing my writing spoken aloud

• Had a full-body emotional meltdown (negative) hearing my writing spoken aloud

• Navigated sitting “behind the table” while internally whispering "they’re going to find you out..."
• Experienced an existential crisis so vast it could qualify for its own zip code
• Gotten my period (obviously. the uterus always clocks in for chaos) and "pulled" three other uterus-having humans off their cycle because I'm a trend setter
• Been pulled over by a traffic cop for driving too slowly, which I did not know was illegal exactly, but apparently is if you are radiating panic at 27 miles per hour along the 101.
• Been interviewed for a profile piece in the Los Angeles Times and photographed with legendary American playwright (and Alec's idol) David Henry Hwang, which is the kind of sentence that should belong to someone with much better posture
• Watched my computer die spectacularly! Forcing me to deal with the not-so-genius CARLOS at the Genius Bar, and spend $1400 I definitely don't have on a replacement, while whispering “this is fine.”

 

All of this while my husband was visiting for five too-brief days, during which he demonstrated the patience of a saint who has accepted that he married a woman who will, at any moment, combust over both art and printer settings.

 

And THEN — because the universe has a sense of humor that is frankly a little aggressive—I remembered:

Oh.

This is what always happens right before you level up. I have been here before!

 

The migraine during the SATs.

The car dying on the way home from the hospital.
The sinus infection the day of a major audition.

It’s like life leans in, cracks its knuckles, and says,

“You want this next version of yourself? We'll just… see about that.”

 

Because the true test is not whether or not you can survive the chaos, but whether or not you can you remain yourself inside the inevitable chaos. 

 

Can you still show up?

Can you still do the work?
Can you still breathe, and pivot, and not light your entire life on fire because one thing went wrong? 

(or twelve things went wrong, in my case, including my uterus and my MacBook)? Somewhere between the traffic stop, the hormonal spiral, the computer funeral, and the deeply surreal experience of standing next to David Henry Hwang while trying not to dissociate, I realized I wasn’t falling apart. I was expanding. I guess it just feels identical sometimes.

 

Because, dear reader, growth is not cute!

Growth is not a soft-focus Instagram reel with a voiceover about “stepping into your power.”

Growth is ugly crying in a rental car while calculating interest rates.
Growth is showing up to rehearsal anyway.
Growth is letting yourself be seen before you feel ready.

Growth is saying, I am terrified, but I am not leaving.

 

There’s a psychological term for this —anti-fragile. 

When Nassim Nicholas Taleb coined the term antifragility, he was trying to name something that didn’t exist in our literal or psychological vocabulary. We have words for things that break under pressure ("fragile, breakable"—think of a wine glass shattering), and we have words for things that hold steady or bounce back ("robust, sturdy, steadfast,"—think of a levy or damn during a hurriane). What Taleb realized what that we didn’t have was a word for systems that actually improve when they’re exposed to stress, randomness, or volatility.

 

So that is the central premise: an antifragile system doesn’t just survive difficulty. It actually improves better because of it.

Taleb describes this as a gap in the language with real consequences. 

Fragile clearly means something that’s harmed by shocks. 

Robust describes something that resists them. 

Resilient covers systems that can recover after being knocked down. 

 

But in all three cases, the best possible outcome is staying the same.

 

Antifragility is different. It refers to systems that strengthen under pressure. A useful way to picture the distinction is as a simple triad:

Fragile: weakened or damaged by stress.

Robust / resilient: able to withstand stress or return to baseline, but unchanged by it.

Antifragile: made stronger by stress.

Strengthened by the adveristy.
Sharpened by the friction.

The exact opposite of the part of me that wanted to run.

 

So yes. Wow. I am in Los Angeles, living my dream.

 

And I am also crying in parking lots, buying emergency laptops, bleeding on schedule, and learning in real time how to stay present in the life I worked so hard to build.

Which feels about right.

Because maybe the level up isn’t the success.
Maybe the level up is the ability to withstand the success and not talk yourself out of it.

Anyway, if you need me, I’ll be at the Pasadena Playhouse, trying to act like a person who belongs there, while quietly becoming one...