Flare-ups ≠ Failure!

Dear Ones, I am currently having one of the worst #autoimmune flare-ups I’ve experienced yet. This is not to invite pity, but to connect and maybe even validate your experience!
 
COVID19 is no joke: the state of the world, the Unknowns, of the Arts, the unemployment, the stress, the insanity of our political climate— it’s stressful! And stress is one of the leading cause of flares.
 
Many things (and I mean: oh my goodness SO. MANY. CURRENT. THINGS) are not in our control. We cannot choose what happens to us, but we can control our response.
 
Sometimes you get #flareups when you’re doing everything “right.” You are doing the diet, you are following all the protocols. In our society we prioritize success stories, and and lift up people that appear to do life “perfectly.” We believe that there is a *linear path* to wellness (often we are even SOLD this idea because, capitalism). Sometimes you can do everything "right" and still experience a flare. You’re NOT a failure, you’re learning to care for your unique body in a way that works for you. It’s all data.
 
#Health and wellness are complex, nuanced and take a lifetime to embody. Nobody has it all figured out. Wellness is not linear. It is holistic.
 
Setbacks are just that: a setback. A chance to regroup, pivot, get grateful and grow.  Setbacks do not mean that you’re not doing, or trying, hard enough. ⁠
⁠
My current health doesn’t make me a FLAREure! It makes me a human being, doing my best in a set of tough circumstances, on a journey, riding the roller coaster of life. 

With a chronic illness. 

In 20FREAKING20. ⁠
 
I would love you offer you what *I myself* need to hear today:
     💫 Offer yourself grace.
     💫 There is no perfect path. To health or to anything.
⁠
Let’s continue to support each other in this comprehensive health journey. 

Heck, on every—journey. 

We could all use some grace. 

Labor [Day] of Love

On this Labor Day, 2020, I imagine we are all feeling peculiar things about the concept of “labor” in a world largely on pause.

Many of us as performing artists have been abandoned and ridiculed by our government for not having a “real job.” To that I reply with Nick Westrate's brilliant quote:
 
“A labor of love is still labor.”
 
So on this unusual Labor Day, let’s talk about this glorious labor of love.
 
During “Master Class,” the genius that is Tyne Daly taught me a phrase that her actress-mother taught her:
 
    “Deeper. Fuller. Richer. Better.”
 
I think that sums it up as well as anything ever could. It’s my intention, it is my aspiration, it is my devotion.
 
Over the years, I’ve learned this:
 

Give fewer F*CKS and way more DAMNS!
 
To give fewer F*CKS about the stuff that does NOT truly matter (praise, awards, fame, followers), and a lot more *DAMNS* about the stuff that does (ethics, courage, growth, lessons learned, relationships made, contributions to society at large). It’s less about me and more about how I can stay connected to my core values and above all, to SERVE.

So. On this Labor Day I am vowing to continue to create and make works that matter to me personally as well as socially. I want to continue to learn new things and sharpen old knives. I intend to make personal, profound, universal, connective, and relevant work that matters to humanity on any scale.
 
I intend to keep walking my talk.
 
What about you, friends?
 
Happy Labor Day, one and all.
May we all continue to labor in love.

Things I Miss: a List, Part 1

Jake. Gone too soon.

- Our beautiful ginger cat (who came to mom and I after Papa died), Jake. He was "The Man" of the family and an absolute sweetheart. Gone too soon at only 7. 


- Answering machines (and their answering machine messages)

    We had a particularly spectacular one in the 90s. I wrote the lyrics and sang it at the age of 10 or 11? Not sure. It was performed at 100-no-marking (obviously, some things never change) to a karaoke CASSETTE of the theme song from “The Addams Family. I then leisurely popped that masterpiece into our answering machine and used it as our answering machine message for OH, maybe nine years? Like, even when my Dad had cancer.
The lyrics went like this: 

    “You called us when we weren’t here
    but there is no need to fear 
    we’ll get right back to you, dear
    The Silber Family. 

    Oh 647-6759
    we’re sure to call you back on time
    and it won’t even cost a dime
    The Silber Family — WAIT FOR THE BEEP
        *snap snap*

    People used to hang up and call BACK to an encore. I vividly remember my Dad’s oncology nurses calling back and hearing nothing but their collective, explosive laughter. That was nice.
    It’s about as famous as I could ever feel at the time without being a creepy child actor. Because I was VOICEMAIL MESSAGE FAMOUS.


- Handshakes 

- Combing the shelves of Blockbuster and picking out videos to rent (and probably picking up some RedVines, let’s be real…)

Fetzer.

- Sometimes, my long hair 

- My friend, David Fetzer (and holding his hand which fit so perfectly in my own)

- Trick-or-treating

- Dad. Always.

- This particular version of myself:

The “HOPE-O-COASTER.”

 Here we go again. These are (just the *non hospital-administered*) medications associated with my auto immune disease: Ulcerative Colitis.

One of the leading causes of flareups is stress, and despite “doing everything right,” the stress of a global Pandemic has me flaring—and out of remission—or the first time in years.

To say that I’m heartbroken, crushed and disappointed...is putting it mildly. The excruciating physical symptoms and side effects of the drugs are *nothing* compared to the emotional “HOPE-O-COASTER.” Nothing compared to living in a constant state of health-related vigilance married with hope... followed by what feels like crushing “failure” when a proposed solution doesn’t work out.

But I am not a failure! And I share this today because if YOU are living with chronic illness and experiencing setbacks—NEITHER ARE YOU. These were challenging times even before the Coronavirus pandemic, and no solution is one size fits all. The human body is a miracle, and can also be a great big jerk! It’s both. It’s all.

Normally I would keep this information private, but I realized years ago that when I shared my #autoimmunewarrior journey, SO many of you out there were/are suffering in silence all alone (just like I used to!) —out of shame, embarrassment, and fear of being misunderstood or losing friends or work opportunities. I am here to de-stigmatize.

I’m here to tell you: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I am not ashamed of what my body does against my will. I am still loved, I can still adore and support my friends; AND, not only can I still work, but (if I may say so!) I am crushing it! I have discovered unknown strengths and grace! 💪🏼 I don’t think my current colleagues would know a thing was wrong with me if I didn’t inform them because Chrons and colitis is manageable and can even illuminate untold levels of integrity and capacity.

I am HERE. I am ALIVE. I am THRIVING inside this. 

And so can you dear fellow warriors. 

I love you.

Finally, auto-immunity compromises the immune system. That makes me (and all others like me with all auto-immune diseases) in the high risk group for COVID. Please think of me when you wear a mask.

 

Things I want to remember about this week 8/10 - 8/17, 2020: A List

 - Leaving a Pittsfield Mass Walgreen and seeing a man with a baby stroller buying 27 cans of Fruit Punch flavored Arizona ice tea… and in the baby stroller was not a baby? But a CAGED SQUIRREL

- Talking with Alec about expanding buying a car! (An adorable vintage 1985 BMW 528e we are named Brunhilde thankyouverymuch)

- Hearing the story of Alexandra and Etai getting engaged (eeeeee)

- The appointment of Kamala Harris as Joe Biden's 2020 running-mate. (HERSTORY!)

- SINGING IN A REHEARSAL ROOM FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE MARCH 13 2020 and having absolutely zero words to describe the 10,000 sensations. 

One second it’s:

“OH MY GOD THE THEATRE!!!!”

The next:

“This isn’t the same... will it EVER be the same?”

The next:

“But I’m HERE!”

The next:

“Will I DIE?! Is this safe?"

- COVID-negative approved HUGS

- The extremely grouchy man at the wonderful Round Tuit

- Face-timing with Katie and Alan and Tom 

- Drinks and deep talks with Alysha and Storm (defining the very special joys of out-of-town theatre)

- Socially-distant visits with friends I haven't seen in what feels like years! 

- Making art. However cautiously. 

- Bringing my vocal chords together to make music. Incredibly emotionally.

- Parting from Alec for the first time in 145 days (and when we parted, weeping like a toddler being dropped off on the first ever day of school)

Truly: WTF.

Recently Discovered: a List

- That I quite like cooking

- That every single episode of Matlock is available on YouTube

- Maple syrup on things that aren’t pancakes (thank you ALEC, who is from VERMONT, and thus a Maple syrup guru)

- New growth on a plant I was [throw-a-funeral-for-it] certain, was dead!

- That the gray pattern on my hairline is exactly the same as my Dad’s

- That I need [new] glasses

- The sun pouring through the living rooms windows onto the sofa, in a particular spot in between 5 and 8 pm that Tati luxuriates in (she is the ultimate sun-worshipper) that fills our home with light and warmth and hope! this brings me much joy.

- That being “in my prime” also means I am HURTLING toward middle age and you know what? I’m totally okay with it.

"Spectacular" Accidents I have had: a List

the broken finger.

- age four, I was on a scooter at pre-school, and accidentally ran the scooter over a rogue piece of chain and landed on my face

- age five, on stage during a camp theatre performance of “Heaven Hop.” A Jealous older girl tripped me during the tap break. I fell flat on my face, the audience gasped, I got right back up and kept tapping. PRO! (There is video.)

- age sixteen, an innocent scratch turned into a corneal ulcer in my right eye at summer camp. Almost lost the eye. I didn’t.

- age seventeen. The worst wisdom tooth surgery you’ve ever imagined. Imagine something bad: then triple it. That was me. 

Nothing to see here. Literally.

- age twenty-four. I had an allergic reaction to *something* I cannot possibly detect, but it was epic. It made the right side of my face explode and we had to cancel two shows of Fiddler (in London)because we didn't have enough understudies. In short: My face healed. We got more understudies.

- age twenty-seven, I smashed the bones in the middle finger of my left hand with a 15-lb hand weight. It instantly turned black. 

- age thirty, I...left the bathtub running, and the water flooded literally my entire apartment. Mom was here and announced chirpily "Well, FLOOR'S CLEAN!" Claaaaassic #MamaSilbs.

- age thirty-two — thirty-six where do I even begin with accidents/injuries/mayhem regarding my Ulcerative Colitis? I won’t bother to but suffice it to say it began as not hilarious and is now, ALL, quite hilarious.  


- age thirty-five. I ...fell off of a motorized bicycle and landed on my face. [*Pause for sound FX*] 
     Let me explain. My big brother Jordan? He has the charisma of a CULT LEADER, and because of this special skill, he has the magical ability to convince me (and others!) to do things they maaaaayyyyybe should ask a few follow-up questions about, without asking even a single follow-up question. 

JUST before!

     Jordan made BIKING on a slightly-too-large motorized bike to and from a restaurant in Corte Madera, California, sound like the best idea EVER. And the biking back home in the dark on a path with no streetlights? AMAZING IDEA! It started off brilliantly, but then I miscalculated a turn whilst also miscalculating a HILL (thanks, Northern California), and I flipped off the bike (at a zillion miles per hour) and broke my fall with? MY FACE. 
     I still bear the scars. 

AFTER! OMFG!

     As a hilarious epilogue? Probably 12 police officers and medics came to my aid that night. (Possibly the entire Corte Madera police department? Unsure.) They were so nice to me. In awe of my sense of humor at the situation and didn't pester me when I declined to go to the hospital. A few minutes in, "Officer Scott's" radio blares: there's been a noise complaint in the district. There is a barking dog that "needs attending to." Officer Scott went to go take care of it. Before Officer Scott left I said (my face melting off and bleeding) "So what you're saying, boys, is that on this Saturday night in Corte Madera, the main action is ME... and a barking dog?" 
     The entire department called me on speakerphone the following day to "check-in." 
     All this to say: Thanks, Corte Madera Police and Medic dudes! You didn't shame me for being a total idiot, and I don't think anyone has ever cared more about my well being than my own mom. I hope the situation with the dog turned out okay. 

- age thirty-six, a beetle flew into my face in a subdivision and, in slapping it off my face in horror, I obliterated the mailbox of a local woman. I apologized (of course, of course, I’m not a monster). Paid for a new mailbox. Got her tickets to the play. 

JB: appalled at me.

Hopeful Things: a List

• Blank canvases
• Blank Pages
• Seed packets
• New plants
• Train tickets
• Future dreams
• The sight of a surprise parcel waiting outside your door
• Rolls of film
• Collaborations with gifted and respected artistic colleagues
• New (beautiful) pens
• Helping my neighbors
• Making a new friend
• Smiling at a stranger
• A freshly made bed
• New blank notebooks
• The thought of a small child named Volodia, documenting a 1924 Soviet Leningrad with an unwieldy large format camera
• The first of the month
• 15 minutes just before dawn
• Learning a new word
• Seeing the world through the eyes of my nieces

my new plants: bringing the outside, in