Adult-ing: Part 5

21. Limit your exposure to toxic, unhelpful and un-supportive people.
    In Robert Greene’s The 48 Law of Power,  Law #10 states “Avoid the unhappy and unlucky:”
There is are, of course, caveats, but first read Greene’s word:

    “You can die from someone else's misery—emotional states are as infectious as diseases. You may feel you are helping the drowning man but you are only precipitating your own disaster. The unfortunate sometimes draw misfortune on themselves; they will also draw it on you. Associate with the happy and fortunate instead.”

    Human behavior is very infectious, and on the opposite end of negative, miserly and miserable-by-choice people, are those people who attract happiness through their outlook, good cheer, natural buoyancy. They are not only a source of pleasure, but associating with them is to share in the prosperity they draw upon themselves. All positive qualities can infect us, but taking advantage of the emotional side of this osmosis is an active choice.
     Now, this is not a permission slip to be a jerk! There are people out there who genuinely need our help, support, and guidance; a shoulder to cry on, or sometimes very serious professional help. Some of these people are the people we love and cherish the most, and often cannot be avoided.
    But I believe the principal here is to limit how much we allow, permit, and sometimes even enable their negativity and toxicity to be “dumped” upon on, and when to self-protect, delegate, and offer suggestions for better helping options.  Taking on other people’s toxic garbage is not only the opposite of genuine empathy, it can make the “dumpee” anxious, stressed, negative, and sometimes (and this has happened to me!) physically sick. We are no good to anyone on this planet if we are constantly fighting to energetically get back on top.
Which brings me to…


22.  Just like on the airplane with the oxygen mask— take care of yourself before assisting others.
    Self-Care is not only not self-ISH, it is vital and necessary to living a full and rewarding life. You’ve been there: you are on the airplane, and the flight attendant goes through the motions of the safety procedures, instructing you to always put your oxygen mask on first, before assisting others.  Why is this an important rule for ensuring survival?  Because if you run out of oxygen, you can’t help anyone else. You no good to anybody IF YOU ARE PASSED OUT DEAD GURL.
    This is an important metaphor for those of you who run around taking care of everything and everyone else except yourself. It is not altruistic or noble, it is a false sense of “busy” substituting for “important meaning.” At a certain point, self-sacrifice can become self-indulgent.
    People have deep problems with self-care—believe me, 2 years ago I was one of them— now I have the zeal of the converted! And I have been infinitely better able to offer the world my gifts because of it!
    If you don’t take care of yourself, you can experience burnout, stress, fatigue, reduced mental effectiveness, health problems, anxiety, frustration, and total inability to sleep.


23. Don’t Shoot the “Second Arrow”
The Buddhists say that any time we suffer misfortune, two arrows fly our way.
The first arrow, the pain, is the actual bad event.
The second arrow, the suffering, is our reaction to the bad event, the way we chose to respond emotionally.

It looks like this inside our heads:
    Arrow #1:  “I am crying"
and
    Arrow #2: “AND ONLY A WEAK GIRLY TOTAL WRECK OF A HUMAN WOULD CRY."

The first arrow often is unavoidable.
The second arrow often is self-inflicted.
The "second arrow" isn't actually helpful-- it is full of our judgements about our thoughts and feelings and prevents us from
    1. truly feeling them or
    2. learning anything from those feelings.

One does not avoid the second arrow by denial, but by being fully present, acknowledging and truly (and I mean actually not faking it) experiencing the difficult emotion, maybe even befriending it? Then allowing it to crest and ebb like a wave. Avoiding blaming yourself for having emotions/the second arrow requires some toughies: self-love, acceptance, emotional vigilance and a healthy dose of self-awareness. The best antidote to the second arrow is self-awareness, self-permission to BE A PERSON, stop punishing, judging, and wallowing,
Then? Simply make the gentle correction.

And example of giving yourself permission:
    “Wow. My boss was genuinely disrespectful to me in that meeting and I feel humiliated and ashamed. His behavior might not have been about me, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I am reacting appropriately to this situation. I will experience my humiliating feelings, maybe cry, primal scream or hit a pillow, and then I will move on an address the behavior from a place of peace. But there is noting wrong with my very human, emotional response.”

Or, the drama school version:

    “That feeling drained and thoughtful after an emotional acting class is a totally appropriate response to unpacking big, personal and emotional subjects through my art. That we should allow these feelings to just exist instead of beating ourselves up about it. If we cry in later in ballet class or at dinner—then so be it. No biggie! We’ve never done this before, we’re in theatre school this is how it goes!”

When the pain comes to mind, acknowledge it in its fullness, embrace it. But then bid it adieu and move on with your day.  What you truly accept, without over-thinking, will eventually dissipate of its own accord.  It’s like really allowing a massage therapist to get into your muscle tension without fighting them. Deep breaths, working with them, through the pain, not against it.  Time does heal many wounds if only we allow, and do not continually re-open the wound with anger or resentment or guilt or other dysfunctional “coping” mechanisms brought on by a sea of Second Arrows.

“Pain is certain, suffering is optional.” – Buddha


There is a huge distinction between
    PAIN - an affliction
and,
    our SUFFERING from pain— how we experience of pain.
Pain is often inevitable, but the suffering is a choice. Our choices and energy around our pain can discomfit, frustrate or agonize us.

Don’t do that.
Make a different choice.
Don’t shoot the second arrow.
Why get hurt twice?



24. “Act 3.”
Years ago, my very first leading lady, West End star and dear friend Ruthie Henshall taught me all about “Act 3.” What she believes is that the stage door experience is a vital and important part of being gracious with the fans courageous enough to meet you face to face, and express their appreciation and gratitude for your work. You’ve done Acts 1 and 2, this is Act 3. When it is complete, you can fully relax and head home.

Her use of the term “Act 3” provides an interesting and important boundary however— the concept being that it is PART of the work. You are not being fake, dishonest or disingenuous, but what is being provided in those personal but work based situations is not the full 100% of you that you would offer your intimate friends and family. There is a difference between being friend-LY and being friends. For me, I call this person Alexandra Silber” — she is me! In a slightly fancier outfit! Just a very narrow percentage of the Me Pie Chart—she is who you meet at stage door and on a red carpet. “AL” — there vulnerable Al, is reserved for my intimate people, those who truly have seen and held my inner world. And the people on that list is actually very small. All people can experience us as authentic and genuine, but not everyone needs our full shame story, or has earned our intimacy.

It is important to maintain a healthy boundary in all of life’s “Act 3” moments, and I encourage you to identify and stand up for them.



25.  Moisturize — and don’t forget your neck.
You’re later-in-life mug will really thank me. Trust.


Adult-ing - Part 1
Adult-ing - Part 2
Adult-ing - Part 3
Adult-ing - Part 4

Adaumbelle's Quest Interview

I had the pleasure of doing a really fun interview with Adam Rothenberg of Adaumbelle's Quest answering important questions about Hello Again, the creative process, and perhaps most importantly, Hungover Owls and Superman versus Wonderwoman.
Enjoy!

Nicknames I've Been Called: A List

1. Shura 

One of the many Russian diminutives given for the full name Alexandra, it was bestowed upon me by a former beau (Kent to be specific) in Glasgow after watching a performance of Maxim Gorky's Children of the Sun (Дети солнца) at The RSAMD. 

2. Sexy Lexi 

High school silliness bestowed upon me by another childhood "Major J" in response to a truly horrible short film we made entitled "The Sex Particle and the Adventures of the Impossible Woman." (Which role do you think I played...?)

3. Owl

Once again, I refer you to my love of owls in general, followed by the story of Ruthie and her eldest daughter mistaking my name "Al" for "Owl" whilst reading her Winnie the Pooh. And it stuck... forever...

4. Alex

So... yes. For the first 15 or so years of my life I tolerated this absolutely incorrect nick name because first of all, it is a rather obvious diminutive. Second, it is difficult for anyone, let alone an always moving around/ unsuspectingly shy child to fight the tsunami of adults and peers who assume without even asking really, that this is your rather obvious diminutive. Thirdly, when you have a rather long name, I have found that in general it makes people a little uneasy. And fourthly, I believe people (especially British people I might add...) are very anxious to "familiarize" themselves with you as soon as possible, and shortening your name to the very first rather obvious diminutive is the very best way to do that.

I could write an entire essay on "Alex." I don't really know who she is. Truth be told, I am fairly certain that the fact I tolerated being referred to as Alex for so long a while was a reflection on that very point-- I was not sure who Al/Alex/Alexandra was exactly, and I, like every growing and developing person, was making those discoveries daily.

I was ten years old the first time I went away to summer camp at Interlochen, and I remember the counselors asking about nicknames. I introduced myself on that very first day as "Al"-- it was what my family and very closest friends called me back home and it was already starting to feel right. "Hello, my name is Al Silber." Yes, I thought. I loved the idea of being able to start fresh in that way-- to wipe Alex clear off the face of the map, at least at summer camp. (Incidentally, I have always loved my full name but I found that it was a bumpy road with an awkward pit stop at "Alex.") So it is not surprising to me that I always felt more at home and myself at Interlochen than anywhere else.

A very small number of people continue to call me Alex in the present day. People that knew me "when" back in public school, those who probably do not know me very well, and/or people that have argued their case very convincingly (example: Marc Kudisch would not take no for an answer.  Basically, he presented a very good case that practically had bullet points. It was impressive and detailed and basically he gets a hall pass. Fine. He is allowed...). 

I have a few friends named Alex- one girl and three boys, and Alex is, without any doubt in my mind, their name. It suits them all in various ways. And please! Do not get me wrong, I am not offended or irritated by an Alex referral, it is simply, and without any doubt, not my name. :)

5. Poo & Schmoops

The same high-school and college boyfriend who called me Shura (Kent) was obsessed with the word "Poopie." I don't know why. It was his thing. I don't know how it began but it became a reallybigdeal.
As a result, he began to refer to me by this, his very favo(u)rite word, and it eventually morphed itself into the far more socially acceptable "Schmoops." I am glad to say that to this day, despite new relationships, time and distance, whenever we speak on the phone the call always begins with "Hey Schmoops." Nice, that.

6. The Sibs

Don't ask me why my pals at RSAMD referred to me as "The Sibs."Why the "L" was so callously left out. Or why the "The" was present. Why I wasn't merely "Sibs" but "The Sibs."I don't know. But I do know it was pretty serious business.

7. Poor Julie

The entire cast of Carousel 1.0. For a bazillion obvious reasons.

8. Sashenka 

My "Chosen Sister" Arielle is as obsessed with allthingsrussian as I am. It is one of the many many things that bonds us. There is nothing like knowing that someone has been there since the very beginning, yes. But there is also nothing like knowing one can casually throw out a Bulgakov reference without a second thought, and know, with full and total certainty, that it will be caught.

Fictional but totally possible Arielle and Al conversation:

Arielle:  I'll have a Narzan

Al: We're all out of Narzan.

Arielle: How about beer?

Al: They're bringing beer this evening.

Arielle: So what do you have?

Al: Apricot juice. But it's warm.

Arielle even married a Russian. Who teaches Russia Literature. And the language. That, my friends, is commitment. Anyway, long story short? She is Ariellushka and I am Sashenka. And that is even more bubbly and tasty and delicious than Narzan. The end.

9. High Ho Silber

The lady that ran the Scholarshop at Interlochen started it. I'm actually pretty surprised this fairly straightforward pop culture reference wasn't in my life a bit sooner.  Every time I walked into the Scholarshop to purchase some sheet music or a bottle of water or simply to get warm, that lovely woman would say "High Ho!" It was pretty wonderful.

10. Bub

Another pet name from a boyfriend. It evolved over time of course. Here are the steps it took:

a. When D got his wisdom teeth out his face exploded, which prompted me referring to him as "Bubble Face" for obvious reasons.
b. But soon, the swelling went down and somehow, the adorable-ness of this name remained.
c. I continued to refer to him as Bubble
d. then, to reciprocate (or perhaps to give me a taste of my own medicine, or perhaps simply not to feel left out?), he referred to me as Bubble
e. From there, as per usual, Bubble became too long and we started referring to one another as simply Bub.
f. Eventually a song was composed (as was our want) set roughly to the tune of the iconic Llyods TSB commercial song that went a little something like this:

You have a face
a bubble bubble face
you have a face
a bubba-dubba-bubba- Bubble FACE!

11. Soph!

Sometimes when you play characters.... it sticks. Exclamation point included.

12. Sunny 

I have always been terribly fond of allthingsRussian such as Russian literature, culture and history. But nothing has fascinated me more than the life and times of Tsar Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra (originally a German Princess, born Alix of Hesse), the last Tsar and Tsarina of Russia who ruled from 1894 until Nicholas' abdication on 15 March 1917.

There is much to say, to touch on, to convey; too much in fact. The atmospheric air of the particular chapter in history. Alexandra's queer dependence on mystic monk Grigory Rasputin. Their almost charmed family tarnished by the hemophilia of their youngest child, only son and heir, Alexey. The rise of the Bolsheviks. The wars. The unrest. One era violently escorting in another. (Incidentally, I am a fan of the 1971 film starring Michael Jayston and Janet Suzman--check it out.)

However, the most important aspect of my fascination with N & A is their unabashed love for one another particularly in a time of such overwhelming social, political, familial and personal upheaval. They loved each other. They were really in love. And despite every questionable decision, every short-sighted choice, they never strayed from that central truth. Even, in almost every way, to their own destruction. It draws me in every time. (Truly, there is far too much to articulate about my passion for N & A flippantly here, it deserves it's very own exploratory post).


Nicholas and Alix had first met in 1884 and when Alix returned to Russia in 1889 they fell in love. "It is my dream to one day marry Alix H. I have loved her for a long time, but more deeply and strongly since 1889 when she spent six weeks in Petersburg. For a long time, I have resisted my feeling that my dearest dream will come true." Nicholas wrote in his diary, and Alexandra fully reciprocated his feelings. They married in late 1894 (eve after Alix stood up to her grandmother Queen Victoria of England, refusing to marry the man Queen V chose for her!)

Regardless, suffice it to say that the intrigue runs deep. (Not merely because of the Tsarina's rather wonderful name...) Indeed, every time I come across a man named Nicholas I make a rather large fuss. And not one but two images of the royal pair can be seen in my apartment-- one on the refrigerator the other in a display case above my bookshelf. And that new apartment? It has a name. And that name is The Winter Palace.

Alexandra's  family nicknamed her "Alicky" or "Sunny," and the latter was picked up later by Nicholas. Recently, I have become rather wonderfully acquainted with a new Nicholas who takes it upon himself to call me Sunny... No. Arguments.

13. ... and, of course, you can call me Betty, but Betty when you call me you can call me...Al

Now, without question, I love the name Alexandra. And I feel that I am Alexandra. I respond to it, I feel I am capable of rising to it, and I respect all that is Alexandra Silber; but she is another facet of this multi-faceted Self (though equally valid and cherished).

When I finally attended school at Interlochen full time, Al Silber was in full bloom and even my teachers referred to me as Al. It felt marvelous.

Then, when I began college I thought I would have to start being a bit more "grown up" and "serious" and "professional," but no, Alexandra was some people's preference but Al was still holding on strong.

I then thought I would have to transition as I began a professional career. But no, when I began in The Woman in White, the casting directors, musical directors, cast mates, production team, and even Trevor Nunn and Simon Callow were calling me Al. Before you knew it, "Al Silber" was being bandied about the industry as if it were my professional name to the point where when Ruthie referred "Al Silber" to her manager in New York, he responded by telling her that he wasn't looking for any balding middle-aged Jewish comics...

Yes indeed, it usually sparks a bit of a conversation and that is no bad thing! At the very least people remember it. They may wonder why such a feminine woman has such an incongruous name, or why any glamorous woman would want to be labeled with so slight a sobriquet. Then they get over it. Or they don't. But most of the time they do.

In fact I went to a photo-shoot for my next project last week and the cast list had my name written thus:

Al(exandra) Silber

YES. That was it! Total mixture and domination achieved!

Well... all I can say is, when you know with all of your being that something is right, don't question it. Two little letters can sometimes pack a real punch, and seventeen years after my initial stake in the ground at summer camp, Al is still going strong. She, as well as the name, is stronger than ever.

Al. The one. The only.  It is, almost inexplicably, my truest name. My truest self. 

*

"Because it is my name. Because I shall never have another in my life..." 

-- Arthur Miller, The Crucible

I've Been...

Adjusting. Capital A.

Reading like crazy thanks to Audible.com: (Outliers, Foreskin’s Lament, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, The Partly Cloudy Patriot)

Loving Jeremy Piven with all her heart: not only does he have a J name, but he also, simply a total freakin genius.

Adventuring with Ta'u Pupu'a to see Laquita Mitchell bust out her Bess! (Masterclass reunion babayyyy...)

Getting back into her beloved running routine (as well as doing ancient early-90's Buns of Steel VHS like a flippin' pro...)

Al & Ruthie reunion slumber party? Hell yes.

Returning to London...


Singing with Lance Horne (and Leanne Jones and Paul Spicer) at Freedom Club

Watching one of my closest friends and my absolute life-saver Tasha get married. (And speaking at the wedding!) Literally the most enjoyable wedding I have ever attended.

Reeling over how much I love Victoria Jayne Hinde. She wrote me a poem. Victoria, I love you.

Recovering from Amy Maiden breaking the news to me that she hates yoghurt-covered-things. [Record scratch followed by female screaming and cataclysmic crashing sound] She felt we "we there..." Whatever...

Standing outside the Palace Theatre on my 5 year London anniversary. *Sigh.*

Pounding the pavement!

Witnessing theatrical magic. Peter Stein's beautiful, 12-hour adaptation of Dostoevsky's The Demons with an entirely Italian acting company on Governor's Island. Thank you Lincoln Center Festival. (Needless to say I was 'Possessed' by excitement.) If you ever have a chance to see this production, it is a life-altering experience. 

Literally obsessed with the Radiolab Podcast. You must check it out today…

I've Been...

Writingwritingwriting

Couch-hopping like a pro

Enjoying a few hearty platonic sleepovers with incredible musician and friend Gabriel Kahane

Dreaming of Russia...

Singing with Ted and Chris and Santino and Victoria

Putting it all in a box. Literally.

Living in Tyne Daly's apartment. Fine.

…That was once the home of Lotte Lenya, Noel Coward and Hermione Gingold. Also fine.

Meeting with Sony

Reunitiung on Cinco de Mayo with the Interlochen Sextet

Sorting out Santino’s wardrobe once again (particularly proud am I of the S.O.S t-shirt worn on the Drama Desk Nominee gathering)

Ruling, I mean really truly, ruling, the skee ball machine at Coney Island

Pool sharking

Treated by a doctor whose every look and manner bespeaks Keanu Reeves…

Apartment hunting

Present in a room with so many celebrities it felt downright inappropriate

Running in to Chelsea Clinton’s broken leg. Oops.

Finding honesty, openness, warmth, generosity, connection and a true new friend in the beautiful Jill Paice— (to whom I owe much more than I could ever articulate here, but luckily managed the courage to express to her recently over cappuccino. Which was, incidentally, delicious...)

Staying up until 5:30 am laughing, crying and catching up with Ruthiewithaheart in our greatest ever slumber party

Stealing Dan Ackroyd’s internet. (You can thank him for this very blog publication)

In a single week, the recipient of many an ancient affectionate confession…

Obessesed with Tyne’s HBO “For Your Emmy Consideration” box set— has anyone seen all of these incredible shows? Bored to Death, Hung, Big Love, Curb Your Enthusiasm? A.ma.zing.

Planning a cabaret debut. (More to come!)

Exploring New York City.

Putting down some permanent roots. 

A Pilates PRO.

Serenaded by Mandy Patinkin. (Daaaamn….)

Gratitudes 27-50

27. Thunder & Lightning
28. Lazy days with duvets and books
29. Toast (mmmmmm....)
30. Peanut butter
31. Jam (Of the insert-the-berry-here variety)
32. Cheese
33. Good conversation
34. Fresh fruit
35. Michigan
36. Beautiful snow
37. Clouds
38. RSAMD
39. David & Robin
40. Louise, for finding and believing...
41. Merrily We Roll Along for the moment I knew...
42. Liz, Kate, Anne, Susan, and Rosie, and for that matter all those who taught me things the hard way...
43. The book
44. My students
45. My teachers (sometimes the same people...)
46. Candles
47. Hodel
48. David, Stephen, Stephen, Simon, Sonia, Trevor, Andrew and Kennedy for changing my life...
49. Ruthie
50. The miracle of water...

Ruthiewithaheart

So here's the thing. When you are in a public profession, you have to maintain a certain level of anonimity when it comes to the things you share on a public website like this. And sometimes, yes, that bums me out. OH! [Insert grand theatrical gesture here] the stories I could share if I could reveal all! Oh the reputations I could probably annihilate. But naturally I won't. I will annihilate my own reputation with stories of flying red shoes, idiotic conversations with John Cusack, and laying face-down in a dumpster whilst speaking to one's agent. I think that is enough annhilation for a lifetime.

But today I feel the need to wax lyrical. I feel full of pride and excitement for a person I love more than anything. And I need to share it with you, dear reader...

So. I have this friend. And as I explained above, I don't write about her in this blog because she is a liiiiiiittle bit famous (okay, actually quite famous), and I feel very protective of her privacy, her integrity, and her feelings (in a way I don't feel entirely bothered about with Sir Simon or Sir Trevor or John Cusack, for that matter). Therefore, I like to limit myself when it comes to the things I share about this phenomenal woman, who happens to be one of the most important people in my life.

She is my "Chosen Sister," my inspiration, my barometer. I love her deeply and when I think of our friendship, our laughter, our tears and our beyond-belief talks; I feel that together we can take on anything. She is one of those people. She makes you feel more powerful because she is there.

She is one of the best people in the world.
She is so much more than just an actress. and singer. (and shit-hot dancer by they way).
She is part of a select few.
She is the real deal.
She is Ruthie Henshall and I adore her.
My Ruthiewithaheart. (That is, to explain, Ruthie, written with the dot on top of the "I" as a heart... instead of a dot...)

Once in an odd while, we come across things, people, landscapes, that make us, as Ayn Rand puts it, "answer and say YES." You see a piece of art, you read a piece of writing, you meet someone so authentic and direct, so startling and real; and your whole being responds with a Yes. An underlined Yes. Yes with an exclamation point.

I felt that way the day I met the Ruthie. June 5th, in the late morning, at a conservatory filled with sunlight. And when we saw one another, we both recognized each other. When we began talking, we felt like friends. Sure, there was enormous professional pressure, but that was not the deepest flavor. Instead, I felt comfort. We laughed, mostly. We slipped into a friendship like sliding into warm water, and we haven’t left yet.

Talking with her felt like keeping my hand wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. Conversation tasted like potato-leek soup, like apple crisp, like cake just out of the oven. We wafted vanilla and sugar between us. We devoured each other’s words, and every one of them felt like Yes. And in those first few shared moments, I honestly felt all the years that would follow, all the days together, all the laughing and comfort. That moment is when I said Yes to Ruthie. I want to write yes, with an underline, in the air. There might be other lifetimes between us before this. Who knows? I only know Yes. I only know how much I adore her. Yes — with an exclamation point. Ruthie — with a heart.

And all I have to say to all of those who love her, and all of those who love the theatre: you must... YOU MUST see this woman give what many are referring to as the performance of her career in Marguerite, a new musical co-written by Michel Legrand & the creators of Les Misérables, which opens this week at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. It plays until November, and you mustn't miss it. The world premiere of an original musical is a rare event in the West End, but Marguerite, is more than that. What Ruthie is doing is incredibly brave and important. And I am more proud than I could ever hope to articulate. For more reasons than I could ever name.

Go.

Behind the Scenes - The Woman in White

A photographic recap of the last 10 months. What a journey.