I had an all-out breakdown a few days ago. The kind I haven't had in at least a year. I am chocking it up partly to hormones and the damned full moon, but also to everything else going on.
Nothing is settled in my life. Most of the time I am used to this, and I ride the waves well. But sometimes it piles up. My career as an artist is sort of like hanging off a cliff on one finger right now. Every now and then I get a better grip, a few more fingers on the ledge, but yeah... this whole entreprenuer thing feels trecherous. All the time. I constantly have no clue what I am doing. And just keep trying my hardest to hold onto the ledge of blind faith sometimes faith is all I've got
Next week, Mike and I will have known each other for 6 months. He and his daughter Shelby will be coming down to visit for a long weekend in just a few more days. We've spent countless hours on Skype, but this is the first time I will be meeting her in person. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit nervous about that. I'd be lying if I said it didn't begin to trigger all kinds of future thoughts.
Suddenly here I am, in the midst of so much change I barely know what happened. This time, it's good change, but that doesn't mean grief isn't still part of it or that it isn't still scary and hard...
Yesterday I had one of those encounters with people who REALLY don't know what to say to a widow. You know the type, they rattle off every cliche in the book with very little understanding of what they're actually talking about. Furthermore, they usually have zero ability to pick up on the fact that the words of sympathy and wisdom they are imparting really aren't helping but are actually just making you more uncomfortable or upset.
I'm visiting Darwin, in Australia's Northern Territory, for a good friend's wedding and decided to fill in a morning by getting my nails done. I hadn't intended on letting it slip that I'm a widow because (a) after two years I have had more than enough of these awkward encounters with strangers to know that the 'my husband died' conversation rarely goes well (especially when you're a captive audience, with your hands stuck in a LED nail lamp) and (b) I'm trying to enjoy this weekend away for what it is - celebrating a friend's love story - rather than dwelling on the untimely demise of my own.
Last night, I had tickets for "The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon." They took a long time to get, like months and months and months, and it finally happened. I was finally there in the audience. I have lived in NYC for two decades now, so I have been to tapings of quite a few shows over the years. David Letterman, Saturday Night Live, and others. And as a performer and actor myself, I have been on set doing background work for several things as well. So this isn't my first rodeo, as they say. However, I have a gigantic crush on Jimmy Fallon. It has sort of evolved from "harmless crush" to "when are you going to leave your wife and realize that you belong with me?" hysteria. He is absolutely adorable, so talented and funny, and seems to always be genuinely thankful for his life and all the great work he has. He is always having a blast, and that is contagious. My husband Don and I both loved him on Saturday Night Live and we watched his first late night show too, but when Don died, Fallon's version of "The Tonight Show" was one of the things I watched most often to try to get back to the laughter. It made me feel joy, even if only for that hour or so each weeknight. In the beginning months of grief, an hour of joy is a ginormous victory.