Oh, Oh, Ooh oh oh

He forwards the email, and as soon as I get home (I walk) I open my computer and send off my old packet. "Two packets, one week" I think. A little star wish. My social media has snowy frowns and mittens from Chicago, but here it's all palm trees. On Wednesday I wear my short grey dress. No tights. Friday night patio at a cantina with coworkers. They just saw me do a show. I ask them if they've experienced Destiny. One says meeting her husband, one says no, one says this job, two say every day. I'm unsure myself. But I do know if there is no Destiny, we can fake it. We can feel humbled by the perfection Arbitrary served up. And why not? I asked after I saw The Color Purple specifically. But I crumbled when I chose the wrong path. Is it the one that got away? It's too woven into my brain chemistry to write a new story that always includes a full circle. Anything is a circle if you want it to be. But why not let it be? Tira says that's how poor people stay poor. They wait on the lord instead of using their free will to fix broken systems. I don't disagree. I can't believe six days ago I was up at 5:30 AM editing so ferociously I passed out. Literally passed out. The evening sound bath with Tax Any & Maf couldn't come fast enough. I think the bowl vibrations hung in my ears all week. I made my first mistake at work, showed up two hours late once. But I also submitted my book to a lit agent, those two twinkling packets (what I swore I couldn't do). And beyond that, I dreamt I Did A Thing. It was good but not THAT good, which made me feel it was real when I woke up. Shellz texted me. She had the same dream. In real life Lo texted me tonight. Promising news. My hopes: not high about any one thing, but floating about any thing. I didn't care for If Beale Street Could Talk even though I wanted to. It was worth the $5 popcorn, but it was too slow. I'm not patient enough for beauty. Maybe I'll remember something years from now. Like the play about video games I thought was fine in 2014. I think about it every single week. And based on that or based on nothing I told Puhg on the lamppost corner what my new goal is. I think I have fifteen years, right? I couldn't have script doctored tonight. Thoughts too fuzzy. I wrote here instead. Without intention I already know tomorrow will be another early morning. I want it to be. I'll work on Act II of T____. It calls me. Like I have several children. I can only care for the one that needs me most.  Panic! At the Disco every time I get in the car.

"Tribe"

Comedians and their tribes. It's an idea I think most people credit to Amy Poehler (her whole "find your tribe") quote, but it's been true forever and always. You roam around doing your thing in basements and mid-afternoon when everyone else has real jobs and you share this unique pain of being unbearably vulnerable and usually getting rejected or at best making $100 for a show that had eight hours of unpaid rehearsal. Eventually there's a group of "you." No one does it alone.

Tribes were simple where I came from. In high school I joined the speech team and became borderline obsessed with every person on it. I liked making weird little theatrical art my whole life, and so did my new pack. Tribe. My college had a ten-person improv team comprised of essentially every student on campus interested in entertainment. Tribe. I found the one way to do improv in St. Louis (and would drive an hour to do shady barprov). There were like five people I thought were funny, and then they were Tribe. And in Arizona I worked obsessively on making good comedy (for kind of no reason?). The three women I clung to became Tribe. I assumed when I went to Chicago Tribe would be there too.

Instead everyone already had Tribe. I did things out of order? I earned success, then took more classes, then always had to get up at 6 AM to catch the train before rush hour so I could sit down (and grade papers)? I already knew too many people I trusted? In Conservatory only one other person ever seemed to do the work, and we weren't compatible. I toured with bitter melons. When I graduated a comedy school, none of my peers asked me to be on their indie teams, but three peers asked me to direct them and they all assumed I would say "no," "above it." (I said "yes" to everything.)

What this means is when I have to do something really scary, and I need support, I talk to my odd cluster of Tribe. This past weekend, when I submitted for _____, I got all my feedback via email and text. Siev was, let's face it, a waste. Cowsk brought her legitimate eye. Jack helped me be line perfect and steer, Puhg gave me pats, Cobra was generally excited, Shell reassured from a viewpoint, Another a couple "okay"s, Kale a little of everything, Roff analyzed why it was working, and Henne questioned why it might not be and shot highlights. He emailed me, "You. Are. Ready." after a final pass. A ten person Tribe I can never find around one diner table, but one I am supremely grateful for.

It's hard to believe I might get anything. Ever. Because odds. Oof, odds. But in a sliver of attempt to not be pessimistic, I do know not everyone has ten trusted readers, and of the people who do, how many are as "you can do it" as mine? I know work doesn't define a person's worth, but it I can't not believe it helps. So I will try my best to hang on to this scrap that ten people believe in me based on what I did even if it doesn't amount to a single thing ever ever again.