Some Things We Always

It had rained for four days straight as it usually does in Michigan summer. As a camper I think I liked it. The things that annoyed me about camp--soccer, huffing down the beach stairs--came to a grinding halt. More time for counselors to throw their hands up and let us read during kayaking class. Extra time to snuggle into the cabins, flaps down. Sleeping was the best--we always had waves, now we also had storms. But now I was a head counselor and about to lose my entire mind. The first night was okay--sure, no luau, but there were some indoor games to be played. And then, what the heck, a movie night. And then the less fun games. And then we just didn't know. Every kid was bummed and lethargic. The tiniest ones were cooped. The staff was annoyed. In a desperate play, we announced we were just going to have to put on a show. The saddest last-minute talent show of all time? A little girl complained to me about her point values on her inspection sheet, I frantically tried to get a DVD player to work, an alum from my past showed up unexpectedly and started small talking with me and my coworker. I was extremely rude and left her probably feeling like an idiot for hiking up Messhall Hill in the rain. I remember crying as a friend of mine grumpily said she was not happy about how we were running things and vowing I would never have a job dependent on weather again.

But you can't actually just, like, get out of weather delays for life. I've been in tornados and storms and electricity blackouts and now a pandemic. We live in the natural world, no matter how hard we try to forget it.

Solstice 2017

When I was seventeen the director of the summer camp I grew up at led us on a summer solstice night hike. It was a campy (literally) rite of passage full of life advice, but several of these little lessons have stayed relevant to me over the years. My favorite takeaway was the idea of living "solstice days.' The concept is on the longest day of the year we should wake-up bright and early, full of excitement and stay vibrant with the sun, squeezing every drop of joy from the day. And, you know, if you want to live a full life, repeat x 365. On any given day when I am ear to pillow I know my day has been incredible. Even when I am depressed or anxious, on paper I have lived a remarkable 18 hours.

When I was down last week Pearl told me to remember probably less than 500 people in the world have somehow made improv & teaching their employment, and we are two of them. Those numbers could easily be skewed depending on how you define "improv" "teaching" and "employment," but whatever. I know I do this exercise all the time--listing what my day entailed--but it's always a rainbow from my 10th grade journal. 6 out of 7 of my days are so classified as solstice, that that one needed break usually makes me feel sluggish or guilty. I live in June 21st.

On this year's solstice morning I woke up at 4 AM. I couldn't sleep, so I worked on my book for about an hour and did some lesson planning. I did a circuit at my gorgeous athletic club and took the early train north to teach musical theatre to 5th graders. They learned a kickline to "Singin' in the Rain." Puhg and I watched the finale of Better Call Saul, I scrapbooked in the living room with the windows open. I answered adult bill mail. At 8 I led an improv rehearsal for an indie team. I laughed, we got critical, we goofed to the Red Line. Pearl texted me a photo of Burger King's Lucky Charms shake. I said, "We should go now," because I was already out. I was surprised to hear she was down. She and Flip had just left the Cubs game.

I pushed through the hoards in Wrigleyville and we walked to the BK. It was locked. Google had said 24-hours, but that was the drive-thru and we were on foot. But we rallied. We were already there. Maybe we would ask a passing car to get us the ice cream. I committed and called a Lyft. We waited for it to come and saw a familiar body shape on the sidewalk. It was Dal! We called out and he walked over. What are the odds! He was hungry too.  Suddenly the night was magic and we were all going to get crowns. My Lyft driver cancelled. He said my request was "unacceptable.' Was it? I didn't think so. Flip hailed a cab. No dice, but the next cab said yes! We all squeezed in cheerily, we ordered novelty treats and Cheeto sticks! We waited at the window.

We waited a long time. Our driver revealed he had to go to the bathroom very badly and started knocking on the window. The women working would not let him in (understandably). It was funny and then he was in a lot of anxious pain. He pointed at the dash and said, "There's my license. Good luck." And then he ran across two lanes of traffic to a gas station. He came back jumping, he wasn't allowed to use the restroom. We were stuck. We offered to leave, a line of cars sat behind us. After 25-minutes the food came. We grabbed it and jumped out. The driver behind us revved like he would smash us. He screamed at Dal. Dal engaged. Pearl said, "Walk away." I was got very tiny inside my head wishing, "Oh god let there not be a fight in this Burger King parking lot." We walked away, feeling the steam of tense encounters. The milkshakes were actually really good.

I asked a cop to take our picture, and Dal gave her a Cheeto stick. Eventually we all parted ways. I walked the last half mile alone up Halsted.

Secret Hedgehog

On the road trip up to Michigan my first summer at camp, my family stopped at a quirky chocolate shop. I bought two souvenirs: a tiny tin suitcase, and a chocolate hedgehog wrapped in foil—about the size of a quarter.

Food wasn’t allowed at camp, but I didn’t want to eat my new friend—not so fast. I kept it in the tiny tin. The first year was a little scary. New friends and being homesick. My counselor asked about the lil suitcase. “What’s in it?” she asked. I didn’t respond. My cabinmates chirped, “What’s in it! What’s in it!” I just blinked.

Why did I have the hedgehog? Not to eat, probably ever. I likely never did based on the way I hoarded candy as a child. I liked to look at it when I was alone. The tin kept it cool, so I would touch it.

My counselor knew my brain was spinning up there on the top bunk. I would hear all the cabin sleeping around me, but she would keep reading Mick Harte Was Here because she sensed I was awake. She dropped the tin subject, but the rest of the girls didn’t.

It felt good to have a secret. Something that was mine in a shared space. At the end of the summer Slou asked, “Okay, okay, can I know what’s in the suitcase? Is it chocolate?” I said, “Yes.” My counselor gave a peppy squeal, “I KNEW it was candy.” She wasn’t mad. She, I think, was happy to give the kid who cried when someone squished a spider a reason to live. (Lord.) But it wasn’t about the candy. It was about the secret and the freedom I had to keep it.

All In

Go all in or don't go at all.

HOLD UP. I just wrote that, but I don't believe that. I wouldn't do any dang thing if I asked myself "Am I all in right now?" and if the answer was "no" I didn't go. WHAT. Stupid advice, Alice. What about--

"Go all in or keep going until you are"?

Friday I won an award! I submitted to a sketch festival and felt luke warm about what I wrote. I tried a new vibe. (Read: fewer vegetarian rants, more hugs.) Sometimes I was like "Hey, this is pretty good." Other times I was like, "This is schmaltz barf."So during the festival, I didn't go all in. I think I gave a solid B+, but I was so busy questioning the lines, I was never fully invested. Bisque says he didn't notice, but I did. I took away a little piece of something great for myself. And then I won. I mean, huge happy success for sure, but why did I hold an umbrella over it? It was too late to do anything but enjoy the dang show, so why didn't I?

When I worked as a summer camp counselor in Maine before my junior year of college, there was this adorable, spunky, wonderful head counselor named Jooj who loved every minute of her job. She gave this super irresponsible but hugely important advice to me. I give it to the teaching artists I manage now. She said, "Follow the class. If it's hot and no one wants to learn, go have a water ballon fight." I took this to heart, and I really try to remember it in the stressful bursts of life. At a certain point, the bed is made, you know? All in.