About twenty years ago, while I was waiting tables to support my theatre career, something unexpected happened. 

A dear friend was directing a production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. He needed an assistant director, and I needed a job. So he asked me to come on board. Oh, by the way, this is a theatre company of adult actors with developmental disabilities.

In kindergarten, I had a friend with a disability—although we didn’t call it that in the ’70s. And “mainstreaming” was not a thing back then either. By the time I was in first grade, I no longer saw my friend every day. In high school, I knew there were students with disabilities, but the only interaction I had with them was during lunch, and that was limited. 

So “experience with people with disabilities” was not on my resume, but making theatre was. So I plunged into Forum with both feet, trusting my dear friend to guide me along.

I ended up working with that company for many years. I’d spend three months every winter in collaboration with about fifty other people, developing friendships, creating fun theatre experiences for the actors and audiences alike. Some even said it changed their life. It did mine.

I meant to be Meryl Streep. Oops! Somebody else got that gig. But I expected to be a film actor. A brilliant film actor. Naturally, Oscars would follow. 

Time passed and I continued to juggle theatre and restaurant work. Waitressing hurts, y’all. I never expected to be waiting tables in my forties. And yet, there I was, on my feet, daily dealing with disappointment from my unmet career expectations.

Fast forward through one full time job with benefits, a return to school for graphic design, a dabble with freelancing, an attempt at film work, gigs here and there, and back to waitressing.

My body could not take it anymore. I knew I needed change. But I didn’t know what that would look like.

I had an ongoing conversation with my Higher Self:

ME: Look. My back hurts. My feet hurt. My heart hurts. Help!

HIGHER SELF: Thanks for asking! I’m always just waiting for you to remember I’m here.

ME: Noted. I don’t know what to do next.

HS: What do you think would make you happy?

ME: That Meryl Streep gig is already taken.

HS: Do you really think you’d be happy with her level of fame? 

ME: Hm. I really just want to do the artistic work. I want to tell stories. I want to collaborate. I want to make a difference. I want to touch lives.

HS: Are you stuck on this acting thing?

ME: (Pause. Pause. Pinter pause.) You know what? No. No, I’m not. I am willing to give that up. I don’t care. I want steady income. I want to use the skills I have to be of service. I am willing to let it go. My feet hurt!

And what eventually came to me was something I never could have even dreamed up for myself—a full time job with benefits, using my creative skills to support a nonprofit with a mission of inclusion for people with disabilities. I didn’t even know such a thing existed!

If I had not been willing to open myself up to the unexpected, this opportunity may have passed right by me while I was looking in the other direction for a more limited vision of what I thought I wanted. 

Plus, I’ve still been able to do some theatre. At least before the pandemic. Prayers welcomed for all performing artists, designers, and technicians. (If you are inclined, donate to the Atlanta Artist Relief Fund.)

The vision for this week’s collage didn’t come until I found the title words: “plunges into unexpected.”

I thought about the familiar paths we always walk. What happens when something unexpected crosses that path? Do I see it as an obstacle that needs to be avoided and skirt around it? Or do I adventurously plunge in with both feet?

I guess the answer depends on what that unexpected thing is. But if I’m staying present on my path, holding the intention of serving with love, then I find it easier to say YES to the unexpected. I don’t have to see what’s on the other side. I just have to take a step. Then another. And another. Trusting that the path will unfold before me, releasing my attachment to the outcome.

INNER CRITIC URSULA: But what if you make the wrong choice? What if you say yes to a job that you end up hating?

ME: Then I open myself up to finding another one. We don’t have to make this so hard.

URSULA: But—

ME: Pipe down, Ursula.

URSULA: Sassy. (Pulls out a Pall Mall. Exits sulkily.)

It took me a while to figure out how I wanted to visually represent my thoughts about unexpected happenings along the path. I finally decided to cut into strips all the prettiest colors in this week’s New Yorker, put them all in a jumbled pile, reach in randomly, and build a weave-like pattern one strip at time. I didn’t have an expectation of how it would turn out. I was preparing myself for another failure (see Week 10). But I’m pleased with the results. 

I chose this week’s cartoon in honor of last week’s elephant. Plus, I think it’s hilarious.

I don’t expect you to love everything I create. But I’m grateful to you for walking this path with me. You make it easier for me to plunge into each week’s unexpected.

THIS WEEK’S FEATURED CARTOON

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