Home, yet not....published on April 25....started earlier.

I've been in San Francisco for a couple of weeks now. I'm in rehearsal for a show, selling jewelry and singing with my old mentors and friends. I'm walking everywhere, dancing a lot, running both in the park and up and down hills with the dog that I am taking care of. I'm going to my old gym haunts (there are so many Crunch gym locations in SF!), and listening to KFOG. I should feel completely at home yet instead I feel just slightly off. There is a vague floaty aspect to my days. I feel the tug of old emotional traps, threatening to pull me down the rabbit hole. I do not want to heed them. I want to enjoy the rehearsal process, the challenging classes, the gorgeous music everywhere. I need to feed my inspiration and enjoy the break from teaching. I certainly don't need to have some emotional breakdown while here. I am a stronger person than I was when I left this beautiful city four years ago. I have worked hard to be stable and present. I have deeper information, about myself and about the past. More importantly I think, I have more tools. I am learning to stop mid fall. Yet...I can feel in various moments a loosening of focus, a catch in my chest or the sensation of my throat closing. When I feel that, I start to doubt the solidity of my growth. To control the fall, I stop, take a deep breath and try to figure out what it is that I am actually afraid of. My first instinct is to dismiss the feelings by saying that none of them are current; that I'm allowing outmoded fears and limitations back into my psyche. That I'm just crazy. While that could very well be true, I don't think it is the full story.

My San Francisco life was a quite turbulent period of time, one that on the whole was painful and full of loss; my marriage, my father, my money, and, it seemed, my mind. But, there was also so much beauty and art and growth. I made wonderful friends (and lost some along the way), danced, sang, performed and created. I eventually built up the strength and found the desire to move to LA. As I now log my endless miles running up and down these familiar hills, I'm starting to wonder if I am experiencing not old triggers, but a growing realization that I have yet to find what I left San Francisco for. When I left, I expected on some level to rise to the occasion, to "make it" in the industry, to soar. While I have done a lot of wonderful things in LA and have had many incredible experiences, my life there does not resemble the dream that I arrived with. This is hardly a revelation, but I am discovering that the "coming home" aspect of working here in San Francisco is putting a spotlight on some things that perhaps remain hidden or unaddressed in the rush of my regular day to day. Perhaps the regular conversations that I am having here are adding to the questions: "You look great, what are you up to? Anything I can see you in?" Well, no, there is nothing that you can see me in....yet. I've shot a few commercials, none of which are currently running. But (and the little kid inside jumps up and down to be heard), I've been busy in theater, I'm teaching, I've choreographed some wonderful shows. I'm extremely proud of the work that I have been doing. I've grown exponentially not only as a dancer, singer, and actor but as a choreographer and teacher. I've studied with amazing people and have worked on many wonderful productions and have discovered that I love teaching. Is it enough though? If I don't break though in film and television, have I achieved what I left San Francisco to do? Do I have the life that I want? Can I answer, with genuine pride, rather than with the patina of PR glitz that I have acquired, even cultivated, those questions about what I've been doing? What about a personal life? I'm house sitting at the moment. There are two sweet dogs sitting under the table as I write, full of unconditional love. My life is so different from this. It's extremely solitary. There is no one asking for my care or company. This is a choice for sure, but should it be a permanent one? I don't know. The hills of San Francisco are asking me to face these questions head on.