This week has been one of difficult conversations. By that I mean saying the things that need to be said and being willing to deal with an upset while standing for a miracle. There's love in the rigor of my communication. I do what I can so that people hear it. Sometimes I mess it up and other times, they get it.
It started with my 13-year old's dad. They are going on vacation for two weeks. He wouldn't tell me where. When I asked, he said that they'd be at his mom's but my daughter mentioned camping in the Sierra's. I asked again, brought up the camping and he said that they were indeed going camping, but refused to tell me where. What ensued where emails that copied his attorney, threats to take me back to court, fear. I have been representing myself, "pro-per" as it's called, but I find it mostly improper. I simply called the local police station and spoke to a very nice policeman who said to ask my daughter's dad to meet me there at drop off and they will enforce the order that states he provide an itinerary. It turned out that the police station was not necessary and I was provided the necessary information. I'm committed that he is the best father that he can be. Sometimes, my commitment looks like this.
Tuesday brought a conversation with someone I used to coach who has a new coach. They've not hit it off. When he realized the impact on his life when he is unwilling to accept love from others, the solitude he recently came out of, he shifted. He brought the love that he wants to be known for in the world.
Wednesday brought client conversations about changes in what I was hired to do. How do I brand powerful human beings whose life purposes grow exponentially everyday? I have yet to figure that out.
Thursday morning brought a conversation where I said I was going to celebrate my birthday as planned, no matter the other commitment that my boyfriend didn't realize he had. An "us" thing out of town has turned into a "me" thing with a great friend. There's an adventure ahead. We talked about other stuff. I was squirmy inside but the words came out straight. No hearts were broken. Nothing tragic happened. Voices were calm. A kiss that sent him to work, as usual.
Last weekend I saw the movie, "Chef." It made me miss myself. The self that used to go salsa dancing practically every week. The poet that had something to say at the podium on a regular basis. The filmmaker that met with amazing actors to attach them to my projects and went to film festivals. The mom that celebrated my 28 year old daughter's 13th birthday in a French cafe on Melrose, on a weekday with my artist friends, making her stay up until midnight and had the chef bring her creme-brulee with a lit candle from the kitchen.
This was my most difficult conversation. How I traded salsa dancing for a husband and a Spanish style bungalow with a pool in the valley. When that went away, I didn't want to dance anymore. Life's biggest lesson: Frankie, you don't have to trade one for the other.
It's been almost 5 years and my heart is leaping for a good time. It's leaping to write with no filter, ignoring my biggest censor, myself. To dress for the red carpet and drink French espresso or vodka like the Russians from Odessa showed me, talking to brilliant people at midnight.
It's time to wear the silver shoes with the cork platform that I bought for the Warner Bros rooftop party in Venice, the red strappy heels that I bought for the Access Hollywood holiday party, the pleather corset, and zippers, snaps and shiny things.
I'm looking for the next podium to step up to and say what others can only think. To be that voice.
I'm calling Laura Harring to ask who she wants to play her new love interest in the film.
It is my word in the matter of our lives. The truth doesn't hurt. There's love in the rigor. Listen. Can you feel it?