I know we go back in time quite a bit here, but I’m writing you from TODAY-today, April 2024.
6 months ago, I started writing my solo show.
5 months ago, I started having weird abdominal pain?
4 months ago, I got a cold that moved in and signed a lease.
3 months ago, I got COVID again!
2 months ago, that weird abdominal pain came back, undeterred.
1 month ago, I got an ultrasound that located a monolith of a gallstone.
1 week ago, they ALIEN-ed it out of me during an earthquake.
I am fairly sure I was a textbook success. Even so, it’s been a l-o-n-g 10 days of recovery that is only now beginning to feel linear. (For those of you with uteruses, I got my period 2 days after abdominal surgery, a joke unmatched in its cruelty.)
I’ve never had surgery before—I had no idea what to expect, or how my body would handle anesthesia. My surgeon said it was a 2-day recovery, and everyone who knew better laughed. I’m relieved to say that it has not been disastrous, but after a whole 2024 of convalescing, can’t I come out and play yet?
(I don’t think I need to contextualize this, but also: after 4 years of pandemic and quarantine and strikes and displacement and homelessness and unemployment, for the love of all that is holy, can’t I come out and play yet?!)
Here’s the crazy thing—just a few days before that ultrasound, I had officially taken a leap of faith, confirming an offer for my play’s world premiere this June in another city.
Something weird happens when we say yes to things, doesn’t it?
Like… challenges. Tests? There’s an actor’s adage that says if you want to book a job, plan a vacation. Without fail, this is true. I’m going on vacation soon, and several booking inquiries came through for the 4 piddly weekdays I will be gone. There’s a sense of how bad do you want this?
Do you still want it if you are offered a job?
Do you still want it if you need to reassess the budget?
Do you still want it if you are recovering from losing a small-yet-everpresent organ???
We say yes to the scary/exciting thing, and something goes haywire—a small test for your commitment, your certainty, your willingness.
When I found out I’d need to get surgery, most of me wanted to hide, to take this as a sign of SEE I TOLD YOU THIS SHOW WAS NO GOOD, SEE VACATION IS NEVER A GOOD IDEA, SEE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU OPEN YOUR BIG BAZOO.
That voice is awful. I try to not give it much dead air to work with, but it is persistent, *especially* when it knows I’m trying out something new and important.
And thankfully, whatever is the *opposite* of that voice is what’s in charge of my gross motor functions. Because while it was yapping away as I stocked up on Jell-O and broth soup, it didn’t seem to notice that I also clicked sign on my pdf agreement. It prattled on as I booked my flights and my accommodations, emailing the artistic director with questions about my performance dates and tech details. I texted with my collaborators as it smack-talked me like a WWE wrestler, telling me my insides would fall out onstage, that I’d collapse mid-performance, and that I would never be able to eat again without turning into a howling banshee.
It’s a lot for ANY of us to listen to that voice and still choose to push against it, especially in a world where so much demands our sturdiness and courage and sheer will.
When I first got the notice that I was invited to premiere at this festival, I had my reservations. It would be so much easier to premiere nearby, to work it out in a space I’d grown comfortable in, to have a large pool of friends to come see it. I felt hesitant and unsure.
And then I got my ultrasound.
Dismayed, my first thought was: but what about…
I was so heartbroken by learning that I’d need surgery, that it was like the end of a ‘90s teen romance—only the impossibility of my situation could unlock my love and true desire to premiere in Denver June 6-9, 2024.
It’s true, I DID want to premiere at Denver Fringe. And if that was the case, I needed to get this little 7cm-long sucker taken out ASAP, because I couldn’t hazard it interrupting the grand plans and dreams I have for performing this in just 6 (gulp) short weeks.
My yes unlocked a whole new level of courage inside me, one that could think of surgery without breaking into a cold sweat, one that could not catastrophize (okay, could catastrophize less) about the risks, one that could take the pedestrian steps of planned care before and after, as though it were a simple dental cleaning.
All of a sudden, the choice wasn’t between having surgery or not. The choice was between solving a problem to show up for myself, or allowing fear to smother the artistic voice that I’ve walked through fire to cultivate.
Sometimes, yes shakes your whole world awake, even the sleepy tectonic plates beneath you.
xx Jen
Hell YESSSS! 🙌 I see you 👀 Let's GOOOOO❣️💪🔥