The fear of being misunderstood and criticized has driven many of us long enough. We want what our soul desires and to share our talents because it lights us up. No more explanation needed.
 
I posted pictures earlier this summer I was cautiously pleased with, and that changed…

On a rainy June day I dragged an old crate out of my closet and dumped it into a glorious colorful smear onto my living room floor. There were pictures of plays I’d done, play programs, photo shoot pictures, class certificates, and behind the scene photos from creative adventures. They felt like they were from a lifetime ago. With good warm fuzzy feelings in my chest and conflicting loud voices in my head, I grabbed the back of my neck to rub a thundering ache of thoughts away.
 
Rifling through paper remnants of accomplishments I had forgotten about, my fingers whisked by some black and white photos that took my breath away. My eyes watered and softened, holy hot hell, I thought.

​My mind spun backwards years ago into the time frame the pictures were taken. I was new to town; my support system was nearly non-existent. The life I'd experienced up to this point made me absorb limiting ideas and snarky or jealous comments people would toss my way. Not knowing I could question what I was hearing, I multiplied that gross feeling energy inside myself. It felt like the world around me automatically assumed that if it looked pretty, then it had no problems, struggles, and was supremely confident. The way I appeared and the way I felt did not match. In my search for answers, I constantly explained my puzzling mental mess and the gravitation tugs in my soul to people that inquired and to those people that were in my corner. Often receiving dead end responses, I felt so confused about what I was discovering in myself. My belief system was on autopilot and like a high powered vacuum cleaner sucked up every poor quality story outside myself that held me back and pushed me down. With few good internal tools and meager positive reference points, I clung to those external negative narratives like the last life boat sinking with the Titanic. It’s no wonder the modeling I attempted didn’t go anywhere…

If you could go back in time to encourage your younger self, wouldn’t you just bear hug yourself and verbally impart mustard seeds of self-worth, self-esteem, confidence, and belief in yourself? When these photos were taken, I couldn’t see, feel, or believe I was capable of the creative story calling me from my soul. Nor did I really know how to value what I had, elevate or support my talents, and share them. So I thought, anyways.
 
Reflecting on these pictures and past accomplishments, I began to feel a fiery pride in every pore. of. my. skin.
 
Hot tears leaked down my cheeks. Feeling weirdly dizzy, I saw my younger self from the outside looking in. I realized this younger self didn’t know I’d learn to snowboard, mountain bike, travel all over the country, and some places outside of the U.S. I didn’t know I’d discover acting and be cast in over two dozen stage productions, act in six independent films and a dozen film shorts, attend film acting classes in LA and Portland, model for photography, make new friends, and have many more creative adventures! I didn’t know I’d experience the resilience of making a life after a heartbreaking failure of marriage and friendships and relationships, handle my borderline eating disorder, be a scrappy single mom living hand to mouth, or be with my dad through his cancer and passing. I’d also go through so many other life challenges that would bring me to my knees… only to heal, rise up wiser, stronger, and even more gorgeous in spirit.  The younger self I saw in those pictures didn’t know or believe the power of my creative and life story resided within me -in words I say to myself and those that I chose to live.
 
When I sense a wild heart discontent that makes me feel like my teenage self who skinny dipped in the wooded lake areas of Minnesota and smoked cigars after too much whiskey, it’s time to take that feeling and grow. Digging deeper in myself these past months to own my life story, talents, and evolve acting skills with more radiance and confidence, I grabbed that old crate of pictures. Mining through the photographic bones of my past, I was looking for clues to open a vulnerability to myself I had long shut down.
 
Connection to others is messy, wonderful, often unpredictable, and confusing. The connection with myself is no different. I’ve tried so hard to keep connection compartmentalized, all neat with little bows. As you might guess, that, just doesn’t work.
 
After too many months of comparing how I’m vulnerable with myself to how other people do it, I figured out, as usual, I need to do things my way. Vulnerability, a seemingly elusive transparency that allows other people to see us --how we really are and also how we see ourselves. My vulnerability is messy, sad, nonsensical, funny, curious, and is often embarrassed to ask for help. My close friends, some family, and a few random human angels have been saying, ”you got this” and have graciously offered safety, listening ears, wisdom, and patience to help stabilize my floundering struggles.
 
As I rediscovered the amazing inside myself in these pictures and programs of shows I‘ve done, I felt myself appreciate my accomplishments for a minute, and then pretend I didn’t see them. It was a splendid (and friggin’ exasperating!) never ending game of hide and seek. I hide myself… from me.

I have a deep need to hear sweet external encouraging words about myself and the artistic story I’ve been creating. These pictures (and programs), however, made me focus on words I’ve said and say to myself… Why have I had one hell of a hard time creating remarkable words consistently inside myself so I can hear them clearly AND believe them? I don’t have a perfect answer. The best one seems to be that I’ve had a paralyzing fear of being criticized or misunderstood so I stop owning my natural & cultivated talents, intelligence, and experiences -and pretend they don’t exist.
 
Rubbing the teary mess off my face and closing my eyes, I felt a strange but awesome prompting to bless and honor my younger self. My shoulders unhooked themselves from my ears and a delicious buttery sense of pride made me grin ear to ear. I had followed my intuition. I started pursuing a form of artistry (modeling) and I didn’t quit exploring, living, learning, achieving, falling on my face, and getting up regardless of what life threw at me or choices I made to discover myself as an artist. That, was SO brave. Declaring this to myself deep down, I sensed I had planted a flag on the moon that no one could take away.
 
Discarding narratives that do not serve my soul as I keep finding my way as an actress/artist is bold and courageous. I am meant to do and be something here on the planet; I am worthy, have valuable talent to contribute, and to share. It takes guts to admit this to ourselves, feel it deeply, and to allow ourselves to really fall in love with believing we are totally capable of creating from the story in our soul that guides us.
 
Self-vulnerability that recognizes and accepts our own assets, whether we are born with them or have cultivated them, feels somewhat magical and may be the missing ingredient in your own internal narrative.
 
There are two basic stories we tell ourselves in our own head: you suck (fear) and/or you are capable and wonderful (love). Putting those traits and experiences you consider brilliant about yourself into the love story you tell yourself about you… is brave self-vulnerability. I feel embarrassed, and silly sometimes, with how long it’s taken to put way more of my personal story building power inside myself.
 
I’m giving myself the warm bear hug I needed and still need now by evolving my beliefs about myself through mindset shifts and energy changes in my spirit. Using these transformations, I’ve been swapping out old narratives in favor of improved ones that support me.
 
It’s interesting and surprising how posting those pictures recently, now with support of good friends, family and some life experience, helped me start rapidly re-scripting even more of my emotional narrative from the ground up. Being recently inspired by a quote from Brené Brown’s book Daring Greatly, “When we bury the story, we forever stay the subject of the story. If we own the story, we get to narrate the ending.” has helped strengthen my focus inside myself.
 
Having boosted importance for narrating my story internally (with support for it from the outside) and owning what I’ve done so far is what these pictures clarified in me. They re-lit a sparkling fire of passion as an actress and emboldened my artistic voice to continue creating more vulnerably with all my talents and experience.

I’ve waited for the right time. I’ve waited for someone to allow me to feel and or tell me how begin that narration. I’ve waited for someone to answer the 'am I enough question in my story.' I’ve waited for critical narratives to stop and waited for other people to ’get’ what I’m creating. That narration begins, and began, when I decided it did AND it is what I desire it to be. No more explanation needed.

Regularly I restock my joy, peace, and passion for life. This month has found me in the mountains and also in a workshop immersed in acting study with Nancy Gabor. It’s been a month of reflection and deeper discovery for what makes my soul sing brighter with more confidence and freedom. It’s been a month of finding more patience with myself as I learn to level up my craft of acting.  And honestly, it's also been a month of getting a bunch of house and repairs done! Plugging back in with fresh eyes and energy to press forward and upward to the next level. 
 
I hope you’ve found some time to really take in the miracle you are on this planet. Lots of love and peace  xo 

 “Useless” was slated to film late summer 2017 but due to Montana wildfires, production was wisely rescheduled.  Link for info:  "Useless"  (Facebook) 

Rolling back to early 2017, I submitted video auditions for two speaking extra parts and was cast in one of those roles. Presently, being based in Montana, I’ve been developing a better process of submitting auditions. Definitely made me feel excited to be cast from one of those videos and doubly excited to work with Tombstone Film & Production Company LLC on their film!  

Earlier this year, productions let me know the film was still a go and scheduled to film May 2018. They also asked if I would be willing to step into a solid featured part. Of course, I said, “Heck YES!”

It's empowering when you can create a vision from your heart, follow steps & paths, handle the stuff that comes up, and then feel the joy of creating with a team of artists. It’s taken awhile for this little overachiever to fall in love with the whole process of making anything happen in my life really. No footstep ends up being useless when I feel the joy, wisdom, and connection around me. Those feelings invite me to notice and discover what’s next as I trail blaze my way towards my dreams and value each person, skill building, and experience more deeply.

Keep on dreaming & doing those things that make your heart sing. Bless the world in positive, loving ways like only you know how.  xo

Curiosity rather than running. Patience rather than pressing forward. Stillness rather than busyness.  Peace over struggle. People tell you to get out of your own way, “just be yourself.” What a gift when someone stays with you, allows you to find your way to yourself, and holds space to just… be. Being seen and leading fully and completely as yourself is a vulnerable choice.  Being in front of your camera has taught me so much. Thank you Dennis!  Digitalmontana Portraiture

It’s really hard to move when you don’t have actual feet. Hopping up the sand dune hill on my single footed porcelain base with decoupage flowered body, I hate flowers by the way, I abruptly halt. My lid clatters along the rim of my brain. I see a three hundred sixty degree view of perfect blue sky meeting a thin, crispy, dark-lined horizon. Vanilla colored sand stretches out as far as I can see. With no breeze, an abyss of church silence, and the smell of the sun baking my white flowery shell, my desire to go one more hop is almost gone. When will this god-forsaken desert end?! I’m lost, thirsty as hell, and insanely lonely.

I’m on week five hopping out of this dessert. Fuck. I can‘t remember how I got here and I’ll die if I stop now. I’m acutely aware I’ve got one last drop of water in me. The paint has peeled off what I used to call eyes; the two dots I have left keep scanning the horizon for something, anything that’s different. The horizon dances in the heat taunting me to flop over and fly the white flag. Hearing a mirage of trumpets playing taps, I start spinning around and around to locate them. “Ouch, ouch, OUCH!” My spout and handle hurt and feel like peanut brittle that could snap with one more wrong move. My belly aches for the water dancing from that silver long necked source. I’m supposed to be steeping tea to provide relaxation. I’m supposed to be giving water to little girls in fancy imitation tea parties. I am supposed to be able to give… give anything. Give everything. Offer life giving water! A resolute shield forms around my last morsel of hope. Must. Keep. Going.

I hop one hop at a time when my energy recharges. It’s taking longer and longer. The sun snickers at my dying attempts as it plays I spy and passes 10, 11, 2, and 5. Night is coming. A reprieve.

Pointing my spout upwards, I sip in water I imagine that’s in the air. With a dry scratchy giggle, I change direction and do it again. Ha ha ha… I’m losing my lid! Laughing out loud now, I try it again. Hopping around in circles, I inhale and blow out green, pink, and blue, bubbles, sparkles, polka dots, and confetti. Twirling faster and faster with a strange feeling of doom, I let out a huge devilish snort. I see a funny shaped black thing. Double blinking and twice more, it doesn’t disappear.

This one has a life of it’s own.

The dark shape is gliding above me now at about 15 feet and playfully dive bombs me rolling me to my side. Springing up onto my base and preparing to fight, a shiny black feather drops at my feet. My bleary eyes finally focus. A spectacular fat raven circles above me in the sky cawing the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard in my life. The continual cawing excites me over the moon. I start having seizures of hopping and hoarsely screaming, “SOS. Pick me up. Stop! I need help. Pleeeeeasssse land!”

It flies off at high speed and my hopping just can’t keep up with it. Over and over I yell in a whispery raspy voice, “Wait! Come back! Don’t leave me! Take me with you!” Running out of steam, I fall spout down in the sand sobbing, weeping, and wailing from that place where deep grief lives. Water poured out of my eyes.

Wait! Water!! There is water is IN me. How can I capture it?! Heaving heavy sighs until I am laughing hysterically, I start tossing my tears into the sky and capturing them in my spout. I dance and twirl on my one footed base until my stomach hurts from my strange laughter and crying. My eyes relax; I have collected enough water in my belly to continue my desert escape.

With new intent, I squint in the direction the raven flew; night is starting to settle. In a dazed stare, three yellow squares vaporize out of the darkness. Rapidly shaking my head back and forth, I smell a wisp of wood smoke. My heart leaps out of my teapot!

The energy of a dozen horses powers me. I start hopping gingerly toward the hope of those lighted windows. Anxiety filled me knowing this discovery would bring change. In my teapot gut though, I know I can impact the scale of that change if I move toward that light.

On this day, I felt strong, capable, and smart. I felt like a hero.
(*PG13 for strong language*)

In my definition, a hero is a person who, from the damnable chaos inside themselves, will keep reaching and fighting for their soul’s light & purpose, and putting their best foot forward in real-life action benefiting others and themselves.

My acting friend, Ryan, asked for help creating a visual storyboard for writing a screenplay. He asked Kelly, another actress friend, and me to create our costumes for this steampunk world he was crafting and hired our friend Mary at Queen Elizabeth Photography. On the photo shoot day, we headed to an old ghost town on a cold, windy, almost snowy day in late October.

Mine and Kelly’s characters were part of a hero crew dismantling the power of a community leader who was smitten with his thirst for supremacy. Ryan’s character was a wild card capable of swinging in a direction that would serve him most until he found love that helped ground him and he also found two female warriors willing to fight with him.

Often my creative projects provoke self-reflection. Recently, this project triggered another wave of reflection, only this time in regard to national news headlines and resulting discussions going on around me. One of those discussions being definitions of male and female qualities each of us has inside ourselves and how we receive or reject those qualities of others based on the gender of the person expressing them. I appreciated how my friend Ryan was creating female characters that would be victors in this story rather than victims and creating lead character men that were vulnerable and making their own paths.

Ryan imagined a story where the power of goodness was being wielded by two capable, steampunk, Robin Hood style, female mercenaries. Kelly and I crept, ran, carried our weapons, planned and executed our strategies, and looked for clues until we came upon Ryan’s character. Ryan’s character was sneaky, charismatic, and deeply troubled. Our triumph was defeating the darkness leader who was causing much deception and confusion and also helping Ryan’s character convert his efforts toward goodness.

Battling weather elements, our photographer valiantly directed and allowed us time, space, and creativity to set up scenes to capture the best images. We successfully shot a series of photos that became a platform of ideas for Ryan to write his screenplay.

On this mountain skyline is a rock formation we affectionately call, “The Sleeping Giant" because it looks like the profile of a giant man sleeping on the horizon.  As you settle your eyes on the center of the picture you’ll see his chest and continuing your eyes to the right, you’ll see the profile of a face with a very pointed nose.

I took this hike several weeks ago after our first heavy snow. The crisp air bit at my skin, snow crunched under the footfall of my boots, and I could almost hear the forest breathing. Experiencing the quiet of the woods sets my heart at ease and fills my soul with peace. This late day view was especially pretty with pale blue and plum colored skies. This simple moment felt perfect. I appreciate my mountain time.

Tonight, sitting in a very messy house after a week of Thanksgiving activities and flicking through pictures on my phone, I hear the hum of my furnace. I smell leftover pumpkin pie spice in the air and the aroma of an evergreen candle burning. There are piles of laundry and a mountain of dishes to match. I feel my heart melt into a warm happiness. Snowboarding, shopping, conversation, laughter, working a ton of schedule logistics with all the people I call family, cooking (my pumpkin pies ended up being a big challenge to cook right!), and of course, eating… are only some of the activities of my family’s holiday this week. I appreciate my family time.

Deep in thought as I flick through pictures, I feel how much I value my family. I allow myself to feel light with the laughter we shared. I greatly appreciate my family’s good health and their ability to make life happen in positive ways. I allow the feeling of belonging to grow and expand in my heart. I appreciate how generous each and every person was bringing food to the many meals we shared. Even though this little snowboarder would have LOVED more snow, I appreciate our mild weather making it easy for people to travel. I treasure the place that I live and the communities of people I create with and care for.

I keep coming back to the Sleeping Giant picture and the moment I captured when I was alone on the mountain. Simple, clean, crisp, and neat describe that moment. The moments I experienced this week were messy, funny, complicated, honest, and loving. No one picture I snapped could encapsulate all that took place and the feelings we experienced.

The moments of this week have left me with a giant amount of appreciation for my life that feels alive and bubbly. Appreciation can be experienced SO many different ways. I found appreciation for strength of character, critical thinking, and problem solving at times when my life has had epic sized family and personal crises in health, emotions, and finances. When my life feels picture perfect navigating with ease, support, and independently, I’ve found appreciation in celebrating accomplishments and light feeling moments. I’ve come to appreciate my solitude when I climb mountains, create amazing feelings of confidence and value in myself, and share those feelings through encouragement to others.

This Thanksgiving, I am appreciating the great imperfect but yet beautiful mixture of people, experiences, feelings, challenges, solitude, and things that make up my life experience.

In my little kid imagination, I would be one of those people you read about.  While shopping at the grocery market for my weekly fruits and veggies, a casting guy or gal would happen to be shopping there too. They'd see my potential, talent, and movie star eyes. They would introduce themselves with a handshake and be totally encapsulated with my vibe and cast me in their epic film. Music would cue on the grocery market speakers and confetti would fall from the ceiling.

A great imagination helps conjure ideas and dreams; however, in my adult mind I know they DO need plans of action! 

My first trip to LA was almost 11 years ago.  After a work conference, I took a week of vacation to continue my stay in LA to learn to navigate the city and get information on film acting. I promised myself I would start doing the steps to make my dreams come into reality. Prior to leaving for that trip, I read Ivana Chubbick’s book, “The Power of the Actor.”  I have long admired certain actors and actresses and researched to discover where they were coached or educated. Ivana’s studio was home to coaching Brad Pitt, Halle Berry, Charlize Theron, Sylvester Stallone, and of course, many others!  

I got settled at the hostel, went down into the lobby to study the city map, and make a game plan of what I wanted to accomplish. Since there was no Google app at the time and all I had was a flip phone, I mapped out and wrote down all the streets I needed to take to get to her studio. I made an appointment to get my hair cut and colored since I wanted to look my best.  
​
On the following day, with Ivana's book, the city map & my notes with the directions, a notebook, snacks, and water in my backpack, I headed to her studio. Timidly, I went in and talked with the receptionist about classes. She handed me the brochure and I sat down to read it. Classes were ongoing every week at the studio and of course, you had to be in LA. My heart dropped into my feet. I took a picture of the placard on the door of her studio and then went and sat in my car. 

For the next two days, I took pictures on my old school camera and I wandered. As Ivana’s studio was on Melrose Street, I went back to the area to shop to ease my hurting heart. As I stared at price tags that had triple digits for a flimsy shirt or dress, I decided to pass on shopping. I went to Venice Beach. The bohemian vibe was an interesting culture shock as were the strange plumes of potpourri smelling smoke in places. I sat by the ocean in Santa Monica and watched the ocean waves and went to the carnival on the pier. I took pictures of palm trees. I drove to Hollywood. When I could muster up the courage, I asked random people at places I stopped regarding how someone got started being a film actress. The looks and answers I got were priceless ;) Slowly, it dawned on me how unprepared and ignorant I was for big city atmosphere along with the magnitude of what I needed to do. I felt so small.

By day four, I felt lost, SO alone, and began to realize that maybe I had been taking for granted people who cared about me back home. At a local coffee shop, I sat and reflected. I wrote in my journal, and combed through trade magazines looking for some sort of doable plan or clues as to what I could do to invent the plan I needed. From what I read, questions flooded my brain…How were other people doing things? Why were there so many "out of work" actors." Who did you have to know to get help making a plan? Did people like living in LA? What was it like to get along there?  In the late afternoon I drove back to the hostel and got lost. I pulled over and parked on some random street. Staring out the windshield and sweating profusely from driving in LA traffic, I burst into tears. I found the number to Delta in my notebook and was going to change my ticket to go home early. Feeling pathetic, I stared morosely at the rain drops dancing on the hood of my rental car and felt defeated. There was just nothing I could do to even get my head wrapped around a plan of action. Somehow, I expected to devise a plan with ease.