Friends! Happy ‘24!
Holy f—k! ‘23 is in the rear view mirror!!!
Let’s get to it. When I was in grad school the brilliant Zelda Fichandler told me that one of my biggest challenges as an actor would be remaining childlike, yet allowing myself to become a woman. Did that sting? A bit. Especially because I was already, literally, a woman. But maybe the face I wore out in the world was boisterous, perhaps even childish with excitement, which undermined my power? And she wanted me to experience the full force of my power. And I did, with her astute observance and generous invitation.
This also stuck with me because although I was only in my late 20’s at the time, psychologically and emotionally I often felt many years older than my biology - blame that on the unforgiving, grueling, sometimes *too fun* life of a young actor in NYC. Synthesizing those two different poles - the goofy, curious kid who loves rollercoasters and making people laugh with the melancholic, old soul who would go into battle for Sylvia Plath - has been a big theme of my artistic and personal journey.
But. I say without apology, the holidays make me feel like a kid again. Since it’s THE TWO OF US in our Brooklyn apartment, I could pretty much just chill in the December days before we visited family, but I always choose to decorate for the holidays. It feeds the kid in me.
Doug Wright wrote a beautiful play called I AM MY OWN WIFE. I am living the play I AM MY OWN KID.
Can it be a melancholy time for me? Well. It was, very much so, when we were trying to conceive. It was, very much so, for several years, after we lost our baby Sarah. There was a deep sadness. An emptiness, a longing. But now - not so much! And it is not simply because more time has passed…
Please know, I have absolutely no skin in the game for this - but I have to share it - one of the things that helped me this past fall was an incredible book called THE GRIEF RECOVERY HANDBOOK by John W. James and Russell Friedman. I’m telling you right now - this book is the real deal. It helped me get past guilt and helped me complete my relationship with my daughter, so I could still grieve her loss, and grieve the loss of possibilities, but end the relationship so new energies may enter my life. This was revolutionary for me.
We have so many false mantras in our culture for loss and grief: ‘You never get over the loss of a child,’ ‘I should forgive them because they did the best they could,’ ‘Time heals all wounds.’ I could go on. We say these things to ourselves and others because we don’t know what the hell else to say when a person we care for is in emotional pain! And we will probably continue to say these things, which is fine. Most of us mean really well. But this book is incredible - it bypasses all of the strategies we use to push our pain under the rug and allows us to feel and express that pain in a safe, ease-ful way that actually leads to freedom and gratitude.
And I really felt joy this past holiday season. Childlike joy! Realizing that I do not need a child to see the world through a child’s eyes was the greatest gift of doing some of the hard work with this book. On the day after Christmas my parents, Jeremy, and I took a drive to look at some of the most Clark Griswold-inspired decorated front yards in the NYC Metropolitan Area - the lights blinking on and off, the carols blaring, the giant blow up figures inflated and deflated in equal measure…things that my darker side would have perhaps judged a bit in the past. But guess what? It was fun. Just fun! And that was just great.
Grief and loss affect us all, and of course the holidays exacerbate some of the feelings associated with the people, places and things no longer in our lives. But it is possible to live in a healed space in relation to deep emotional pain. To honor and cherish what once was, to acknowledge the expectations and dreams unmet. To feel the pain. Feel it. Not analyze it, not medicate it, not push it down, away, to the side, onto others. And then to be in the moment, childlike and full of wonder.
Evidence: Jeremy and me at the fireworks on New Year’s Eve in Prospect Park. May we always be goofy.
And may you and yours be goofy! Happy New Year, Stacey