My daughter is in this play. This really amazing play. I wrote about this two weeks ago and said you had to go see this play. You do. Get tickets. It's running until next weekend - May 21st - and is so worth the trip into LA if you do not live in LA and if you do...well no excuses for you.
But this writing, it is not about this play.
And it's not about a conversation I had after the play. The conversation that I had after the play was with the playwright. The playwright is brilliant. She wrote this play when she was still in college. The beauty of the language of this play is one of the things - among many things - that I notice about this play. There is absolutely no extra words in the dialog. No fluff. No nothing. The writing is clean and forward and strong and every word is perfectly there. This is rare.
And so, when I spoke with the playwright last night, at the after party of the opening of Dry Land - which you really must go see - I thanked her for such profoundly beautiful and perfectly timed writing. And, after we talked about this a bit she said - I paraphrase here - that it was really cool to see this play that she wrote a while ago. That it gave her perspective. Or something like that. This might not have been her exact words but it is what I remember because it immediately reminded me of a certain perspective of my own.
And this is what this writing is about today.
It is about that moment when you are able to step back and out of yourself and your way of seeing that is your normal and see things new. I think this is what the playwright meant when she talked with me about seeing her play last night. Seeing it from afar because she had stepped away from it.
These moments like that - the ones where I can see things without my stuff attached - are amazing for me. Especially when these moments involve my children. When I can experience them without the filter of mother clouding my view and preventing me from seeing them. This does not happen often. It is hard to step out of mother.
This happened once when I was taking a yoga class from my son. If you didn't know, my son is an amazing teacher. Truly. I am not just saying this because he's my son even when I am very proud that he is. But he is also a teacher. In the truest sense. And is lovely and grounded and honest and challenging and takes his students deep into their practice and so deep into their souls.
And the first time I got to experience this, without the mother baggage that always comes to class with me, it was profound.
We were in his class and I was in my head. Meaning that while I was listening to his soft and honest voice moving us all through downward dog and warrior one and I was flowing with the flow of it my mind was off in mother thoughts - will he remember the sequence and I hope his students like him and how does he know everything and worry stuff and more - and then, no credit to me personally, it just happened - the mother chatter in my brain fell away and I was just, until I noticed that I was, in it and hearing this teacher and truly experiencing the wonder of him.
And then I noticed that this happened and shot back up into my head again to merge with my chatter once more.
But in those few minutes - and I do believe it was that long - I got to see my son as the man he is. It took my breath away.
This has happened with my middle daughter, too. The one in this amazing play that you have to see. The first time this happened was when she was still in High School and playing the role of Heidi in The Heidi Chronicles. And there was this one moment, that lasted more than just a moment, where I forgot she was my daughter and she was this amazing person. This instance where the mother in me took a moments rest and I saw my daughter becomes just herself without me attached.
And when I realized it my heart was full with the strength of this child that stood so strong outside of me.
Now my youngest daughter, this is a hard one. I have not yet had the filter of mother fall away when I see her. I say that I cannot see her clearly. I would love to be able to experience her, just once, without the filter of mother coating my vision. I would love to know what other people see when they feel the gaze of her light blue eyes or notice the intensity of her soul's breath when she connects to their spirit. She is a healer in the truest sense and I wonder at the wonder that others feel when they engage with her.
But alas, the mother in me does not yet stand down with this, my youngest child.
I think it will one day. At a time I don't expect. Just like it happened with my other children. A moment will appear where the gauze of mother is swept aside for those few moments. And I will see clearly.
And unfiltered perspective.
Mother, Wife, Friend, Sister, Daughter, Dancer, Dog and Cat lover.