It felt wrong to leave the country.


I hopped on a plane to London.
Seems like every wall and object is still holding it’s breath, trying to stabilize us somehow.

Next new world. Again.
Off to London to assist with a Theatre Intensive by way of Butler University. Feels like I jangle when I walk, some kind of wrecked pier slapping in the water – oh, America. Then there’s the matter of plays, and museums, and master classes and discussions of what was seen and heard.

How to be human.
Master class on how to be wooden and full at the same time.
I wonder how you’re feeling right now.

But wait, this is about something else entirely.
Something quietly staggering.
And I didn’t realize it at The National Theatre, or The Tate Modern, or The British Museum, or The Playhouse Theatre or any breath taking architectural astonishment. It was at dinner one evening, when we all gathered after an incredible day of all of the above.
I looked across from me, from side to side. Some students were slurping Udon, devouring noodles, sharing their plates.

Something occurred to me that shone so brightly. And it felt like some crazy gift with forks and spoons clattering, ice clinking in the glass.

This appeared like a subtitle in the front of my mind.
It’s a privilege to watch someone at their beginning.

This has never come to me quite like this.
And it knocked the wind out of me, in a good way.
In a very good way.

So thank you to Jacob, Gabbie, Lila and Lennon.

This has given me a new texture of fortitude, and I’ll continue to learn from that.
Secret Weapon.



Seasoned Artist. Idea Jockey. Author, NYC.
Offering mentoring, creative support, workshops and classes to curious minds of any expression and level of experience.
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