Sabbatical Travel Part Two is about to commence. We are now officially checked in for our Virgin Atlantic flight for 9:50pm tonight. The house sitter/Nessie the Bad Dog sitter has been briefed and I’ve managed to fit two extra pairs of shoes into my carry-on. All that’s left is to finish cleaning - so, of course, I’m writing instead.
Chicago was an amazing adventure. In the Second City training program I learned so much that will impact my ministry. This U.K. Trip is not about intentionally wondering what I can bring back to enhance my ministry. This is a time to travel, experience and enjoy being together with my family. I also know from previous trips that these experiences will change me and that is what I will bring back to the church.
Goals for this trip are:
· Family Fun – I look forward to being goofy and laughing a lot with my favorite travel companions
· Connecting with Old Friends – We’ve not seen our Glasgow friends in ten years! (I haven’t changed a bit….. (snort!) )
· Stage Time at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival – There are open mics and improve comedy jams. I’m going in!
· Enjoying it- even the challenging parts. (AKA- lugging a bag that is too heavy because it is filled with extra shoes!)
I’ll try to post more as we get settled. Thanks for being on this journey with me.
I'm sitting in the same breakfast place where I ate before my first day of class at Second City. In just a few hours I head back to O'Hare for my flight back to Boston. As I sip my coffee in the bucket they serve here (see picture) I am filled with conflicting emotions.
1. Relief - I wasn’t sure I could do this. Sure, I doubted my ability to keep up with the others in my improv class but, secretly, my biggest fear was staying by myself in Chicago for three weeks. I'm a homebody and during my three-week adventure I had to fight my urges to go home. I missed my family terribly and felt guilt at leaving them alone for so long. I'm relieved that this particular struggle is over and I'm going home.
2. Gratitude – yep, gratitude refocused me and kept me sane in Chicago. When ever the angst threatened, I remembered to be thankful to God, the Lilly Endowment, the Church of Christ, Congregational in Millis and my family. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and, despite my anxious moments, I tried to take advantage of every minute. I discovered how to navigate the subway system, how to use Uber and the best way to make Google Maps behave when you are trying to find your way around downtown Chicago. I explored the Art Institute and the Field Museum, saw a touring Broadway show and ate deep-dish pizza (I’m not a fan.) All these things were only possible because I was in Chicago and I didn’t go home for the weekend.
3. Hope- After working hard for three weeks (and, yes, it was hard work…there was even home work every night!) I am enthusiastic about the possibilities. I know that I can use what I've learned to help my ministry. After I process, review my notes and pray on it, I’m sure that I can even write something that will be helpful to other clergy about improvisational comedy, the Second City process toward sketch writing and ministry.
4. Sadness- It is hard to let go of something you know will never come again. While I do hope that someday I will return to Second City to complete the final week of the program, today, I go home. I’ve made some good friends over these past three weeks. Yes, I was by far the oldest person in class (including all the teachers!) but I really fell in love with each and every person in my group. I am grateful to them for making this experience a joy and I know that I will be hearing a lot more from each one of them. They are a talented bunch.
5. Joy - How could I leave after three weeks of laughter without joy? I saw some AMAZING shows. If you are anywhere near Chicago and you don’t see “Soul Brother Where Art Thou” at Second City- you are a fool. I also spent a night in amazement at Improvised Shakespeare. One of the most fantastic things I’ve ever seen. Beyond the shows – it was the classroom experience that gave me joy. I learned how to rap (yes, me!) I played a bunch of games that tested memory and one that I failed horribly at that tested my ability to keep a straight face. I created scenes and characters. I wrote and re-wrote sketches (NOT SKITS.) I acted in other people’s works (usually cast as the mom or grand-ma but a few times I was a teenager!) This was a joy and I carry the laughter in my heart as I leave.
Thanks for being with me on this leg of the journey.
On to the next adventure…. We leave for London on Thursday...
I was told this morning in my class at Second City that Improv work is all about making choices. I was told there are no bad choices or good choices. You just have to make a choice.
This, in my opinion, is crap.
Today I made some very bad choices.
But first - background:
Stand-up comedy is by far a male dominated field. Having played in that particular testosterone filled sand box for the past five years - I was prepared to experience the same gender breakdown at Second City. Instead I discovered that the majority of the class was made up of women.
Really young women.
I discovered that I am by FAR the eldest person in the class by at least a decade. Bless the hearts of my classmates. They treated me with such deference - like the decrepit dinosaur I am.
Here is the BAD choice part -
I decided to prove that I am not old and feeble so during one scene I decided to slide onto the industrial carpeted floor. I FORGOT (must be my senility) that I was wearing shorts. I gave myself a lovely rug burn. In hindsight, It wasn't all that bad because I was able to teach my classmates two important things about me.
1. I am not above flopping on the floor to make good comedy.
2. I am not above swearing creatively when I give myself an oozing rug burn across my knee.
Tomorrow I will limp back to class with a new sense of purpose and long pants. Maybe I will wear Mom Jeans.
Last night I sat in on an appointment at an attorney’s office. I’ve been around enough to know that this should have been a straightforward meeting and a simple path forward. And it was…mostly.
Then it happened.
Apparently this particular professional considers himself not only a lawyer but also an evangelist for his church. That was all good until I outed myself as clergy. Then I got “that look.” My clergy sisters know what I’m talking about. It’s not quite a double take but neither is it a nonchalant glance. It’s a look of puzzled judgment. I could almost see the wheels turning. He believes women can’t be clergy – it isn’t right – and yet, I was sitting across from him.
When he realized he let the pause linger too long he filled the silence with a generic comment.
“ I think (name of nearby town) has a girl pastor. Do you know her?”
“Actually I do know the pastor of that church and he is a man.”
“Maybe it was (name of other town).”
“Yeah, there’s a woman there. I know of her but I don’t know her.”
“I imagined you get together will the other women pastors a lot.”
“Not really. There’s a group of clergy I meet with. They’re all men except for me.”
“That must be awkward.”
The other person present in this meeting room didn’t seem to notice the sound of my teeth grinding together and returned the conversation to the reason we were there.
Perhaps it just pushed my buttons but I was irked by this side conversation. I just have a suspicion that he was imagining the local woman clergy population gathering together for a slumber party like a group of Playboy bunnies for Jesus.
So- for my quirky way of processing this experience I give you the highlights of a:
Clergy Woman Slumber Party.
We will, of course, wear our preaching robes over our sexiest baby-doll nighties.
A game of Truth or Truth will be played with one person reading a parable and the rest of the women nodding our heads and agreeing that it should be taken literally.
SEXY PILLOW FIGHT! Knock the sin out of one another.
Once we settle down into our pink sleeping bags we chat for hours about who is the cutest boy in the Bible.
I’m done… what would you add to the party?
Sabbatical Day Three -
Yesterday was spent organizing and last night was spent eating tapas, drinking sangria and rocking out at a Barry Manilow concert. (ok- rocking out might be a bit extreme for Barry- but it was a great show.)
In my planning - today- Day 3- was going to be a nice relaxing spa day.
The Life Happens -
Parker has a half day due to finals (reschedule spa start time)
Rob needs to take care of his dad in Billerica (So I have to attend the mandatory parent class of Drivers Education - cut time at spa short.)
Nessie the Bad Dog vomits on the floor. (just ice.)
Still- it is sabbatical so I will slow down after the carpet cleaner dries and ponder the important stuff of life this morning - like what color I should have my nails painted.
This was not at all how I imagined I’d begin my three-month sabbatical. The morning started the same as usual - a slightly manic rush as my husband scrambles to catch the commuter rail and my son heads off to school. I will admit to feeling a bit adrift with no work commitments to prepare. I actually checked my calendar three times before 8am because I keep having that “I’ve forgotten something feeling.” Nope- still all clear except a lunch date with a friend and an email to my scriptwriting consultant.
When I get into the car to bring my son to school the reality of the situation hit me. I was NOT going to the church after I dropped him off. While I was inwardly doing the Snoopy Dance of Joy, I decided to turn the car around so that he could avoid the big puddle outside the passenger side door.
Yes, in my exuberance I slammed the Prius into the metal post of the basketball hoop. A shower of plastic light casing bits joined the rain falling on the grass.
1. I have absolutely no excuse. I was thinking about sabbatical and not paying attention.
2. Why the hell is there a basketball hoop on the edge of my driveway. We don’t play basketball.
I hopped out of the car to investigate the damage and to loudly combine swear words in unique combinations. This is when my son ventured out of the house. He is sixteen – so I doubt I taught him any new language - but it was beneficial because then I had to decide if I was more embarrassed to be caught swearing or because I crashed my car into an inanimate object. Being a brilliant young man he just got into the car without comment. I managed to get him to school on time and in one piece.
Now I am sitting at a little independent coffee shop writing my first sabbatical blog post about how my sabbatical isn’t going at all the way I imagined it would go.
And then realizing – that is exactly the point of this sabbatical.
Let the adventure continue.
When I was in seminary the hot buzzword was “Authenticity.”
We discussed the authenticity of Jesus Christ.
We dissected the authenticity of the Bible.
We encourage one another to preach with an authentic voice.
I was told to always be my full authentic self – since that’s the person God called into ministry.
Here’s the thing.
Sometimes I don’t like myself. I would rather be somebody else.
Given this fun fact - how can I be authentically me when I’d rather be Julianne Moore or Emma Watson?
Or is this one of those chicken and egg things?
Perhaps I am being true to myself when I want to be someone else.
Doesn’t everyone have times like this?
God called me just as I am– forty-something, snarky, witty and loving – and a woman who would sometimes rather be someone else with a more (as it looks from the outside) glamorous life. And so I minister here in this cold and snowy place to other people who also sometimes dream of being astronauts or actors, doctors or dancers, pilots or painters. Here in this place, my authentic self (who wants to be someone else today, thank you very much) meets your authentic self (who also wants to be someone else today) and we muddle through together.
Pay no attention to my fake British accent. It will go away soon enough.