Solo in Paris



My first day in Paris


I sat at a small table, sipping my glass of Sancerre and writing in my journal as I waited for my lunch to arrive. This was my last day in Paris and the weather was gorgeous—sunny with temperatures ranging from high 60s to low 70s, but cool in the shade where I was sitting. Once again I was dining outdoors. Café culture is an integral part of Parisians’ daily lives and one in which I partook every day, sometimes more than once.

I wrote a few thoughts down on the page then looked up to watch the cars and pedestrians passing by as well as to observe diners seated near me. Smoking is no longer allowed inside restaurants and cafés, so smokers are banished to the outside tables. In Paris, I was much more tolerant of second-hand smoke than I ever am in the States. While it was annoying, I refused to let it mar my experience. However, I still find it disgusting and cringe-worthy when someone is smoking a cigarette while they are eating, which I witnessed often.

My waiter at Café Louise, located in the Saint-Gemain-des-Prés neighborhood, was young, cute, and attentive. I had meant to dine at Brasserie Lipp, a couple doors down, but accidentally ended up at Café Louis because I wasn’t paying attention—too busy absorbing all the surrounding sights.

The food was excellent. I had a salad of greens, cherry tomatoes, pear slices, toasted pine nuts, and blue cheese—and not merely blue cheese crumbles, but three quarter inch triangular slices of creamy blue cheese. My taste buds were in heaven.

From where I was dining, I could see the famous Café de Flore, known for its exceptional hot chocolate, and the legendary Les Deux Magots. I had wanted to have a café crème at Les Deux Magots later that day but failed to return to the area.

I finished my meal and took off to explore the Latin Quarter in the 5th arrondissement. After walking for a while, I decided to go for a boat ride. I had yet to take a boat tour up and down the Seine and felt my feet could use a rest. I strolled down to the river, bought a ticket for 13 euros, and found a seat on the top deck. For an hour, I relaxed, basking in the warmth of the sun as we cruised up and down the Seine.

I had arrived on Saturday, September 1, and a college friend I’d not been in touch with since our years at Indiana University was kind enough to meet me at the airport, help me get to the apartment, and serve as my guide the first day and a half. Bryan provided me with a great introduction to the City of Lights, and thereafter, I felt like a pro navigating my way through the city streets and the Métro.

In addition to being my guide, Bryan thought it in my best interest to be made aware of some of the local scams, which I witnessed several times during my trip. Of course, now that I was “in the know” about said schemes, when approached, in typical New Yorker fashion, I avoided eye contact—which was easy because I was wearing sunglasses—and put my hand up, palm facing them, implying ‘no thanks, don’t bother me,’ and strode right past.

One scam involves a ring. A scammer drops a ring on the ground and then stops an unsuspecting tourist (or tourists) who is walking by and says, “Excuse me, is this yours?” The scammer then hands it to the tourist and they take it to inspect it (and yes, many people actually take the ring). Knowing it’s not theirs, they then try to give it back to the scam artist. At that point, the scammer tries to extract money, even accusing the tourist(s) of stealing the ring if they do not give the scammer money.

View of the Musée D’Orsay from the Seine

 The morning of my Musée D’Orsay tour, as we waited outside the museum entrance for everyone to arrive, a couple from Florida decided to stand out in the sun, close to the sidewalk, because it was rather cool in the shade. As a young woman approached them, one of our guides saw what was about to transpire and bee-lined over to them to run interference, successfully too I am glad to report.

Inside the Musée D’Orsay - used to be a train station

Another scam is orchestrated in pairs. These men (I did not see any women attempting this one) approach tourists—yes, it’s always tourists because Parisians are quite familiar with these schemes. They begin a conversation and start braiding a bracelet around the person’s wrist. Once done, they expect payment for their creation. There are other schemes but these are the two I saw and encountered several times. The lesson learned: it’s good to know someone who is a local.

Bryan also introduced me to his friend Angela. She and her friend Deb joined us the evening of that first day for drinks and then dinner. Because of this introduction, I had dinner with Angela my last night in Paris. I met her at a restaurant/bar that a friend of hers and said friend’s husband opened a year earlier. Even though I was traveling solo and was alone a decent portion of the time, lonely I was not.

I signed up online for three group events prior to my August 31 departure for France. These events included a wine tasting, a tour of the Musée D’Orsay, and a small-group day tour of Versailles. During these events and excursions, I met some wonderful people who made my trip even more enjoyable.



Louvre et Pyramide

Another view of the Louvre from the Jardin du Tuileries

The wine tasting took place at ÔChateau, located a few blocks from the Louvre. This was conducted in English, and the attendees were from the United States, Canada, and Australia. Pierre, our sommelier, was fantastic—his presentation was the perfect mix of entertainment and education. We tasted six wines: one champagne, two whites, and three reds. These were no diminutive pours either. Every glass was quite liberally filled. There were a couple wines I did not finish and poured out, but we were all definitely feeling rather jovial afterward.



After the wine tasting w/ Pierre, our sommelier

  I ended up dining that evening with a family from Canada and a couple from Texas who had been sitting next to me during the wine tasting. It was immense fun and the conversation was lively, and it got livelier when the Canadians asked about the upcoming U.S. Presidential election. Guess who the Texans are supporting? I held my tongue as long as I could but had to get my two cents in, and I kept it very respectful. Thankfully, I had the Canadians on my side.

I was surprised how often American politics came up in conversation, and I was never the one introducing the topic. Political conversation arose during lunch the day of the Versailles tour and when I met author David Downie and a Florida couple with whom he had been having lunch prior to my arrival at the café.

I reached out to authors David Downie and John Baxter before my trip. I had read both of their books about Paris during the summer and thought if they had some time, it might be fun to meet and have them sign my books. I honestly didn’t expect a response from either one of them, but David emailed me and we were able to connect briefly on Tuesday, September 4, at 1:30 pm at L’Escale on Ile Saint-Louis (one of the small islands located in the Seine, across from Ile de la Cité where Notre-Dame is situated).

Notre-Dame on Ile de la Cité

See my review on Amazon.com of David’s book Paris, Paris: Journey into the City of Lights

Wednesday, September 5, was my tour to Versailles. Our guide, Habib, picked me up first then the other three couples on his roster. The first two couples were from Chicago, although they did not know each other, and the other couple was from Canada. They were all older than I but enjoyable companions. Habib was a brilliant tour guide, fluent in four languages—French, English, Arabic, and Italian—and about to embark on learning a fifth, Portuguese.

At the Entrance to the Palace of Versaillles

The enormous amount of information he shared with us was mind-numbing. I was impressed. A year of schooling was required for his particular job. In fact, I learned that all the guides at museums in France have to have advanced art history degrees and the proper certifications.



 At the Palace of Versailles we toured the King’s apartment, the Queen’s apartment, and the Hall of Mirrors. This is only a small area of the entire 67,000-square-meter palace complex that boasts 2,300 rooms, 2,153 windows, and 67 staircases. I was mesmerized by all of it—the grandness, the opulence, the decadence. I struggled to imagine what life must’ve been like residing inside these magnificent walls. Even harder was envisioning the upkeep and management required of the palace, which had to have been quite a feat given the number of people living there—the royals and their family, other nobles, clergymen, courtiers, dressers, readers, cooks, servants, etc. 


Hall of Mirrors

 Before lunch we were allowed to wander the gardens on our own. The gardens cover approximately 800 hectares of land with waterfalls, monuments, and statues erected throughout. One definitely does not have the time or the opportunity to see all of it. 


One view of the gardens from the Palace


After lunch, we were driven to the Grand Trianon, the Petit Trianon, and the Queen’s Hamlet. I was particularly charmed by the Queen’s Hamlet. This residence, though minuscule compared to the Palace of Versailles, is no small abode. The Queen’s Hamlet is part of the Petit Trianon, located within walking distance and is visible from certain areas of the Petit Trianon grounds. This was Marie Antoinette’s refuge from the hustle and bustle, the strict etiquette, and the political intrigue of Versailles. Much maligned and misunderstood, Marie Antoinette possessed a gentle, caring heart, and much of the slander and libel aimed at her from the press and the public, leading up to the French Revolution and until her execution day, was very hurtful and distressing to her.

The Queen's Hamlet

Rock pavilion & Belvedere pavilion - Petit Trianon grounds



French pavilion - Petit Trianon grounds

 Later that evening, upon returning to Paris, I enjoyed a lovely dinner with our guide, Habib. I had yet to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, so we had dinner at a café in the 7th close to the Eiffel Tower. After dinner, we walked over to the Champs de Mars, the park in front of the Tower where many Parisians hang out and/or picnic. This is the ideal place to lounge on a blanket and indulge in bread and cheese accompanied by a glass of wine, while watching the Eiffel Tower begin to glow as the sun sets. When it is finally dark, the structure sparkles for five minutes at the top of every hour. It’s quite the spectacle. I took some photos, but sadly, they failed to capture the illuminated beauty.

I explored other major sites too. On Saturday, Bryan and I had climbed the narrow, winding staircase inside L’Arc de Triomphe. I wasn’t sure I’d make it, but I did and without stopping. Once at the top and outside, the panoramic view of the city was spectacular, in particular the tree-lined Champs-Élysées. The city was radiant beneath clear blue skies as the sun shined brilliantly. Then on Sunday, Bryan and I hiked up some back roads of Montmarte to Sacré-Couer, which allowed me to see more of Montmartre as opposed to merely walking up the stairs would, plus it was great exercise. Atop the hill, we were greeted with a stunning view of not only the cathedral, but all of Paris below us. We sat there on the steps for a while and took it all in.

L'Arc de Triomphe

Champs-Élysées



Sacré-Couer



The Moulin Rouge

The only day that it was less than ideal weather-wise was Monday, September 3, when gray clouds blanketed the sky and it sprinkled a little. Before the wine tasting event that evening, I popped into the Musée de l’Orangerie, where I saw Claude Monet’s Water Lillies. Two huge oval-shaped rooms exhibited the grand canvases on which vibrant colors combined with subtle variations of light and shading mesmerize the viewer. The works surround the viewers, and made me feel that I was in the middle of a lake or pond.

After communing with Claude, I proceeded to the downstairs galleries to take in the other works of art from the mid 1800s to mid 1900s. These are the years in which my favorite works of art were produced. The downstairs galleries showcased more paintings by Monet as well as Edouard Manet, Pierre-August Renoir, Paul Cezanne, Paul Gauguin, Pablo Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh, and a new artist I discovered, Chaïm Soutine, and many others.



Garçon d’honneur

 As I was stood looking at Soutine’s painting Garçon d’honneur, a nine or ten-years-old boy standing next to me asked his father three times, quite incredulously, “Why does he look so heinous?” I couldn’t help but giggle at the question and his father’s attempt to explain abstract art.

That Monday was a dreary day, but it worked out well because it forced me inside some of the time. I had wanted to visit the Musée de l’Orangerie but probably wouldn’t have had it not been drizzling outdoors that afternoon. I was inside for a little while at Notre Dame that morning and of course, later for the wine tasting and dinner. Even though the weather wasn’t ideal, I still walked everywhere, only pulling out my umbrella twice; but then I walked every day.

These daily walks were great exercise. Paris is a city made for walking and it is the best way, in my opinion, to see the city and explore the neighborhoods. Not only did I walk everywhere, only taking the Métro a few times—mainly after 9:00 pm if I had more than 30 minutes of walking to get back to the apartment—but I also utilized my French daily.

I would greet others with a friendly “bonjour’ and a “comment allez-vous?” I ordered in French at restaurants, always said “merci” for service or help and “au revoir” upon leaving. The French are friendly people, and I like to think they were both charmed and amused by my broken French and attempts to speak their language. Fortunately, most everyone with whom I came into contact spoke English too. The only difficulty I had was with the cab driver to the airport on Friday. When I paid him, he kept trying to give me change. Finally, I just shook my head when he tried to give it to me and merely said, “pour vous,” and pointed to him. His face lit up and he replied, “merci!”

I thought traveling alone would be scary, but I felt very safe in France. As is the case anywhere, you want to know where to avoid wandering around by yourself. I work and play in New York City, so I probably felt more secure than many people who reside in smaller cities or rural areas would when visiting Paris. Here I offer a few tips for traveling alone.

Jardin du Luxembourg

I suggest booking a few group events. You will inevitably meet like-minded people and may end up doing other things with them, as I did for dinner after the wine tasting and dinner with my guide after the Versailles tour. Ask friends if they have any connections in the city where you’ll be traveling and try to connect with them before you arrive to meet for coffee, a cocktail, or dinner.

However, be sure to leave yourself plenty of time to explore on your own and allow yourself to get a little lost; see some of the touristy sights, but also get off the beaten path. You never know what treasures you may stumble upon.

Gertrude Stein lived here

When I was walking back to the apartment from the Jardin du Luxembourg early Sunday evening, I decided to venture down Rue de Fleurus. While looking around, I saw a tiny sign, on the outside of a building across the street at 27 Rue de Fleurus. Upon closer examination, I discovered that this is where Gertrude Stein had lived from 1903 to 1938, first with her son, Leo, and then with Alice Toklas. As a comparative literature major in college and a lover of art and art history, I was thrilled to discover this tiny gem. Gertrude Stein was an American writer with a huge personality and love of art. She held salons at her home in Paris during the 1920s for writers and artists. She associated with the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, Sherwood Anderson, Pablo Picasso, and Henri Matisse, among many others.

Lastly, I would suggest if you want to feel more like a resident as opposed to a tourist, rent an apartment. I found a lovely little studio in a great location on airbnb.com. The woman whose apartment I rented was fantastic. She was responsive from our first correspondence, and she provided me with much information about Paris, activities to do and sites to see, plus giving me excellent directions from the airport to the studio.

She was in New York while I was in Paris, so her mother was there to greet me, hand over the keys, and get me settled into the studio. She also met me on Friday morning at the apartment when I checked out. She was even kind enough to assist me in tracking down a cab, several streets from the apartment.

The neighborhood where I stayed was safe, as was the building. Two sets of codes were required to get in: one to access the courtyard, the second to enter the building. The studio cost no more than what I would’ve paid for a hotel room. I did extensive hotel pricing last spring before a friend suggested airbnb.com to me. I was quite happy to discover that I could rent my own place at a comparable hotel price, and in many instances, for much less.

I imagined that my trip to Paris would be fantastic, and it was. Treasured memories and photos are in my possession, and September is a beautiful month to be in Paris. It was worth every penny spent. I look forward to going back.

A view from a café in the 6th one afternoon

Friends and family have asked: What was my favorite part of the trip? That is so hard to say, but if I had to narrow it to just one, it was every afternoon when I would take a break at a café, sitting outdoors while I sipped wine or coffee, wrote in my journal, and watched the world go by—just being a Parisian.

Where am I headed next? Well, perhaps to London the summer of 2013 with a friend and her family, so it won’t be a solo trip. However, I do plan to travel solo again at some point, somewhere… Still, I will always have Paris. Jusqu'à la prochaine fois!







Solo in Paris - The Joy of Planning

(Pictured right: Paris, la place de l'Etoile vue du ciel

© Guillaume Plisson Pro) 

Ever since I was a little girl I have been enamored with anything French because their language and culture embodied everything that in my imagination was exotic and romantic. I studied the French language all four years in high school followed by three years in college. Unfortunately, I’ve never had the opportunity to actually use my French, until now. I depart for Paris tomorrow.

I enjoy making a plan and compiling lists and checking items off that list, so I have been in heaven the past six months preparing for my adventure. Much of that planning has focused on refreshing my language skills, researching excursions and points of interest, and studying the map of the city because when I travel anywhere, I pretend to be a resident. Perish the thought that anyone would think I'm a tourist.

Initially, I had a travel companion but he had to cancel on me, so I decided to venture out on my own. I’ve never been to Europe—a fact I am loathe to admit at my age, but when I had the time, I didn’t have the money, and when I had the money, I didn’t have the time. Well, now I have the money and I’m making the time. My cancer experience reminded me that life is unpredictable and far too brief, so that which we want to do should not be postponed.

To prepare for my trip, I bought a Fodor’s guide to France because I thought my travels would extend outside of Paris to Champagne and the Loire Valley. I enjoy drinking and learning about wine so touring some of the wine country appealed to me. I’d originally planned to go for twelve days. However, venturing out solo, I decided that six days would be more affordable, and I might start feeling lonely at that point. While I embrace solitude, I am also a social creature by nature. In the end, I decided to focus on Paris, spending only one day away from the capital at Versailles.

Once I reached out to friends about my trip, people offered various books for my research and suggestions for places I should visit. My desire to learn more about the city spurred purchases of a couple amazing reads from authors who reside in Paris and now give walking tours to visitors. John Baxter, a native Australian, is the author of The Most Beautiful Walk in the World and has been living in Paris since 1989. David Downie, author of Paris, Paris: Journey into the City of Light, is a native San Franciscan who has lived in Paris since the mid 1980s, though now he splits his time between France and Italy. (I may actually have the opportunity for a quick coffee with Mr. Downie and have him sign my book. We've been emailing.)

Mr. Baxter lives in the 6th arrondissement (municipality) on the Left Bank where I am staying, and Mr. Downie lives in Le Marais (The Marsh) which spreads across the 3rd and 4th arrondissements on the Right Bank.

John Baxter writes in The Most Beautiful Walk in the World that the 6th is equivalent to Greenwich Village or Soho in New York City. It is also the most expensive arrondissement in the capital. (Note: I secured a great deal on a studio through Airbnb.com. To be a resident, one should stay in an apartment instead of a hotel. That's my thinking anyway. I recommend checking out Airbnb.com next time you travel. )

These books provided me an intimate knowledge of Paris. The writers' insider perspectives and stories sparked an excitement I've rarely experienced before visiting a new place. These authors provide to the curious and adventurous a history and discovery of local gems they have encountered during their years residing in and walking around the City of Light that are not listed in many of the major travel guide books.

My reading list also included Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, which chronicles his time as an ex-patriot in 1920s Paris and details his relationships and interactions with other writers and artists—Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, to name a few, and with his first wife, Hadley. I purchased a paperback copy of A Moveable Feast back in the early 90s that was suggested to me by a co-worker, who was a huge Hemingway fan and whom I had a crush on shortly after a painful break-up.

A couple months ago, I plucked that worn paperback off the shelf to reread it. After all my previous reading and research, it was interesting to see the names of cafés—Les Deux Magots, Brasserie Lipp, and Closerie des Lilas—that are still operational today that Hemingway wrote about in his book.

My trip-related studies included hours of perusing the map of Paris streets and the Metro (the Paris subway), in order to know how to maneuver my way through it. The Paris Metro appears to be much like the New York City subway, so I’m not too concerned. Etched in my mind is the location of every major point of interest with respect to where I am staying on the Left Bank.

I feel infinitely more secure when I know where I am going and what is around me. However, one additional navigation tool was necessary to provide that extra bit of security—the Paris2Go application for my iPhone. Instead of pulling out a large map and revealing to the world I’m not a local, I will use this discreet guide/map during my explorations of the city. The beauty of this app is that it’s functionality is not tied to Internet or Wi-Fi; all content is available offline—a total win.

The final details included purchasing Medical Evacuation insurance for my trip because my health insurance does not cover overseas medical care or repatriation of my body, should I die in France, which I am not counting on happening. I borrowed an electrical adapter from a NFL coworker (thanks, Sid) even though the woman I am renting my apartment from is supposed to be providing one. It never hurts to have a back-up, just in case.

I informed my credit union and credit card company of the dates I’ll be traveling overseas and made copies of my passport. One copy will go to my sister in New Jersey, the other will stay at the studio I am renting in Paris. This is a precautionary measure should my passport be lost or stolen.

All loose ends are tied up and I am ready to embark on my solo adventure, living in Paris for a week. A college friend who has lived in Paris for twelve years now (I did not know this bit of info until recently) has been kind enough to offer to meet me at Charles DeGualle Airport to make sure I get to the apartment without any mishaps. Plus he will be spending some of the first day—possibly the second one too—of my trip with me. His guidance will help me to get acclimated before I set off on my own for the remainder of my trip.

It will be, for me, a huge adventure. For some people, traveling overseas solo is not a big deal, but it is to me. I still think of myself as that small-town girl from southern Indiana who has yet to become the cosmopolitan, self-assured woman I always dreamed of being. Perhaps this trip will transform the way I see myself. Stay tuned… à bientôt!

Unexpected Change Means Hitting the Reset Button

For the most part I like change, well, change that I orchestrate. However, when change occurs suddenly, it can be jarring. I suspect most people find unexpected change unsettling, whether it involves family, career, community, or the environment. Transformational events—positive or negative—can result in a small shift in one’s life, a radical reshaping of it, or something in between.

My leukemia diagnosis in 2003 definitely produced a radical shift. One day I was convinced my health issues were something as easily remedied by proper nutrition and vitamins, and the next I was facing months of chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. Life circumstances can vacillate quickly and suddenly.

Change that I enjoyed immensely, yet cried for an hour as I drove away from Cincinnati, was when I moved to the Northeast on August 31, 2002. I had spent the previous year meticulously planning my departure and miraculously, the universe coordinated it beautifully. I always tell people to be careful what they wish for because if that wish comes true, following through on it is the only course of action. That’s what happened to me.

I had mentioned to a co-worker when I started my planning process that the coolest thing in the world would be that right when I was getting ready to move, my job would be eliminated and I would receive four month’s severance pay. Fast forward to six months later and two months prior to my scheduled departure, having just returned to the office after a vacation in Puerto Rico with some of my closest friends, the human resources department scheduled a conference call with all the assistants throughout the country. As I sat in the conference room, I could hardly believe my ears: almost all the assistant positions were being eliminated and there would now be only one assistant per region.

I was stunned at my good fortune but now there was no turning back. There was however one fly in the ointment, which was the fact that I was one of the top-rated assistants in the region (there was one other located in Cleveland). I knew if I were offered the position and turned it down, I would not receive the severance package that would provide a much-needed financial cushion. I immediately contacted my manager in Philadelphia, explained to her the situation, and she made sure I was not offered the job.

I left the company at the end of August and began collecting severance pay, which helped immensely during the transition into my new life. This was definitely change I was happy with and fully embraced.

These past few weeks, however, an unexpected announcement hit me much harder than I ever expected something like it would. Two NFL colleagues submitted their resignations, one I knew about, the other I did not. The one I knew about was a manager who is not only a dear friend, but like a little sister to me. Her departure leaves a hole in my heart, but I’ve known about her plans for a while so was prepared for it. The other departure was a complete surprise.

My boss, for whom I’ve worked nearly seven years, was offered an amazing opportunity at one of the NFL teams: to be their new president. We are all proud of him, and he will be a real asset to the Club. The team is lucky to have him. Still, we’ve worked together for many years, and on a couple of occasions he has had my back. He may have driven me a tad crazy at times, but I have come to love him and his family. We have a solid working relationship; I will miss it.

I considered following him to the Club to be his executive assistant—a decision I agonized over for nearly a week. My mother’s voice was stuck in my head: “Deborah, you should take it; it would pay well and you would have employer-paid medical and dental insurance, a 401K plan, a pension…all kinds of benefits.” And she would be right.

My ego was involved as well since I would be the right hand to the president of a NFL team—high profile, perks, business connections, all of which were very tempting. Yet every time I thought maybe I could make the move, I felt terribly sad.

One downside to taking the position was that I would have to buy a car because the job is not in New York City. I currently do not own a car and must admit that I love not having one—no car payment, no insurance, no upkeep, no gas to purchase, and no parking to deal with. There is much freedom in not owning an automobile, and of course, I live in an area where I do not need one.

Another reason for my hesitancy was the yet-to-be-fulfilled dreams and goals, in particular the performing one that I’d been striving toward for the past twenty years. I have achieved so many of these goals but have yet to reach my desired level of success. To continue pursuing many of my goals, I need to be in or very near the city and have easy access getting there via public transportation.

The executive assistant position would most likely mean I would have to be available 24/7 to the needs of the president. I have never wanted an employer's life to become more important than mine. I have a great life and like to be able to disconnect from my employer; to not worry about his/her every need.

Staying where I am is risky for very different reasons. I am a contractor so there is no guarantee as to how long my job will continue to be necessary at the League office. My services will be required in the short-term as they figure out how the department is going to function and if and when they will replace my boss. I like to think that the skills and information I've learned and the relationships I’ve made will ensure future employment, but however it evolves, will it allow for the flexibility to which I've become accustomed?

There is financial uncertainty because at some point I may be back out looking for temporary work and making half the hourly wage I currently enjoy. I recently negotiated a decent raise. I continue to pay for my own health insurance and dental coverage because mine is not employer-paid. I have no 401K or pension benefits, but I have set up an IRA. Still, even with all the uncertainty—and I am scared when I think about my current position being eliminated—the feeling in my gut and in my heart, when I thought about taking the job with my boss, did not feel right—at least not at this moment in time.

Once I made my decision, I felt great relief. Depsite the anxiety created by the uncertainty of my continued employment at the League, I know I made the right choice. In fact, this is the perfect time to hit the reset button. Over the past few years, I’ve become complacent in the pursuit of my other goals. Now, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s time to step up my game, be more assertive, and shake my life up. Life is an adventure; I’ve always believed that. I’m not getting any younger, so now is the time to be fearless. I beat cancer, so I can definitely defeat my fear of the unknown.

Like everyone else on this planet, I haven’t a clue how my future will unfold, and that’s probably a good thing. For now, I am where I belong and my life button has been reset.

My Only 2012 New Year's Resolution: Be More Fearless

In 2001 while residing in Cincinnati, I auditioned for The Movement, a made-for-television movie produced by Dreambuilder Celebration and sponsored by Procter & Gamble that was aired in January 2002. At the initial audition, I was called in for one of the leading roles that of Jayni, a young social worker or homeless shelter volunteer (I can't recall which). As I picked up the sides laid out on the table for this character, I noticed sides for Young Mrs. Wallington, a school teacher. Mrs. Wallington was another main character, but she was a retired school teacher. Young Mrs. Wallington was a supporting character, but I thought it would be wise to audition for that role as well, so I scooped up those sides and prepared for both while sitting in the waiting area.

When I walked into the room, the director and producers were all there. I did my read for Jayni, they gave me some adjustments then I read again. Before I left, I asked them if I could also read for Young Mrs. Wallington. The director responded that this was only a small supporting role in a flashback scene. I told him that I didn't care and that I'd really like to read for it, so they granted my request.

A couple days later, I received a call from my agent saying that I had a call back for the role of Young Mrs. Wallington. 'That was a good call on my part,' I thought.

When I arrived at the call backs, I scrutinized the ladies they were casting for both old and young Mrs. Wallington. I was trying to determine which older women I most closely resembled. The stressful aspect of this call back was that they were casting each role on the spot. As I watched the older actresses being eliminated, I was assessing my chances of being cast as her young counterpart. In the end, the woman I most thought would work with my physicality did not get the role. The woman who was cast, I felt looked nothing like me; however, I was determined that my assessment would not interfere with my audition.

Next, the director came out and informed us that all the Jayni candidates would be considered for Young Mrs. Wallington as well. 'Great,' I thought, 'my competition just doubled' (there were eight Jaynis and eight Young Mrs. Wallingtons). So began the most grueling audition I've experienced to date.

Prior to reading for the role (every round) each of us was positioned next to retired Mrs.Wallington so that the director and producers could examine our physical similarity. As the elimination process began, the pressure began to build. Those casting brought us all in at once, after having discussed who would not be advancing to the next round, and dismissed those they did not want to see again. To say it was nerve-wracking as the names were read is an understatement. I did not want to hear my name.

The first audition round included all sixteen us, after which four Jaynies and four teachers were eliminated. In the next round, two Jaynies and two teachers left the group, which left two actors for each role. They cast the role of Jayni first then Young Mrs. Wallington. The two of us being considered for Young Mrs. Wallington were waiting patiently outside the room to hear the decision. My competition was an attractive young woman who was probably eight years my junior.

Finally, the director appeared and looked at both of us. My heart was racing and the tension was mounting. He turned to me and said, "Deborah, we'd like for you to play the role of Young Mrs. Wallington." Inside I was jumping up and down and screaming in jubilation, but on the outside, I remained cool and calm because the woman who did not get cast was sitting right next to me. However, once she left, I let loose, thanking them all for the opportunity, and as I walked to my car, basking in the euphoria of having landed the role. (I later found out that they'd auditioned actors in Cleveland, Columbus, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, Lexington and Louisville, and that knowledge made me feel even more honored to have been cast and prouder of my accomplishment.)

It was because I dared ask to read for that supporting role that I had the opportunity to perform it. That was the last time I asked to read for a role for which I was not brought in to audition. In the years since, I've left many auditions thinking I would be better suited for different roles yet have not had the courage (or even the thought) to request to read for them while in front of the casting directors.

Asking for what we desire is difficult for most of us.  Sometimes, we feel we do not deserve what we would like—a promotion, a raise, a role, a date, an interview, you name it. In my case, I don't want to hear the word "no" or feel the sting of rejection (I get rejected enough at auditions).

Fear of not having enough money is also a major factor in determining what I pursue and to what extent I pursue it. Money is a barrier that prevents many people from pursuing their passion, but it need not be with a little planning. I am a financially responsible person, and if I want to focus more on acting and to travel globally, I need to figure out how to make those happen within my financial security boundaries so that I'm not freaking out about my money situation.

I have always professed to being a cautious risk-taker which has served me well, up until now. Goals and dreams have been met to a certain degree and at a certain level over the years, but it's time to "up the ante", as they say  (whoever "they" may be). To do that I will need to be more audacious and self-confident (even if I am only acting "as if").

This year my one resolution is to be more fearless by taking more risks in pursuit of all my goals, asking for what I want, and refusing to take "no" for an answer. I hope to report positive results on December 31, 2012.

May 2012 be a happy, healthy, prosperous, and fearless year for you, dear reader. Happy New Year!

Careful What You Wish For...

“You know what the most incredible thing would be?” I asked my friend Yvonne one day at Cigna when we were at lunch in the fall of 2001. “Right when I am getting to leave for New York, Cigna eliminates my job and I receive four-months of severance pay!” I never thought in a million years that it would happen, mainly because the managers seemed so helpless without us assistants.

Four months of salary would definitely be a helpful financial cushion as I started my new life. I had decided earlier that year, after my positive experience meeting Lanford Wilson, that it was time for me to make the move to the New York market. I wasn’t getting any younger and if I were going to do it, it had to be then. So I started planning for a move to take place at the end of August 2002. Once I had set the end goal, the stars began to align in my favor.

I was cast in two films (one of which still occasionally pays a small residual fee) and a commercial that cemented my membership in AFTRA—I had to join the union. These jobs expanded my resume to include film and commercial work. I was also networking and collecting names of people I could call on once I arrived in New York as resources in the industry as well as for familiarizing myself with the city.

My plan was taking shape, as I researched apartments, neighborhoods, casting directors, agents, theatre companies, anything I needed to get my life started there. It was a bit intimidating because the financials of it all made me very nervous. How would I ever afford to live in that area and pursue acting, too? I began searching for temp agencies and marketing and promo jobs, whatever work I might be able to do that would allow me the flexibility to audition during the day. The financial fears made me ask: would I be ready to move at the end of August?

The summer of 2002, I ventured to Puerto Rico for a very memorable and exciting vacation with some of my closest friends. The day I returned to the office at Cigna, there was a nationwide conference call that required participation of all the assistants. I thought it was going to be the run-of-the-mill technology call outlining process changes for submitting RFPs or organizing policies.

What we discovered was that Cigna planned to downsize in the upcoming months. There would now be one assistant per region. Instead of my region having a couple assistants in Cleveland and a couple in Cincinnati (servicing Columbus and Indianapolis) there would be one assistant working all four offices. The offers would be made to those they wanted to retain and the rest would be let go with severance packages.

I sat there holding back a gleeful smile, knowing all the other women were panicking because they were about to lose their jobs. Unbelievable, I thought. This is exactly what I had wished for—the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

When the call ended, I nearly ran to Yvonne’s cubicle, plopped down in the chair next to her desk and exclaimed, “ You are not going to believe what just happened!”

I told her and she responded excitedly, “Oh, my God, it’s meant to be!”

“I know!” I replied.

The only fly in the ointment was that I was one of two top-ranked assistants in the region. I didn’t want them to offer me the job because if they did and I turned it down, I would not receive my severance—at least that was my understanding. So I had to do some quick thinking. I decided honesty would be the best policy, so I called my manager, who was located in Philadelphia, to explain my situation to her.

I am very thankful for her. She made sure that I was not offered the job. I left Cigna at the end of August 2002 and headed to the Northeast on August 31, crying as I drove away from Cincinnati. As excited as I was to be starting a new life, I was sad to leave my friends and my sister Karen, who had been my apartment mate the previous nine years. Plus the unknown is always a little scary. Still my wish came true and now there was no backing down or delaying my departure date because I didn’t have the lure of job security to prevent me from pursuing my dreams. Once my wish was granted, I was then responsible for doing something about it, rather than ignoring it.

It’s been an adventure these last nine years. It was a positive move, for so many reasons. So a word of caution: careful what you wish for, it may come true.

Baby Steps: My Key to Achieving Goals

“ Honey, you want to go to the john and get one of those glasses before you leave, you look like you could use a drink.”

That was my closing line of The Moonshot Tape. Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Lanford Wilson* clapped and smiled then rose from his seat, walked over to me, and hugged me warmly. He had loved my performance, which I’d just given in Ovation Theatre Company’s (OTC) warehouse where we built our sets, stored props and costumes, and often rehearsed. This had been a private performance for Mr. Wilson, along with my Ovation colleagues and a couple of my closest friends, by special invitation. I would go on to perform this 55-minute solo show a week later during Ovations’ two-week run of An Evening with Lanford Wilson. We staged four of his one-act plays during Cincinnati’s Lanford Wilson Theatre Festival in May of 2001.

                              After the performance - Lanford Wilson giving me feedback.


It takes a great deal of courage to get onstage and perform alone for that length of time, but I did not find that courage overnight. It took years of accepting bigger and more challenging roles to be comfortable (or as comfortable as one can be) in a solo performance situation.

I did not begin acting until I was twenty-three. By that age, many of the young actors I was studying with had been performing for years—on stage and in front of the camera—in grade school, high school, and college. I struggled with confidence—and still do to some degree—because I let all their years on the boards or in front of the camera intimidate me. Still, I wanted to be an actor, so I pushed through the fear and insecurity.

My first time on stage was a production of original one-acts in Bloomington, Indiana, that took place in a tiny, freezing theater—actually a warehouse. I memorized my lines and my acting partner’s and basically responded by rote, not engaging in the moment to moment actions and emotions based on what my acting partner was giving me. Learning how to react appropriately, develop my inner monologue, and trust in the moment all developed over years of training and experience.

As I took on leading roles in plays, I learned to connect with the other actors and to trust that my lines would be there when it was time for me to speak. I didn’t have to think ahead to what my next line would be, but rather merely listen to what was being said to me. Acting is reacting. Plus knowing what you are thinking as someone is talking to you onstage is like in life…we always have thoughts running through our minds; so it is the same onstage, which adds to the life of the character.

I was cast in my first two-person play as Aurelia Plath in Letters Home the summer of 1992. It was scary but I managed to tackle it pretty well for a novice actor. Once I left Indiana University, I moved to Cincinnati where I was involved in community theatre prior to co-founding OTC, a semi-professional company. My first audition landed me in the role of Vera Claythorne, the leading lady in Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians. The video performance of that play is a testament to how significantly my acting has improved since then.

Shortly after Ten Little Indians,I was involved in a fifties/sixties-style musical review that East Side Players orchestrated before their production of West Side Story. I’d always wanted to sing in public and knew I had a decent voice, but again, lacked the audacity to do it (except for a talent show in eighth grade, where, with some of my girlfriends as back-up singers, I sang “The Rose” and “Midnight in Memphis” from The Rose soundtrack, and that was along with the actual recordings).

I found the courage to audition for the revue and got cast. A few months later, I performed the role of Grace Farrell in Annie in which I sang a solo and some duets. That eventually led to my being cast as the Witch in Into the Woods, and I loved, loved, loved playing the Witch—one of my favorite roles. (Thank you, Lisa Hall Breithaupt.)

My performance trajectory is as follows: supporting roles followed by leading roles then two-person shows—one (Parallel Lives) that included an eight-minute monologue and my playing fourteen different characters, eventually culminating in my one-woman performance of The Moonshot Tape. The revue, led to musicals then to cabaret performances that I wrote and performed—two to three sets per show. My acting and singing solo performances were built on the foundation of taking risks with more challenging and scarier projects over time. When I succeeded at each level, I moved on to the next one.

Meeting, performing for, and receiving excellent feedback from Lanford Wilson was the pivotal moment in my decision to make the move to the New York City area to pursue acting professionally, which I’d wanted to do for ten years. Once my mind was made up, I set the wheels in motion, and how they turned in my favor. That story is for an upcoming post. Stay tuned…as the saying goes: be careful what you wish for…

* Lanford Wilson (April 13, 1937 – March 24, 2011)

Back to the Stage

I will be back onstage for the first time since the summer of 2003 when Isle of Shoals Productions, Inc.'s Romeo & Juliet opens November 3. This absence has been mostly by choice. I have auditioned for very few plays since my cancer treatments, and the acting work I have booked has been in film, commercials, and television. I was recently cast in the role of Lady Capulet. It has been amusing that a number of people have suggested I might be Juliet by asking: “Are you playing Juliet?” While that question is flattering, I am way past the age of being cast in that role, considering that Juliet is 14—16 in the adaptation in which I am performing. However, I play mothers well, although Lady Capulet is hardly the ideal mother. She had very little involvement in the daily upbringing of Juliet; the childrearing responsibilities were designated to the nurse.

My Lady Capulet is independent and a bit headstrong; definitely not a woman subservient to her husband. Though she is a product of and adheres to the cultural mores of the Victorian era (in which this adaptation is set), she has a mind of her own as well as a sense of humor. I love that I was cast in this role for my reemergence on the stage because it is a perfect one for me.

Tonight is our first preview performance. This week has been a bit rough technically, slogging through the orchestration of light and sound cues and set changes. The previews will be essentially dress rehearsals with an audience. Yet in all the years I have been doing theatre, productions amazingly come together in the end, no matter how chaotic or stressful tech week may be.

Lance Hewett, my director, is a joy to work with. He has given the actors enormous creative freedom to experiment with acting choices and to make suggestions; I don’t think I’ve heard him give one line reading, which is quite refreshing. Of course, if he thinks something does not work or isn’t true to the character, he lets us know.

The cast is quite talented, especially for one with so many young actors, most of whom are in their early to mid twenties. I get a kick out of listening to them talk to each other, and yes, I’m one of the older members of the cast, but that’s okay. The generation gap isn’t too wide, and they are all funny, smart, lovely people. Chelsea, who plays Juliet, is adorable. It’s easy to portray her mother, and perhaps my interpretation of Lady Capulet is too loving and attentive to the teenage Juliet, yet that act of maternal betrayal remains.

I have been asked if I am nervous to perform onstage again. I am a little nervous, but in a good way. Nervous energy helps me to focus and be in the moment, especially when I know people who are in the audience—family, friends, co-workers. Right now, while I am writing this and thinking about it, a twinge of unease is churning around in my solar plexus. I think if I weren’t nervous, I’d be worried. One of the greatest actors of all time, Sir Lawrence Olivier, experienced intense anxiety before every stage performance. So if Olivier had to fight nerves, then I am struggling right there with the best of them.

Sometimes, I think my need to be out in front of an audience, acting or speaking, is a form of self-torture because there is always a slight element of fear simmering beneath. Some may call it narcissism, and in some instances, perhaps it is; but I see it more as the intense desire to express myself, whether through a character or as a cancer community or political issue advocate. As someone who as a child was shy and didn’t speak her mind and rarely took center stage, once I found the courage to do it, I discovered a freedom of expression I never knew existed.

Some of my need for recognition stems from the desire to please and be liked, but at the same time, it is scary to put your talent and ideas out in the public, where there is the possibility to be criticized—sometimes harshly. Not everyone is going to love or like what you do or say, but to do it anyway, to take a risk, is brave, and has many times reaped personal and career-related rewards for me. Despite the fear, it's the love of creative expression and the desire to communicate that drives me to take the stage or approach the podium.

So yes, I am excited to be back onstage again. Who knows what will happen out there in front of a live audience. I’ve definitely experienced my share of mishaps onstage, and I will try to share a few of those in a future post because they are worthy of retelling. The unknown of what may happen between actors onstage is frightening, yet thrilling, and ultimately, an adventure. My next adventure begins tonight and runs through November 20.

For performance and ticket information, click Romeo and Juliet - Isle of Shoals Productions, Inc.

Blood Cancer Awareness Month...Sharing My Story and Some Information

Originally posted on HarryDaniell's site September 22, 2011

June 1, 2004

As the day wore on and the time approached for Barbara’s stem cells to be transfused into me, sorrow replaced anxiety. I am losing a part of me as her stem cells replace mine and begin producing her blood in my body. My blood type will change from O- to O+, which is Barbara’s blood type. This changing of blood type is somewhat unsettling to me. However, I also view this day as one of rebirth—another birthday to celebrate. It is extraordinary how this whole bone marrow transplant process works. It is truly miraculous. And not only is this a physical rebirth, but because of all the self-reflection and positive changes I’m attempting to make in my life, it is a spiritual and emotional rebirth as well. So despite feeling melancholy over what I am losing, there is excitement and anticipation about what I am gaining. I thank God for the new stem cells that will generate new and healthy blood in my body and grant me a second chance at life.

Around 3:30 p.m., Dr. Hsu administered the blood transfusion. The transplant was a slow, intravenous infusion through my catheter of the bone marrow collected from my sister Barbara. My friend Karen B was already stationed at my bedside and my sister Karen waltzed into the room just minutes before the doctor began the procedure. The transplant, which took all of twenty minutes, was uneventful except for an intense scratchiness in my throat caused by the preservative in the blood. I was given Benadryl prior to the transfusion, which quickly sent me off to la-la land. Meanwhile, my sister and friend sat vigil, watching my blood pressure rise and fall—sometimes significantly—on the monitor. The nurses assured them that this was normal. ~ Excerpt from Rebirth

I am a leukemia survivor. September is Blood Cancer Awareness Month, so I am sharing my story in order to put a face to those who have had, or are currently living with, a blood cancer diagnosis. I was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia (ALL) December 18, 2003. I went through four rounds of high-dose chemotherapy (for which I was hospitalized 4-5 days each time) and total body irradiation twice a day for four days prior to my bone marrow transplant, which took place June 1, 2004.

Overall, I dealt well with chemotherapy. I did not experience vomiting, mouth sores or any major infections. My discomfort was mostly due to extreme fatigue and some nausea. And of course, I lost my hair, which I thought would be devastating, but it wasn’t. I knew it would eventually grow back, and it was rather interesting because how often does a girl get to see what she looks like bald?

As my doctors and I began discussing BMT, additional drama was injected into the situation because my bone marrow donor match was my sister Barbara who was pregnant with her second child. Rarely is a pregnant woman an acceptable stem cell/bone marrow donor, and there is very little information available about pregnancy and bone marrow donation, which made this an even more difficult, agonizing decision for her and her husband. They knew this would greatly increase my chances for a successful outcome, but what impact would it have on their unborn child?

In the end, twenty-eight weeks into her pregnancy, she agreed to do the bone marrow harvest. A needle was inserted into her hipbone about seventy times in two hours with a spinal only. To ensure the baby was not put at additional risk, she opted not to have general anesthesia, which is normal protocol for a bone marrow donor during a bone marrow harvest. She saved my life that day; she is my hero. And today, that baby is a gorgeous, healthy, smart seven-year-old boy named Andrew.

Andrew at 1 month old (with me)

Andrew and I (present day)

Going into chemo, radiation, and transplant I knew there had been considerable advances in the treatment of blood cancers over the past few decades, and that knowledge gave me hope. Blood Cancer Awareness month is a time to focus more intensely on educating the public about the types of blood cancers, providing information about cancer research and the need for funding said research, and highlighting the resources available to survivors and their families as they navigate their way through treatment and recovery.

Harry’s September 15 post outlined some statistics related to blood cancers and survival rates, and while survival rates in some blood cancers have increased substantially, there is still much work to be done to eradicate cancer. Maintaining funding levels for cancer research is vitally important, and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) provides millions of dollars every year toward research and the development of new medications. Gleevec, FDA approved in 2001, and Sprycel, approved in 2006, are two therapies proven quite effective over the past decade in treating chronic myelogenous (or myeloid) leukemia.

In 2008, when I first heard about Sprycel, I was talking to my oncologist about it and he informed me that Sprycel had also been found to be effective in treating ALL when the Philadelphia chromosome is present. I thought that was pretty amazing—that a drug found effective in treating one type of leukemia was then found to be effective treating another one. The added value of drug research is that these therapies are often found to treat multiple diseases—Gleevec is now approved to treat ten different cancers.

In these tight economic times of government budget cutting, it is vital that cancer research be funded adequately so that advances in the treatment of blood cancers will continue to result in improved survival rates. Light the Night is one program (of many) the LLS has implemented to raise money that is then allocated toward cancer research and patient services and education programs. Next month, I will be posting in more detail about the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and their Light the Night program. Stay tuned…

September is Blood Cancer Awareness Month

December 18, 2003
At about 5:30 p.m., Dr. Alter entered my room, and I knew immediately the news was going to be life changing. He sat down and informed me that the bone biopsy came back positive for leukemia. A jolt of panic surged through my entire body. I took a deep breath, pursed my lips together, and tried to hold back the tears. I parted my lips slightly and released my breath slowly. I glanced at Barbara, and clearly, she was upset. I had suspected as much, but actually hearing it was shocking.

Dr. Alter informed me that Dr. Stuart Goldberg, my oncologist, would be in later to talk to me more in depth about what I was facing and the treatment options available. He also said that another bone marrow extraction would be performed the following day because the one today had produced no marrow and that is needed to determine the type of leukemia I have as there are several varieties.

 ~ Excerpt from Rebirth: A Leukemia Survivor’s Journal of Healing during Chemotherapy, Bone Marrow Transplant, and Recovery

That is the day I began my blood cancer education, in particular as it pertained to acute lymphocytic (also known as lymphoblastic) leukemia (ALL). It was determined a few days later that I had adult ALL. ALL is the most common form of blood cancer found in children and today has a cure rate of about 90.8% for children five and younger, per the National Cancer Institute. Long-term survivor statistics aren’t quite so rosy, about 66%, when factoring in all ages. I am seven years post-bone marrow transplant and consider myself quite fortunate.

Blood cancers include leukemia, lymphoma, myeloma, myelodysplastic syndromes, and myeloproliferative diseases. Within each of these cancers there are several variations.

Over the next month I will be posting information about blood cancers that the reader may find useful. I am an Advocacy Network and First Connection Volunteer and speaker for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS), the largest voluntary health agency dedicated to blood cancers. The organization’s mission is to cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families. The LLS is a terrific resource for patients, caregivers and health care professionals.

A list of additional national cancer charities and foundations can be found on the Resource4Leukemia site.

Finding Inspiration from a Movie

“He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing. He does not shy away from the sword. He cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds.”   ~ Penny Chenery Tweedy, owner of Secretariat, the 1973 Triple Crown Winner

These are the words Diane Lane (as Penny Chenery in the movie Secretariat) speaks as the viewer watches in a moment of silence, a brief reprieve from the pounding of hooves on the track and the cheering, screaming fans in the stands, waiting for Secretariat to storm around the final bend at the Belmont Stakes to secure his 1973 Triple Crown win. Chills run up my spine then the silence breaks as Secretariat rounds the turn toward a record-breaking 31-length victory. To this day, no horse has come close to his margin of victory or his record.

I did not see the movie when it opened in 2010, but purchased it recently from On Demand. I watched it and when it ended, immediately watched it again. The horse, the owner, the trainer, the jockey, the groom, the secretary…these people made an amazing team. The story of Secretariat is more than just that of an exceptional horse, but also one of a woman determined to see her father’s life's work through to the end despite the obstacles. Ms. Chenery was determined, confident, persistent, resourceful, loving, supportive, and demanding when necessary. She was an example to her children that if you have a dream or a goal you do not back down, which is a valuable lesson for anyone.

Sometimes it is easy to give up or become discouraged when setbacks occur or people refuse to help or provide needed support. In the end, it is only ourselves who can make sure we stay on track. Fear of failure, rejection, or the unknown are the biggest reasons people do not take the risks involved in changing careers, moving to a different city, pursuing a romantic interest, traveling around the world, or any other adventure.

I am a calculated risk-taker, I wish I weren’t quite so calculated, but I like to know where I’m headed; I always have a game plan. Still, if I could just get past the fear of rejection—my biggest fear—I might be more confident approaching casting directors and agents in order to potentially move my acting career along faster. I don't have a fear of rejection at auditions (I'm used to that by now) but it's the fear of asking for what I need or want: representation or more auditions. I am working to overcome this fear and am always encouraged when I hear a phrase or quote that truly resonates with being fearless, and the above quote does just that: Don’t be afraid, don’t shy away, and don’t stand still.

Lucky Seven...Years since BMT

Andrew & I  - Christmas 2010 in Tell City, IN

Today I celebrate my second birthday. I am seven years old. The anniversary of my bone marrow transplant is always a time for celebration, even if it’s only me celebrating. It is amazing to me that it has been seven years because I remember so much of it quite vividly, yet at the same time, it seems an eternity ago. So much has happened in those seven years since I wrote the following:

Excerpt from Rebirth:
June 1, 2004 - Tuesday, Transplant Day (Rebirth Day)  Day 0

As the day wore on and the time approached for Barbara’s stem cells to be transfused into me, sorrow replaced anxiety. I am losing a part of me as her stem cells replace mine and begin producing her blood in my body. My blood type will change from O- to O+, which is Barbara’s blood type. This changing of blood type is somewhat unsettling to me. However, I also view this day as one of rebirth—another birthday to celebrate. It is extraordinary how this whole bone marrow transplant process works. It is truly miraculous. And not only is this a physical rebirth, but because of all the self-reflection and positive changes I’m attempting to make in my life, it is a spiritual and emotional rebirth as well. So despite feeling melancholy over what I’m losing, there is excitement and anticipation about what I’m gaining. I thank God for the new stem cells that will generate new and healthy blood in my body and grant me a second chance at life.

Around 3:30 p.m., Dr. Hsu, another physician in Dr. Goldberg’s oncology group, administered the blood transfusion. The transplant was a slow intravenous infusion through my catheter of the bone marrow collected from Barbara. Karen B was already stationed at my bedside and Karen waltzed into the room just minutes before the doctor began the procedure. The transplant, which took all of twenty minutes, was uneventful except for an intense scratchiness in my throat caused by the preservative in the blood. I was given Benadryl prior to the transfusion, which quickly sent me off to la-la land. Meanwhile, my sister and friend sat vigil, watching my blood pressure rise and fall, sometimes significantly, on the monitor. The nurses assured them that this was normal.

I’ve always been a little superstitious about the number seven—in a good way. I was born on the 7^thand 7 is believed to be God’s number—there are many references to it in the Bible. There are many references throughout history about the origins of lucky number seven. Many of my family members’ birth dates are multiples of seven: my nephew Andrew was born on the 14^th and he will be 7 in August. He is my life marker since BMT because in a way Barbara gave birth to both of us in 2004—she was my bone marrow donor while pregnant with him. There is a very deep connection between me and that little boy, who is gorgeous and smart and funny. 

I feel lucky and so blessed to have not just lived, but thrived these past seven years. I don’t know why I survived and other cancer survivors I’ve known did not. All I know is that my life is a gift, and with that gift comes a responsibility to give back. I also try to enjoy and appreciate every day I’ve been granted since my cancer diagnosis. I wake up every morning, giving thanks for another day on this glorious planet, even when I’m highly disgruntled with current events in this country and around the world.

Even if suffering through an illness is not one’s fate, not one of us is guaranteed tomorrow, so don’t put off doing activities, taking trips, or being with the people who are most important to you; or taking a risk to accomplish a long-desired goal that you have been too scared for one reason or another to pursue. Life is scary; taking risks is scary, but I’ve more often times than not found those risks to be more than worth it.

I heard someone the other day say that life is not fair, and asked why do bad things happen to good people? Life is not fair—bad things happen to good people and wonderful things happen to terrible people; sometimes there seems to be no justice. However, and as much as I want justice, fairness and equality to prevail, it’s not the justice that matters. What matters is how you play the cards you are dealt. Do you fall apart and live with anger and fear, or do you embrace [accept] what is and figure out how to live your life in the best way possible for you and for those who interact with you at any given moment?

One of my favorite stories that Thich Nhat Hanh includes in his book The Miracle of Mindfulness is Leo Tolstoy’s “Three Questions.” Versions of the story vary slightly, but it is summarized below an the excerpt  from Rebirth.

April 6, 2004 – Tuesday

In The Miracle of Mindfulness, Thich Nhat Hanh recounts a story by Tolstoy about an emperor searching for the answer to three questions:

1. What is the best time to do each thing?

2. Who are the most important people to work with?

3. What is the most important thing to do at all times?

The answer is this:

Remember that there is only one important time and that is now. The present moment is the only time over which we have dominion. The most important person is always the person you are with, who is right before you, for who knows if you will have dealings with any other person in the future? The most important pursuit is making the person standing at your side happy, for that alone is the pursuit of life.

Often we forget that it is the very people around us that we must live for first of all.

To this day, seven years later, I try to remember the answers to those questions and to be present whether I am with work colleagues, friends, or family members, especially those nieces and nephews whom I was not sure I’d live to see grow up, or even see some of them born. Lucky number seven…it has been for me anyway. 

The Perfect Gift

April 21, 2004
11:25 p.m.
I shouldn’t have done it, but tonight I retrieved one of my transplant books and reread it. The pre-transplant section includes suggestions for “Getting Your Affairs in Order.” I don’t have a will, and even if I did, I don’t have a thing to bequeath to anyone. But it made me think. My family would need to know the location of my life insurance policy, I want “The Prayer of St. Francis” and “Amazing Grace” sang at my funeral, and I want to write a message to be read to family and friends after the sermon. (This is the performer in me—even my funeral will be a production!) The passwords of e-mail and various financial accounts need to be shared with family. The addresses of friends who don’t have e-mail (or whose information is not stored in my cell phone) need to be noted so that in the event of my death, they can be contacted. And the most important loose-end is Aidan. I am his godmother, and I long to remain a presence in his life. As a Catholic, he will celebrate many sacraments as he grows into an adult and beyond, and I want to be sure he receives cards and messages from me on those special occasions (as well as high school and college graduations) regardless of my presence in this world.

Thinking about all of this has made me incredibly sad, and I’ve been sobbing for almost two hours now. Part of me wants to organize all of this information, and another part feels that if I do, then I am preparing to die. On the other hand, if I don’t put these things in order and I do die, none of my wishes will be known. I don’t want to die and I’m afraid that by doing these things I’ll be saying, “Okay, I’m ready,” and I’m not ready, and I’m so scared.
(Excerpt from Rebirth)

I posted the above journal entry on my blog the following day and shortly thereafter received a box in the mail from Karryn, a co-worker from my Cigna days in Cincinnati. I opened the package and inside was a floral filing box, about 5” x 9” x 12”. I removed the top and saw that the box was filled with greeting cards—probably more than fifty— for every occasion, even for Baptism, Communion, Confirmation, Penance and Reconciliation, and graduations. Karryn had read my blog post and decided that I needed a supply of cards.

I never did prepare all those cards with notes to Aidan in the event of my death. I couldn’t make myself do it, mostly because I refused to envision a future in which I was absent from his life. I suppose had my situation gotten worse and death looked inevitable, I would’ve written the messages and given the cards to his mother for safekeeping.

I have nearly exhausted that supply of cards. I used all the Baptism ones for Andrew, Grace, and Alexa (I had to purchase one for Nathaniel), but this is the first Communion one I've needed. Aidan, who was about sixteen months old when I wrote the above entry, is now eight and will make his First Communion this weekend. It is not only an important day for him, but also a joyous milestone for me: In April 2004 I did not know if I’d live to see him receive this sacrament, yet here I am, seven years later, still an integral part of his life.

I haven’t spoken to, seen, or even corresponded with Karryn in many years, but I will always treasure her gift of greeting cards; it meant the world to me. She saw a need and filled it. During that turbulent and uncertain time, it was the perfect gift.

What perfect gift have you received?

Writing to Heal - Part II

“I feel as if I have healed myself with my own words. I am making myself well. Writing is my cure.”  ~ Carole Buvoso (diarist, writer, director)

The above quote reflects my sentiments about writing, especially during my leukemia treatment period. I was writing to heal/cure myself, so when I designed my journal writing workshop for cancer survivors, I named it Writing for Your Life, because I felt I was indeed writing for my life.

In a workshop last fall, one of the writing exercises I assigned was to write about "an unresolved issue or a person who has hurt you whom you need to forgive." One of my participants had brought her laptop with her because she found it easier to record her thoughts and feelings this way. I suspect, like me, her brain kicks into overdrive and it is easier to keep up with her thoughts via a keyboard than with a pen. I could hear and see her clicking forcefully away on the keys, indicating to me that there was purpose and intensity to what she was typing.

Once the exercise was finished, she leaned back in her chair, ran her fingers through her hair and exclaimed, “Wow, you are right, that was cathartic!” I smiled. I have always found writing to be emotionally cathartic, though curiously, that is one benefit of expressive writing that Professor James A. Pennebaker and other researchers have found little evidence of, unlike the evidence of physical benefits such as reducing stress and blood pressure, decreased pain and increased health in cancer patients, fewer days in the hospital, improved mood and cognitive function as well as improved liver and lung function, to name a few.

Perhaps it is more difficult to assess or measure the emotional health benefits of expressive writing, but I read and hear from writers (of journals and blogs) all the time about how writing is an effective means of dealing with emotional stress. I’ve experienced it in my writing for years. Sometimes it takes as little as one time to write about a hurtful or stressful event and I feel infinitely better; then at other times I may have to write about a topic for months, as the issue surfaces repeatedly, disturbing my emotional equilibrium.

I found myself many years ago over a three month period writing constantly about a manager who made me feel insecure and incompetent. I would leave the office every evening seething with resentment. I felt I could do nothing right. Finally, after months of writing about my frustration and anger, it hit me: I must stop taking this personally. This person behaves this way with everyone, and he doesn’t even realize it. Finally, when I started standing up for myself and pushing back, our relationship began to change. My manager was unaware of how his actions were impacting me adversely. Admittedly, I allowed him to negatively affect me, which is something I know I have control over. However, until he was made aware of how I felt, he couldn’t make the necessary changes and I couldn’t expect him to—he’s not a mind reader.

I am a big believer that people treat us the way we allow them to treat us. Writing exposed the lack of confidence I possessed to stand up for myself, and how I was allowing someone else to adversely affect my emotional well-being. Furthermore, I examined how he behaved with everyone, not just me, and discovered this was not personal, that he did not hate me. Writing provided me a way to vent my frustrations and anger without having to involve another human being…though I must admit I did do a little of that, too. I'm all about expression—written or verbal.

I have used my blog as a journal as well. As referenced in my March 24 post, I recently came upon the article, “Writing to OvercomeTrauma,” on the Military Officers Association of America website. It discusses how soldiers in Afghanistan (or in any overseas mission) use blogging to “take control of their emotions.” Army National Guard Capt. Benjamin Tupper says it has played a part in his PTSD recovery. The article further states that writing is a common outlet for service members and veterans dealing with traumatic and stressful experiences. One of the largest blogging sites by American service members, MilBlogging.com, listed 2,763 military blogs in 44 countries, as of October 2010.

For cancer survivors, some blogging communities can be found on the following sites: Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, American Cancer Society Cancer Survivor’s Network and CaringBridge. To find other topics organized around blogging communities, I suggest using Google search.

Obviously, I am a big proponent of writing as a means to heal both emotionally and physically. For more information on the healing benefits of expressive writing, you can read my recent article, “Journaling Through Cancer” in the March/April issue of Coping with Cancer magazine or my book Rebirth provides a practical example of how I used writing to heal during my cancer treatment and recovery period. All you need is a pen and a notebook to get started. Happy healing!

Journaling Through Cancer

My article, "Journaling Through Cancer," is in the Mar/Apr 2011 issue of Coping® with Cancer magazine.

Excerpt from article:

Numerous studies have confirmed that expressive writing produces health benefits, such as a strengthened immune system, increased lung and liver function, increased cognitive function, reduced stress and blood pressure, improved mood, decreased symptoms of arthritis and asthma, and increased well-being in cancer survivors. Furthermore, it doesn’t matter if the writing topic is positive or negative. Healing benefits are derived as long as you involve the emotions. Therefore, journaling is a wonderful self-therapy tool, though not a substitute for professional help, if necessary.

Read the entire article here.

My Lanford Wilson Tribute

With Michael Morehead and Lanford Wilson, reception at Cincinnati Playhouse in the Park (May 2001)

Rarely is an actor on my level presented with the opportunity to work directly with or perform for a playwright she greatly admires. I fell in love with Lanford Wilson’s work when I auditioned for the role of Sally Talley in his Pulitzer-Prize winning play, Talley’s Folly, in college. The role went to an MFA student, but from that time on, I longed to tackle the role of Sally.

This audition ignited my desire to acquaint myself with Wilson's body of work, so I purchased many of his plays. I bought a hardback anthology of one-act plays when I was 27 and serendipitously discovered Wilson’s one-woman play, The Moonshot Tape, which was the last play in the book. I was riveted by this complex, deeply flawed, yet vulnerable character and longed for the chance to conquer her harrowing monologue (in performance it timed out to about 55 minutes).

The play revolves around Diane, a famous short-story writer who has returned to her hometown, Mountain Grove, MO, after a long absence to help her mother settle into a nursing home. While in Mountain Grove, she stays at a dumpy motel and is interviewed in her room by a high school reporter for the school paper. Jackie Demaline, theatre critic and writer for the Cincinnati Enquirer, summed up the story briefly in her critique of the show: “The eager, invisible interviewer has dutifully submitted a list of innocuous questions along the lines of “How has growing up in a small town prepared you for living in a large urban city, or not?” As Diane swills vodka and chain smokes, her stream-of-consciousness answers deepen into an outpouring that’s more than the kid bargained for.”

Diane - The Moonshot Tape

Ovation Theatre Company

Photo by Rich Sofranko

Diane's tough, devil-may-care attitude disguises deep emotional scars and resentment from years of sexual abuse at the hands of her stepfather and a longing to be loved and protected by a mother who didn’t know how to love or protect. The character is vastly different from me and my family experience which is what attracted me to her and is what made the character exciting to explore. Our similarities were grounded in being creative, small-town girls, longing to escape the confines of our rural communities. After reading The Moonshot Tape, I vowed that somehow, someday, somewhere I would play Diane. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to accomplish that, but I was committed to making it happen.

In 1997, as I was forming Ovation Theatre Company with my four partners (Lisa Hall Breithaupt, Scott Sponsler, Joe Stollenwerk, and Mark Sumpter), I was cast in the role of Sally Talley by Michael Morehead. Talley’s Folly was performed at Village Players, a community theatre in Ft. Thomas, Kentucky. The entire experience was wonderful—the beautiful story, working with two talented men: Mike and my leading man, Ed Cohen, and all the designers and technical crew. Before Talley’s Folly opened, I gave Mike a copy of The Moonshot Tape and told him that I wanted him to direct me in it someday.

With Ed Cohen in Talley's Folly

Village Players

Four years later, May of 2001, not only did Mike direct me in Moonshot Tape, but I had the privilege of doing it with Ovation Theatre Company, the company I’d helped create. Ovation staged four of Lanford Wilson’s one-act plays during the Lanford Wilson Theatre Festival. The following plays were also staged in Cincinnati during that time: Talley’s Folly by Cincinnati Playhouse in the Park (celebrating Lanford’s twentieth anniversary of receiving the Pulitzer Prize for that play), Sense of Place by Ensemble Theatre of Cincinnati, Redwood Curtain by Know Theatre Tribe and Burn This by IF Theatre Collective.

Cincinnati Playhouse in the Park hosted a reception, a few days before the opening of Talley’s Folly, for Lanford and his long-time collaborator and director of most of his shows, Marshall Mason. I met both men that evening which led to Lanford coming to Ovation’s warehouse to see my rehearsal (our show did not open until the following weekend, when Lanford would be back in New York). Marshall had told me that The Moonshot Tape was one of Lanford’s most personal pieces, so we should make sure to get him to a rehearsal; so we did. Thankfully, I was performance-ready. It was a private performance for him as well as a few select friends of Ovation.

I was terrified at first but quickly found my groove, alone there in the performance area. It was an amazing and exhilarating experience. Afterwards, Lanford gave me a huge hug and much praise, then even offered a few acting notes. It was a pivotal moment for me. Mr. Wilson’s praise was the validation I needed to find the courage to take the leap to pursue acting in the New York City market.

Ovation rehearsal space...after performing, getting notes from Lanford Wilson.

I will always be grateful for my encounter with him; he will never know what a positive influence he had on me. Unfortunately, I was never able to professionally capitalize on that moment, but I will forever treasure it.

One week ago, March 24, Lanford Wilson passed away from complications of pneumonia. He was only 73. There were wonderful tributes written in the New York Times and many other publications, but I felt compelled to write my own tribute to a man who helped change the trajectory of my life—giving me a much-needed boost of confidence.

Thanks for the inspiration, Lanford.

Corrections made 04/01/2011: Village Players is in Ft. Thomas, KY; I'd written Ft. Mitchell. The day of the reception has been brought into question, so I've changed that as well.