"Noooo-bo-dy knows the trouble I seen..."

26 Weeks

I like roller coasters. Not everyone's cup-of-tea, but time and industry has proven their popularity. It's a physical experience which is designed to make you feel something. Something that reminds you that you are alive. Up and down, happy and sad, black and white. Not a lot of grey going on when you take that ride. It's like a condensed mini-life you can track on a line graph. Potentially powerful stuff packed into a cheap thrill.

Imagine, being in a situation—maybe a contest or a dare or a Guinness World Record goal—fueling your passion to strap yourself into a roller coaster for as long as you can stand it. How long would you last? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Living your life on that ride—food, phones, eating, and sleeping. (Bathroom breaks included. Let's be practical.) "But Jennifer, that IS life!" you exclaim. To which I say, "Perhaps, but after you've been through the ride once, you basically know what's coming, right? Life isn't always like that." And you say, "Ohhh, yeah. That's true. True." And I say, "Yeah. See?" And you say, "So where are you going with this?" And I say, "I'm getting there. Stick with me." And you say, "I have no choice. I'm not real. You are typing these statements for me. I'm a microscopic, intangible, protagonistic part of this conversation happening in your own brain that is working as a vehicle to choreograph counter actions in an imaginary, metaphorical dance disguised as a philosophical conversation with your ego." And I say, "Now I've forgotten my point." And you say, "roller coaster." Yes. Right.

It's simple. Imagine actually riding a roller coaster for about a day. No matter the circumstances that got you there.  As someone who likes roller coasters, I'm projecting the novelty would wear off for you after a few hours. You'd become numb to the black and white. And then you'd sit and wonder what in the world you are doing, how did you get there in the first place, and what is the point of life anyhow? Welcome to Six Flags Over Existential Crisis.

I have a dear friend I haven't connected with in far too long but I still consider her close to my heart. One of the theatre family members show folk tend to collect along the way. Eva. She is an incredibly talented director and theatre-maker and will always and forever have my love and respect for having been born. She's just one of those people that people love to work with and be around. She's a real, deal human artist living an American life. From my point of view, she's giving all she can to living fully. I can remember years ago when I was performing with a group she led, she found herself in almost exactly the situation I'm in now. Surprise baby on the way... a little later in life than some peers... faced with a whole new set of circumstances on the horizon... a horizon she hadn't realized existed for her until it was at her feet. I clearly remember listening to her while she shared her fears and concerns. Will she have time for her art? Will she compromise her art? Will her art still be relevant once she's divided in two? I remember thinking she was worrying about nothing. How on earth could this amazing and all-too-common action do anything other than ADD to her art? What is she so worried about? I marvel now when I look back and remember her standing in front of us, guiding and collaborating whole-heartedly with our cast while feeding a newborn from her chest. She appeared to easily incorporate her new situation into her work—even be inspired by it. But her worries were still there. 

I get it now.

For me, Week 26 of my pregnancy was all about the 'baby blues'. Week 25 I was happily strapped in and climbing the biggest hill, high on anticipation for what lay ahead. Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink. Tinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktink... I hit the top and sped on down with a giant:

"Eh."

I forgot to throw my hands up. I cried a little. I even feel asleep. So, I looked up my new felt phenomenon. It seems normal enough. Hormones and real life worries and all. But my brain wants to figure out the puzzle of feelings. Find the reason. Why do I feel so lonely in the middle of, literally, the least loneliest thing that can happen to a woman? I'm two people right now. Two. Whoa.

My guess? It's as elementary as change.

Cry, sleep, go numb through it enough until it becomes novel again. Because it will. In reality we have no real control or knowledge of what comes at us in the next minute but we've all been on the roller coaster a few times. We can find the peace in knowing that much at least. And we can remember we thought it sounded like a good time in the first place. I'm gonna go buy another ticket and stand on line.