Here's to an Uncomfortable 2016!

2015 will be remembered (among other things) as the year I was on the Kiwanis speaking circuit.  If you didn’t grow up in the midwest or you aren’t of a ‘certain age,’ you might be saying, “What’s a Kiwanis?”   

Well, in very simple terms, Kiwanis is a club where professional folks come together for a meal, and listen to a speaker, and encourage social and charitable contributions to the community.  

But if you have ever attended a Kiwanis meeting, you know it is so much more than that dry description.  These people are fierce - fierce in their love for this country, fierce in their desire to help others less fortunate and fierce in their love for one another as a community.

Kiwanis holds a special place in my heart. My father, who passed away just before Christmas three years ago, was a long time Kiwanis member and he was, (envision me with a fist pump and my best cheerleader voice to the groups to whom I spoke): “Past President of Northern Dakota County "Golden K" Kiwanis!"  (That’s in the Twin Cities area of Minnesota).  I actually have one of my Dad's Kiwanis pins which I wore to the meetings at which I was the speaker.  

(A side note:  you can be fined a tidy-sum if you are a Kiwanis member and don’t wear your Kiwanis pin.  It’s not that they are legalistic - it’s just another way for them to raise money to help others.  See what I mean about being fierce?)

The clubs to which I spoke were interested in hearing about my acting career.  Oh boy - you would think that would be music to an actor’s ears.  Who doesn’t want to talk about, “And then I did this . . . and then I did this! . . . And did you see me do this?” - the Me-Monster syndrome that comedian Brian Regan talks about. 

That kind of thing actually makes me uncomfortable.  No, really - it does.

In thinking about my career, the first thing that came to mind is how challenging it has been.  (O.K.  I wanted to write “HARD . . . REALLY HARD!”, but changed the word because I’m not fighting in a war across the world, I’m not trying to cure cancer and I’m not sleeping on the streets.  Those things are hard.)

However, being asked to speak about my acting career was a great opportunity to reflect - as we are all doing on this New Year’s Eve.  Reflect on what brought me out here, reflect on what has been accomplished, reflect on what hopes and dreams I am still hoping and dreaming for.

In September, I celebrated a couple-of-decades “plus” anniversary of the day I drove my car from St. Paul, Minnesota to Los Angeles (not knowing a living soul in L.A.) with some clothes, an electric typewriter (if you remember those) and a sewing machine.  Being born and raised in Minnesota, a sewing machine was de rigueur.

I was beginning my adult journey of pushing myself to expand beyond what was familiar.  

I was acquiring my first taste of what would become my mantra for this past year:  "Get comfortable with being uncomfortable."

Becoming successful in anything requires a consistency of purpose.  Chipping away every day.  Even when it’s uncomfortable. 

As an actor, the pull of discomfort can happen in many forms:  a script that is a difficult story to tell, a fear or anxiety of being able to walk into a room of producers and casting people and have the work seem effortless (let alone a 'live' audience in the theatre), and of course, just the sheer optimism that is required on a daily basis to not give up in the face of rejection.

I have to remind myself of the reward on the other side - if I can just push through the discomfort.  Just like when you are lifting weights in the gym.  Doing five reps is easier, but it isn’t going to give you the kind of arms that 25 reps will give you.

But sometimes, there is the pull of things that sound like so much more fun than pushing.  For me, it’s:

1) food (any kind of food really, with a special penchant for cheese)

2) red wine 

3) reading People Magazine.  

While doctors do say that red wine is medicinal, and we all need to eat, I really can’t justify the People magazine (although the subscription was a gift from my mother-in-law, so no exchange of my own money transpired.)

Yes, we all need those mindless moments of enjoyment.  But, are they pushing us to our fullest potential?  Probably not.  

When I feel discomfort, I am almost always assured that some kind of change, knowledge, expansion is happening.  

So as I reflected back on my career for the Kiwanis Club, I realized it’s not about my list of credits.  I believe for most actors, we do what we do because we want to be a voice, we want to illuminate some aspect of life, whether it’s something the audience knows and needs to be reminded of, or something new from which we thought we were separate.

As I've noted in previous posts, Charlie Rose is one of my favorite sources of inspiration.  The Pulitzer-prize winning author David McCullough was recently on the show, talking about his book on the Wright Brothers. 

And Charlie asked Mr. McCullough what the common denominator is in successful innovators like the Wright Brothers.

McCullough answered:  “They do not give up.  And they have purpose, high purpose that they were determined to achieve no matter what.”

And he went on to say:  “Every time the Wright Brothers went up in one of these flying machines, they were putting their life at risk.  

“They had courage and character.

“As Wilbur Wright himself said:  'No bird soars in a calm.'”

And this is perhaps where the strength for an actor, for every human being no matter your profession, is so important:  

We must determine a mission that goes beyond self.  And then, it’s a decision every single day to ENGAGE.  As my acting teacher Diana Castle says, we must have a clear sense of reward in the face of threat or there will be retreat. 

No scars, no battle.

The heart of the matter for me is, if we do not push, if we don’t live from the place of discomfort in our lives, we won’t reach our full potential. 

Eleanor Roosevelt perhaps said it best, “Do one thing every day that scares you.”

So as I look toward the start of 2016, I think my mantra will remain the same as 2015:

Be grateful for what is given, continue to push, use all your gifts, be of service (to the story or whatever it is in which you are engaged), hoping to enrich the lives of others.

Here’s to an “uncomfortable” 2016 for all of us.

New Eyes

With August coming to an end, and leaves beginning to clutter our drought-suffering nearly dead lawn, I'm feeling a little sad to think the summer is almost over.  Yes, living in Los Angeles means the summer never really ends, but there is something about the sunlight, something about the smells (barbecues, suntan lotion, chlorine) that isn't the same during the "off-summer months" in California.

Nowadays, August brings the start of school for some kids.  And as an adult, it feels like the weight of responsibility is slung on my shoulders a little heavier than it felt in June, when the whole summer was ahead of me and the wonderful anticipation of two family trips (a couple of years in the planning) was still ahead.

The McNamaras (my mother's family) and the Schneblys (my husband's family) both had reunions this summer.  One in St. Paul, MN and one in Oceanside, CA.  In thinking back about the wonderful family time we spent with each group, it brought up the different perspectives each trip gave us.

St. Paul - my hometown.  The Mississippi River and the skyline of downtown with the "1st" of the First National Bank Building in red neon - where I had a summer job to save money to make the big drive out to California.  Cheese curds (even though we weren't in Wisconsin), bratwurst and cold beer.  Warm breezes, humid days, green, green, green for miles.  And lots of cousins (I have 45 first-cousins, although not all were in attendance) from all walks of life.

Oceanside - Marina del Mar condominiums where Lindsay's family has gathered since sometime in the 70s.  Chilly, foggy mornings.  Cloud-coverage that eventually burns off to a warm, blue sky.  Sand that burns your feet in the afternoon.  Ocean water so cold that knee-deep is deep enough.  Perfectly placed palm trees ideal for a postcard.  Mexican food, red wine.  Thirteen Schneblys in all, with family friends visiting throughout the week.

Certainly, the landscapes are very different.  But as my acting teacher Diana Castle always reminds me,

"The voyage of discovery does not lie in having new landscapes but in having new eyes." - Proust

As an actor, it's imperative to be able to have other perspectives - as dictated by the writer of the story - allowing us a deeper, fuller more illuminating ability to tell the story with the goal to illuminate the lives of those that experience the story through us.

It's also imperative as a human being - are you half-empty or half-full or somewhere in between?

Although California has been my home longer than St. Paul, returning "home" always gives me different perspective - sometimes the perspective rushes in with a feeling of loss (childhood, father, innocence) and sometimes with a feeling of accomplishment (my dreams of being actor began in St. Paul).

Perspective with Lindsay's family is different, but no less profound.  Even just watching my husband make his Mom giggle with laughter - the same thing he does to me on a daily basis - gives me perspective on the kind of man to whom I am married.

And of course, any trip with either family gives me perspective on aging - my own, my siblings, our parents.

In looking forward to the fall, more family trips are planned - a weekend trip to Tucson to celebrate my sister-in-law's 25th wedding anniversary to her husband, Tom.  And my family will be visiting us - hopefully to soak up some California sun before the long winter in the Twin Cities.

Yes, the landscapes are different.  But each perspective gives me a view of the world: where I am grateful for home - wherever that is.  Where I am grateful for family far away - cousins and in-laws, sisters and brothers, Mom, Momlee, Dadlar.   And family here - my husband, our doggy, the friends we cherish.

And on those days when I don't feel grateful, when the weight of adulthood makes my shoulders sag, when the job (or even the opportunities for a job) don't come through, and when I feel, quite frankly, old, I will remember the beach of Oceanside and the green of Minnesota.  And family and friends that I love.

And I'll have new eyes.

Call Me "Sister Nancy"

When I was in fourth grade, I desperately wanted to be a nun.

I was a student in Sister Rosaleen's class. She was a very strict nun (a cliche born in truth).   Even given her rigidness, there were a group of us girls who really connected with her. As I recall, she didn't care much for the boys.  In her defense, I have to say, the boys were "Grossssss!" (of the milk-up-the-nose-with-a-straw kind), and I didn't much like them either.

Over the years, I've often wondered what it was that made me so interested in joining the sisterhood.   I had just experienced two Catholic Sacraments, confession being one of them. It was a profound experience as a little girl.  In my young mind, I likened it to this idea that by admitting/sharing/divulging my innermost thoughts of what I wish I could do differently, I could be forgiven and start again.  Fresh.  Oh boy.  This was something I wanted more of. And I must have figured being a nun gave you a premium on forgiveness.  I wanted in.  I also remember the nuns at my grade school having the most delicious meals.  I forgot my lunch on two occasions over the years and the Sisters of Notre Dame were kind enough to feed me - yummy sandwiches, homemade banana bread, crunchy apples (not mush balls) - a lot better than than my dried up peanut butter sandwich.

But a couple of years later, while still in Catholic grade school, I volunteered to participate in a skit to be performed in front of the class.  My first comedic role was born - a ditzy weather girl (in pink short shorts and a Bermuda top, no less).  The skit involved me painting my nails while delivering the weather.  When I started pointing to the temperature highs and lows, my nails got stuck to the map because they weren't quite dry.  Laughter ensued.  Comedy gold, right?  But I actually DID hear laughter for the first time.

And because of that laughter, a seed started to grow.

I did not become a nun. Some of those same boys who seemed so annoying in fourth grade, somehow changed. And became cute hockey players for the star 8th grade team. Goodbye sisterhood, hello flirting.


I gave lots of thought to becoming a flight attendant. My father worked for Northwest Airlines, so he was obviously an influence. Travel was an exciting thing to think about.  But in looking back, more than the exotic locations and the uniforms I coveted (to this day, give me a white button-down and I'm in heaven) was the amazing confidence these women exuded.  Everything they did seemed effortless and they could talk to anyone without blushing - a painful self-consciousness I struggled with - and sometimes still battle to this day.

In high school, I performed in a few musicals (so proud to be on the same stage as my big brother).  Secretly, when I would watch the Academy Awards, I would dream about acting. Even the Miss America pageant provided me with inspiration for pursuing that seemingly unlikely dream.  But no one says, "I'm going to be an actor," at least not where I'm from and not back then.

Although my family was a big influence:  seeing my brother Tom on stage in high school plays, taking dance lessons from my uncle and performing in dance recitals, watching my father played banjo and my sister Sue play guitar.  My sister Barbie and I created neighborhood shows in our garage.  We even had a sister act called The Singer Sailors, complete with yardsticks serving as canes and our Dad's sailor hats from his time in the Navy as part of our costume.  Our number one (and only) tune was an original song we wrote entitled, "We're the Singer Sailors."  Catchy, no?

College.  A general ed theatre course my first year in college pushed me over the edge.  Introduction to Theatre and Film was taught by a truly amazing professor, Ron Perrier.  (I later learned about the History of the Greek Theatre from him, as well.)  I had to admit it.  This acting thing was not going away.  I stalked the theatre majors, watching their work on stage, admiring their funky dress code - unlike what everyone else was wearing on campus.  And I eventually became one of them.

A year after graduating, I drove my little car out to Los Angeles.  And have been here every since.

From nun to flight attendant to actor might not seem like a logical progression, but upon reflection all three involve service.

Service to God.

Service to travelers.

Service to the story.

My acting teacher and mentor, Diana Castle, talks about finding the greater purpose as an actor.  The actor's mission is not a self-serving one but for the greater good of telling the story - the actor is the single human who connects to and shares the stories of all humans being.

I still think about what it would be like to be a nun.  And I still longingly look at the flight attendants' uniforms.  But through story, I can still be those things.  Through my imagination, the possibilities are endless.

Who knows?  Maybe I'll even reprise the weather girl.  Or the Singer Sailors.

Anything is possible.