The One where I Close Two Shows.

A little secret.

I always have. And probably always will.

The truth is, though, I only like the snow if I'm inside looking at/watching it. Or outside playing in it. I hate walking in it (when I'm in a hurry), and worst of all, I hate driving in it. Driving while wondering when a blizzard might hit, driving while wondering where the lines are on the road, wondering if I am going to hit black ice, getting my car stuck in 18 inches of snow and losing my shoes in it (okay, so I shouldn't have worn flip-flops), my jeans getting soaked, freezing water getting into my shoes - none of these things are very fun.

But it sure is beautiful when I'm snuggled up in a blanket (or Snuggie) and watching it sparkle on the ground outside. I don't know how I went yeeeeears without it in Texas.

So. After evaluating my weight loss goal, I came to a decision that it should increase from 45 pounds lost to 50 pounds lost. That means that NOW, as of this morning, I am officially halfway there.

To anyone who may be concerned when they read this, I want to share that I am going about this in a very healthy way; it's apparent in my energy level - I've never been so energized in my life. Also, 50 pounds lost is a very attainable goal for someone like me. I won't disgust anyone - myself included - by sharing what my starting weight was or even what my goal weight is. What will matter when I finally get there is what I look and feel like. I am working very hard to reach that goal weight by the beginning or middle of February.

Since my last post two weeks ago, I have closed two shows. Besides summer stock, I have never been in two shows at once. It was quite the long-haul, but it was so worth it. That's what today's post will mostly be about: the things that I learned and received from The Drowsy Chaperone and Five Carols for Christmas.

I'll start with Drowsy.

The day before auditions, I remember saying, "I don't think I'm going to audition." We were closing Annie Get Your Gun, and a little piece of me was okay with the idea of a break until school started. And then, like every performer has, there was the fear of another rejection. Of course I also wondered, "Is there even a part for me in that show?"

In my mind, Trix was the only feasible role I could even remotely see myself playing, and that was only a possibility if the producers and directors were willing to overlook the whole racial factor. When I got to callbacks, I almost turned right around and went home. I almost let my assumptions disallow me an opportunity. When I was cast, I was beyond thrilled. The rehearsal process was relaxing, yet driven. I can honestly say that I have never been a part of such a positive theatre experience.

Through my being a part of Drowsy, I met some people that I now consider dear friends: Ames and Emily, Anne, Kelly, John, Cory, Greg... really, everyone. The positivity, the friendliness, and, my goodness, THE TALENT that existed in this cast was a huge blessing to be a part of. We formed quite the sweet little theatre family.

On top of that, I was able to experience all of this with my best friend.

I find such comfort in being around him. As is always the case, he is a refuge for me. Whether I need it or not, I just know it's always there. I am so grateful for that.

Also, this experience is what started to spin my weight loss into motion. I won't go into much detail, but... in a roundabout and very summarized explanation, I saw potentiality, and I decided it was time to grab the bull by the horns and do something about it. After all, I'm the only one who can do anything about it.

Five Carols for Christmas was my last show at Weber State University.

It was a very tender show to end on... with four of the most incredible ladies, each one very near and dear to my heart. How often does it happen that you get to play for two and a half months nonstop with your best girlfriends? I laughed so much, played so much and learned even more. I was also so honored to work with one of the most amazing music directors; his appreciation and understanding of the music he, himself, created offered so much to the show. I can't forget Jim, either. It's impossible for me to form the words to express my indebtedness to this man; I followed him to Weber so that I could be trained by him. I have him to thank for teaching me how to belt; I have him to thank for teaching me levels of discipline and professionalism; the man has listened to me cry and complain and work through so many emotions. He is the ultimate mentor.

I am so overjoyed that my (almost) final chapter at Weber State closed with such a sweet show.

I wouldn't trade my experience of either of these shows for anything. I feel so incredibly lucky to have these experiences under my belt, and I can't wait for my next adventure.

The One where I Reach Halfway.

My mom has come and gone. It was too short of a visit, but we did a lot, and of course we had a wonderful time together. She saw Five Carols/JingleJacks twice, The Drowsy Chaperone once and then watched me sing in church. We talked lots and laughed lots. She is absolutely the most supportive person I have in my life, and she still loves me even when I try to trick her by buying fat free cheese to put on top of our chili.

We have opened Five Carols for Christmas/JingleJacks, and it has been received so well. We have really lucked out with audiences over the course of the last three performances - here's hoping it stays that way.
I have truly, truly enjoyed my experience with this show. While I have been slightly overwhelmed this semester, the joy in putting this little treasure together has really helped to push me along. The realization that this is my last Weber State production hits me harder and harder each night we perform it. The classes, the professors, the friends, the shows - I have grown so much as a person since my first semester here. But at the same time, it's time to go. Graduating will be such a bittersweet feeling.

Today officially marks the halfway mark.

I have lost 22.5 pounds since September 27. Seven weeks. I have 22.5 more pounds to go. I am finally starting to see the changes. My face is thinner. My pants don't fit. My belts are on the last loop; some don't fit at all. My bras don't fit; that's where the weight leaves me first - I have gone down a complete cup-size. Even my fingers and feet have thinned out. And - I might embarrass myself by saying this - I don't wear a shaper in my casual everyday clothes anymore (I wore one every single day from November of last year until September of this year). All of it is very satisfying... and I'm only halfway to my goal weight.

Today is a weird day. I'm not necessarily in a funk; I'm not sad; I'm not frustrated. Just feeling a little weird. My mom left yesterday, and that could be where this weird feeling is coming from. I remember the last two times she came up to visit, a wave of sadness hit. That's not what this is, so that's why I'm slightly confused.

The weirdness is giving way to two feelings: both heartache and empowerment. Quite a combination. Perhaps that might help you understand where the confusion is coming from. The blending of those two feelings should equal indifference, right? One positive feeling and one negative feeling should balance to a feeling of nothing.

Maybe that's the problem.

I can't seem to find the right words to say what I'm feeling, which is really strange for me - I always have something to say, and I always find some way to say it. But then, I'm not really sure words will be able to form my feelings right now - my thoughts can't even fully form my feelings. Am I making any sense? Bear with me.

Please understand, as you read the rest of this post , that I am not putting myself on a pedestal. These things are not necessarily admirable qualities - in fact, I look at them as weaknesses.

For as long as I can remember, I have been super aware/sensitive to the things that other people say - whether it's about me or about other people that I care for. 95% of the time, I weigh the things in my mind before I say them. This is not my way of saying that I am always a nice person - goodness knows I'm not; I just rely on tact. Or try to anyway... I know sometimes I fail miserably.

I have to understand several things if I'm going to continue to call myself a strong person: I cannot control the way that people talk, I cannot control the way that people feel, I cannot control the way that people think, I cannot control the way that people act. This has resonated so true in my friendships and relationships over and over and over. And somehow I still haven't gotten used to it.

I have to understand that I may feel deeper than some people. I hurt harder than some people. For one thing, I'm a girl. For another, I'm a ridiculously sensitive girl. I can't expect someone else that I am communicating with to feel and hurt like I do. (Why would I want someone to hurt?) I just find myself saying so often, "I would never say/do that to so-and-so... what makes so-and-so think they can say/do that to me?" I have qualities that I know people wish would change or disappear completely, and I don't see that happening anytime soon.

The fact is this: I must come to grips with the undeniable truth that I am me and you are you. And I love you because of who you are.

The One with 17.5 Pounds.

In the spirit of Halloween (even though I missed the boat and it was actually yesterday), I will share this with you...

If I'm remembering correctly, we have a home video of Martha chasing the cars on the road because she was dressed as a dog. I think it's safe to say we lived pretty fearless childhoods.

I'm extremely emotional today. Nothing really specific happened to bring about this level of dejection, so I can probably credit it to one once-a-month thing that probably isn't very appropriate to discuss in a blog. But nonetheless, I'm a basket-case, and I'm going to use my blog as a chance to kind of pour it all out there. Forgive the sporadic display of my thoughts (if that's actually how they end up coming out). I'm more interested in getting things out of my jumbled little brain than making things flow.

Now that you've been warned...

I weighed myself this morning (as I do every Monday morning) and I only lost a half a pound this week. Frustrating, truly. Discouraging, too. I suppose it's better than gaining or not losing anything - blah, blah, blah. The thing is, a weight loss that low makes it easy to give up altogether. Why work on something as hard as I do this, why keep so strictly to something like this diet, why deprive myself of some of my favorite goodies for months at a time when the result is so pathetic? I have made a huge change in every little thing I put into my body. Every bit of it is weighed, measured, counted, thought about. And I lost a half a pound. In one week. It sucks.

But...

... the fact of the matter is this (and this is where I talk myself out of my pity party)... I have officially lost 17.5 pounds. In five weeks. That's nothing to pout about, and it's certainly something to be proud of. I'm allowed to say that. I recognize that this diet has done something so much more than just make me "skinnier."

Before I'd started this diet - from the beginning of July until the end of September - I was the most depressed I've ever been in my entire life. I spent countless hours honestly sobbing over who I've been in the past, who I am, and who I was going to become. I was fixated on an unbelievable sense of sadness that I thought I had no control over. I realized, very recently, as I looked back on the past months, that my life has taken quite a turn.

It didn't take a show, a boy, a haircut, a grade, a class, a compliment, or a job to lift me back up. It took something that gave me an intense motivation; it took my waking up one day and realizing that I want to be different, that I had to be different - physically and emotionally. That's what happened the morning of September 27. I hadn't planned on starting a diet that day; I didn't prepare for it; I didn't have a "last supper." I just remember looking at myself in the mirror as my eyes adjusted from the previous night's sleep and recognizing that I have every bit of control over how I feel. That's exactly how this feels... most of the time. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

I have this friend, see, who is absolutely the dearest friend I have ever had. I don't know quite how the friendship works, but it does. I think it isn't far from the truth when I say that this is the most tried and true friendship I've ever known. Sometimes it's hard for me to really find the right words to describe this person who has affected my life so immensely. No one knows me better than he does. I have more fun with him than I do anyone. I am more myself around him than I am, and ever have been, around anyone. He puts up with a lot from me; we bicker back and forth a lot, but I appreciate the challenge he brings. He doesn't just let me be right; he's not intimidated by me or trying to outshine me. Somehow or another, we get each other. When we met, I know neither of us expected to become close friends. He especially has a sour first impression of me, and I don't blame him. I'm just glad he didn't let that stamp our relationship for good. There have been times when I have called him when I've been an emotional mess and he has come to my aid; there have been times when my little car has gotten stuck in the snow, and he has helped me, literally, shovel a path on the street and dig out of it; he has changed my flat tires; he has braved all-night homework assignments with me; he's driven to Texas and back with me - I'm willing to bet if you name something, we've been through it together. I have such a deep unconditional love for him.

Whenever I'm having days like today, for some reason or other, the care that I have for him always resonates in my mind tenfold. He probably knows those days exist because he'll get a text from me or a message or something that expresses my appreciation for him. I am so very, very grateful for him. I just hope he knows that - always - no matter how bratty or difficult I'm being on a given day.

There are a handful of famous women that I admire: Carol Burnett, Audra McDonald, Kate Winslet, Judy Garland... and then there's one that I just can't even think about without getting emotional.

Julie Andrews. Honestly, there isn't another celebrity that brings tears at the mere mention of her name. There isn't another celebrity who is more graceful and gracious. To me, she is the absolute picture of elegance and class.

Last night, I watched the Oprah episode of the 45-year reunion of the entire cast of The Sound of Music movie (or the VonTrapp family part of the cast, anyway...). As Oprah talked with the now 75-year-old Julie Andrews one-on-one, I was absolutely engrossed in everything that was said. One thing stuck out to me more than anything: Oprah asked Julie when and if she knew that her voice was special. She said she was about 13 years old when it hit her. "I recognized that that gift - and it is a gift - gave me an identity." Julie Andrews understands more than anyone, I think, that the talents we receive are absolutely gifts and to take each day as it comes and each opportunity as it comes and to never let a moment pass when we aren't truly grateful for what we've been given. I think that is a wonderful lesson that all of us can learn and remember.

My mom called me the night that that Oprah episode aired and talked to me about how affected she was by it; that's what made me want to find it and watch it. Just as we were about to hang up, my mom said something I will probably remember for the rest of my life...

"Thanks for being my Julie Andrews."