As the weekend draws to a close, I finally am getting a chance to unwind. Tonight, I got to watch "Game of Thrones" on the large tv in my bedroom, nestled in my king-sized hotel bed with a gazillion pillows and a comforter from the gods. And it occurred to me that, while I had great plans of watching loads of tv here in Vegas, I have been too busy rehearsing and enjoying new friendships to watch much at all. Truth be told, that's more than okay with me.
With night shoots, your body gets thrown into quite a funk, especially when you are also training during the day. On Friday, for example, I spent about 2.5 hours practicing my martial arts and gymnastics with Gabe, came back to the hotel for a late lunch, napped like I had been sucker-punched for two hours, and then woke up to go to set. I got to set at 10pm, and I didn't crawl into bed until 6am on Saturday morning. By this point, I was worn out, restless after having mandatory coffee at 2am, and mildly frustrated that my scene had been difficult to shoot. After a week of mixed day and night shoots, the cast, crew, and creative head honchos are all ready to just get the darned thing taped. With all of that said, I only slept about four hours, before the hotel room phone shattered my slumber, announcing that the groceries I had delivered online from Vons had arrived. At this point, I gave up on sleep, and decided to try to get on with my day.
In my groggy, bummed-out funk of Saturday morning, I decided I was going to bake a batch of gluten-free cookies, using the gluten-free flour my colleague Leif had grabbed at the store, and the other things I had at my disposal in the hotel. Despite my best efforts, after an hour of mixing and tasting and remixing and researching, I popped a "cookie" in the oven as a tester. Ten minutes later, I pulled out what looked like a day-old cow chip and tasted like a combination of soil and flour. Now, I was raised to never throw food away, but this experiment was beyond salvation. Feeling quite disgruntled at this point, not to mention a little stiff, I looked up a local yoga studio and decided to head to a class. I grabbed my mat, popped my iPod headphones in, and walked nearly two miles to Blue Sky Yoga Studio.
Blue Sky Yoga was an odd little place, in the center of a building which was home to a Mexican restaurant, several local street artists' works, a film festival for the day, and a teensy parking lot. There were amateur artists' renderings for sale along the walls of the dim yoga space, depicting Bob Marley, leopards, Dia de los Muertos skeletons, and words like "Believe". The floor looked like particle board, and the other three students placed their mats haphazardly, in whatever direction they liked that day. I wasn't sure what to expect. But once we got into the practice, I found my expectations quieting and my breath and muscles and mind softening, reminding me why I feel so grounded when a consistent practice is a part of my life. I have tried many, many forms of fitness, and I teach many now. Yet I always come back to yoga as the place where I feel most rooted and connected.
After the yoga class, while putting my socks and shoes on in the little communal hallway of this eclectic building community, I asked the teacher if there were an grocery stores within walking distance (as I was determined to make cookies that were actually enjoyable). She told me about a store called Smith's, but it sounded a bit far. At this point, a guy standing by the film festival room looked at me and said, "well you can use my car, if you want."
Here's the crazy thing: this guy was not in the least bit creepy, or invasive, or anything off-putting. He was just a sweet makeup artist named Ricky, and he genuinely was happy to let me borrow his car. My mouth dropped. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Yep, no problem," he said with a smile. He then walked me out to his yellow bug convertible, apologized for a few pieces of paper on the floor, explained how to get to the grocery store, and handed me the keys. "Thank you so much," I sputtered. "I'll be right back." To which he simply replied, "I know you will," with a smile and walked back inside.
I was so touched by this act of kindness. This man, only a few years older than myself, didn't know anything about me, other than the fact that I needed groceries. He went out of his way, and did something many people would consider crazy, to help make my day a little easier. When I came back from my grocery run, I thanked him and told him it had been a rough morning, and that he was really a blessing. He gave me a big bear hug, told me, "no problem," and insisted on sending me away with two MAC lipsticks for free, just because.
Sometimes - quite often, in fact - we get so caught up in our own agendas, or in the paranoia of a media-driven society, that we don't even realize we have the option of treating perfect strangers like princes and princesses. But unexpected and unmerited generosity leaves such a dramatic impact on another person's day and potentially, on his or her life. Ricky the makeup artist completely changed the direction of my day. It is easier to be hospitable and generous with friends and family, but yesterday, I was reminded that strangers are simply friends and family we don't know we've got yet. Why not afford them the same love, the same support? Cynics will call this naivete or pure craziness, but I see a lot of good born out of the courage of kindness.
After I walked back to the hotel, it seemed like this care had been further extended by the cleaning crew that day: my room had been straightened up, but with such attention to detail that it felt as though someone upstairs was whispering, "shh, it's okay. You don't always have to work so hard. Let people help you, for a change." The shoes in my room had been neatly lined up, my stuffed animal duck had been carefully placed in front of the pillows on my bed, all of the dishes had been washed and dried, the bathroom vanity had been specifically organized. I felt lucky rather than spoiled. None of these acts had taken any great expense or resources, but the care that had gone into them put a smile on my face that lasted throughout the weekend (and even allowed me to make some banging gluten-free cookies, if I do say so myself).
Starting off with filming tomorrow morning, I'm beginning this new week with a renewed sense of perspective. Perhaps I can channel my effort into enabling someone else, whom I might not know, and helping a "victim of circumstance" become a prince or princess of circumstance. Because inside each grown man and grown woman is a five-year-old who wants and needs to feel that way, at least once in a while.
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