Last Week #19 | Filmmaking, Why Do I Love You?

 There's nothing like having a week where you are literally able to accomplish nothing-- due to your body's complete inability to do anything-- to make you entirely rethink your approach to productivity. This week, only the basics happened. On Monday I got my blog/vlog posted. Then I lurched through the days to follow, dragged down by sickness and expectations of me. But I still got done what was absolutely necessary. Uploaded the thing. Emailed that person. 

And suddenly, being productive took on new meaning. It started to mean doing what made me happy. Going out for an hour to catch Pokemon, just so I wouldn't feel like crap for doing absolutely nothing at all the rest of the day. Eating dinner with friends. Reading. FaceTiming friends in California. I started to let my body tell me what it was capable of, and listen to it. Being dragged down to nothing makes you have an appreciation for mobility, energy. When I was at my worst, I sobbed on FaceTime to Eli about how I was afraid I wouldn't get better before my first day at work. 

But now, productivity is back to normal and I'm starting to feel like I need to catch up on all that I missed. Make up for the time I "wasted" while I was sick. And I don't know what to do about that. I'm afraid that I'm starting to slip back into old ways of being, where nothing is ever enough for me and I never feel fulfilled. And aside from Pinning article after article about self-care and being a morning person, I don't know how to tackle this. 

But what I'm really wondering going into this new week is-- How do you decide if you love something or hate something? I spent the latter half of this past week deep in the pre-production and filming process of my new short film. And it's always a strange feeling, because when I'm in it I really have no idea if I love or hate making short films. I'm so eaten up with stress and anxiety right now, but I know when the final product comes out I'll say that it was such a learning experience and I'm so glad I did it. So this is sort of a call-out post. Fran, which is it? I have no idea. I'm sure the people around me don't know either, because every other day I'm having a mental breakdown and crying and getting headaches and Eli has to calm me down and tell me it's all going to be fine and get done in the end.

Here's all I know now: 1) I love writing things, and watching the things I write come to life. 2) I'm a control freak, so I really do need to be in charge of those creative evolutions in order to feel fulfilled. 3) I'm really good at scheduling and organizing. 4) Scheduling and organizing stresses me the eff out. 5) Despite all of the ups and downs and headaches in between (and the fact that I can never make things run as smoothly as my brain would like), I love making films. And it sort of goes against my better nature, because I love when things are easy and simple and come together perfectly, which filmmaking absolutely is not. From my experience, filmmaking, as much as you may try to give it some order, is chaos. It is ugly and messy and dirty and time consuming and exasperating. But for some reason, I can't stop doing it. Maybe this is growth?

-Fran

Last Week #17 | The Overgrowth

 I know, I know. I've already written a blog post on growing recently, but it seems to be the most prevalent thing in my life right now. This week I was faced with the very harsh reality of outgrowing things. Not only did I have to face facts— I haven’t bought summer shorts in about 2 years and, well, most of my things just didn’t fit right anymore. But also, a lot of other things in my life aren’t fitting right anymore. My childhood bedroom, for example. The idea of forced family vacations. My anxiety, although I haven't quite figured out how to shed that one. Lastly, and most surprisingly, my job at the Minoa library.

In order for you to understand how huge that last one is, I have to give you a bit of backstory. I started at the library in January of 2014, just a few months after getting in a car accident that left me hopelessly depressed on our living room couch, not wanting to go anywhere, do anything, or see anyone. I got the job as a means of shutting up the people in my family wondering what the hell I was doing-- why I wasn't actively pursuing school, why I was still "letting" the accident effect me. If I have a job, I thought, they'll shut the hell up. Since then, the library has become something of a security blanket for me. Throughout all the ups and downs of choosing to do or not to do school, it's been there as my backup. I'm working, I said. But somewhere along the line the library became the stable job I did in the off hours of the rest of my life. I started going places, meeting people, and doing things. 

In my time at the library I: 

Wrote, filmed, acted in, and released a short film. 

Wrote, filmed, edited, and acted in a web series about the library, with the help of the most amazing cast and crew.

Met amazing new friends who are the creative squad I've always dreamed of.

Figured out who I am, and how to show that to people.

Officially started classes at a college that defies all my expectations of how nightmarish college is-- a place that appreciates and accommodates the type of student I am, and enables me to learn in whatever way works best for me.

Met a boy, and began my first real relationship.

I'm so sad to leave this library because, as I tried to convey in my web series, so much life has happened there. I was depressed, I was happy, I made friends, I had existential crises and mental breakdowns, I was sweetly and disgustingly in love. But for better or worse, I've outgrown it. It's a security blanket that I know I need to leave in order for anything to change, for anything to move forward in my life. And since I don't want to be the kind of person who just complains about things being bad and never makes the hard decision to change anything, I'm leaving. I start my new job at a bigger library on August 8th, and I'm utterly terrified, but hopeful that it will permit me to move forward.

But outgrowth doesn’t have to mean terrible things. It can be good. Outgrowing your fear, for example. That hasn’t quite happened for me yet, but I’m watching the people I love do it. So instead of calling it "outgrowing" I want to call this period in my life "overgrowing." Meaning I've grown past the expectations, the situations, and the life I’ve lived for so long. I feel like so many of us are overgrowing the lives we are in right now. We’re overgrowing our current situations, like sprawling plants out of their pots. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be taboo. We can all just be due for new pots- something we can grow into, something we can build a future on. I see and feel this overgrowth in many of my friends right now, and I’m hoping these next few months mark drastic change— where we demand the right sized pot and fresh soil from which to grow larger, stronger, and brighter.

 -Fran

Last Week #13 | Roots & Branches

This weekend, I spent three days in the Adirondacks at the Great Camp Sagamore Roots & Branches Music Workshop. (You can learn more about it here.) I’ve never been more nervous than I was the night before and day of our departure. My boyfriend Eli was to spend the weekend at the camp, learning and doing music things, while I was tasked with documenting the weekend and making a video at the end of it. I think it’s safe to say we were both a little terrified. Him, because he wasn’t (and hasn’t been) sure of how he feels about music lately. I in turn felt bad for forcing him into it, and I felt nervous because of the endless marquee of what ifs scrolling through my mind. What if people think I’m weird for lurking around with a camera? What if people think we’re that weird couple that are too attached and can't ever spend a moment apart?  What if I have a panic attack? What if I don’t make them a great, or even good, video? What if I feel uncomfortable? 

 I’ve been on three very different types of trips over the past month. The first was Philadelphia, where four of us were constantly together, doing activities that we chose, facing the days full of bright sunlight and the city and loud, boisterous, college-like activity. The second was the lake with my sister. This is practically the same thing as being at home, except the two of us had to learn how to live in harmony without our electronic devices (and significant other) as a buffer. The challenges were small, and the trip was serene. The last was this trip to the Adirondacks. I think it falls somewhere between Philadelphia and the lake on my scale of anxiety. It wasn’t as action packed as Philly, or as serene as the lake (as no place but home ever can be). There was a serenity to it, sure, and a peace that came with being with Eli, but we also had our fair share of challenges. 

The lack of wifi, as well as the complete lack of cell reception posed a threat to my peace of mind. I can’t communicate with the outside world. I posted a blog post on Friday and I can’t check up on it until Sunday. I can’t soothe myself by looking at Instagram when I feel bored or awkward in a social situation. I had to just stick it out. Eli didn’t like the lack of Wi-Fi, but I’m not going to lie, after a while I kind of came to enjoy it. There was something about it that was a challenge to me. It was about the two of us learning to communicate effectively without texting. Learning to communicate our thoughts, feelings and ideas in the moments we had together, and feeling safe in the moments we spent apart. This is something we struggle with at home, as his house has limited Wi-Fi and no cell reception, and I often find myself anxious when I’m apart from him for this very reason. But the challenges of this weekend made me (and I hope us) more secure in that lack of contact, and more secure in being apart. 

 When I first drafted this post, I wrote, "The biggest wow factor for me on this trip was not being anxious WOW." That was true at first, but by the second night it was not. Anxiety had mounted to something of a peak, and Eli went to bed early, in my mind abandoning me with a world of my own. I felt almost unsafe without him awake, alert, and by my side. This is the part where I would usually insert the lesson-- about how I ventured out on my own at 11:30 at night with just my camera and a vague idea of where the stars were. How I hastily and uncertainly walked to the upper camp, where I had been told you could see the constellations more brightly and clearly than anywhere else in the country. How I looked up, and was amazed, and took a photo, and felt at ease. All that was true, for a moment. And then I went back to the lodge and the anxiety crept back up again, the worries biting me again and again much like the black flies that plagued us outside. 

 I'm the kind of person who really likes...no, needs a home base. In every new place I visit I construct one out of the available materials, like a bird building a nest. I usually build them for myself, and it's a one person nest. In moments of anxiety it includes ginger ale, crackers, and something to do- whether that's working on editing a video or watching some silly YouTube videos. But out there, in the wilderness, in the vulnerability of being in the wild and knowing that you are really minuscule and the world is really big and the sky is even bigger, I learned that my definition of a home base has changed. 

 My home base is now a person, not a place or a construct or a collection of things. And that idea scares me, because what if he goes away? What if he leaves permanently? Will my heart race forever, without this sort of human drug that slows it, calms it down? Have I lost the ability to self regulate? Or have I gained the ability to ask for help? 

 The last time I was in the Adirondack mountains, I was spending the night at my best friend's camp. We watched The Lord of the Rings and kayaked out to a little island and talked about our dreams. But at 1 am, my heart wouldn't slow and my hands wouldn't stop shaking and I worked myself into a frenzy that only calling my mom put at ease. I didn't wake Kelsey up, and didn't even tell her about it until the next morning. But this time, I asked for help. I woke Eli up and he immediately shook off his frustration and put me at ease just by being. Vulnerability is absolutely terrifying. It is what made me shake with nervous excitement all the time when Eli and I first started dating. But it is also what permitted me to fall asleep that second night, and I am beginning to realize that it is what enables us to grow as well. 

 In the hours and hours of musical performances that I watched this weekend, I noticed something. The musicians didn't rush to speak after the music ended. They reveled in the natural silences, those charged, vulnerable, emotional silences, and didn't hasten to fill them. This made the silences that much more comfortable. They were electric, but somehow peaceful, and never awkward. I'm trying to learn how to revel in what some would call "awkward" silences. Because while they feel like an eternity, they're really only a few beats of your heart, and the music is moments away from picking up again. 

 -Fran

P.S.- If you're interested in seeing my video for the Roots & Branches Music Workshop, stay tuned to my YouTube channel. It should be up by the end of this week. In the meantime, check out this short teaser clip I posted on the Great Camp Sagamore Facebook page.

Last Week #10 | It's Always Sunny in #frelidalphia

 A year ago, all of this would have seemed like a dream.  For instance, the fact that I spent the Thursday before Memorial Day in a car crossing state lines with my friends and boyfriend, for a weekend of relaxation? Impossible. You may not know this about me, but much of my anxiety is related to sleeping in new places. So vacations, sleepovers, and weekend trips are things I've come to avoid. But when Kelsey and Sam suggested we take a trip to Philadelphia to visit the infamous La Colombe and just have fun for a weekend, I couldn't turn it down. So I spent the last few months since we booked the trip practicing, preparing, meditating, doing yoga and trying to get myself to a good mental place before we left. 

And when the worst case scenario happened, I survived. I started to have an anxiety attack, late at night when it was time for bed, and I worked through it alone. And then we worked through it together. Things weren’t always perfect on this trip. We got on each other’s nerves, we made mistakes, but most importantly, we learned and grew in spite of it. My friendships and relationships with these people are stronger as a result. I’m glad I nearly had an anxiety attack. Because I'm, no-- we're, freaking better for it. 

On the second day we met up with friends from home, serendipitously in the city the same weekend as us. As we sat there in a strange place talking about the life we'd been living miles away from home, I thought about how nothing new is impossible if you have the right people by your side. Any place can feel like home with them. And it suddenly dawned on me how two of our friends made the seemingly impossible decision to pick up and move to the other side of the country. It’s because they had each other. In that moment I realized that I could do the same, with these people. Because I already had. I took a huge step this weekend. I chose to say "fuck you" to my anxiety and do something I wanted to do anyway. That's no small feat, and a lot of the credit should probably go to me, for being strong enough to do it. But a sizable portion of that credit should be given to my friends, for creating an environment in which I felt safe enough to take chances my anxiety ordinarily wouldn't let me take.

I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. Who matters, and more specifically why they matter. It's different for everyone, but I think some people cling to the archaic, dictionary definition of family in the hopes of keeping the status quo. But that doesn’t always work. If people are meant to, they will drift away regardless of whether or not you dig your heels in and demand they stay. Family is however you define it. For me, it is a hybrid. It’s the people I live with, sure, but it’s also the people I want to live with. It’s my best friend, her boyfriend, my boyfriend. It’s my boyfriend’s family. It’s my mentors, my therapist, my teachers, the people who inspire me and help me to live my best life. It’s the people who care, basically. 

On this trip, I think I saw a flash of the future. I saw a version of us that I suspect could be the real us. A group of genuinely happy people, full of life and love to give. Talented people who are going places. I knew that about us before, but I saw it more clearly in the bright Philadelphia sunlight. 

For me, this meant letting things go. I’m always connected. To technology, to the world, to my worries and anxiety, to this clear cut version of myself I have in my head. I reply to emails within a few hours of when I receive them (if not minutes). I'm practical. I don't like concerts. I can't go on trips because I have anxiety. But this weekend, I simply didn’t do that. I quit cold turkey. I checked my email maybe once a day, but never replied. I watched the anxieties and worries passing through my head, but didn't buy in or subscribe to any of them. I was as impractical and silly as I am physically capable of being. I went to a concert that I actually loved, discovered why people love concerts, and realized that I would see that artist a million more times live. And I learned something that’s kind of life changing. Nothing matters as much as I think it does in the moment. Like, maybe the long weekend vibes got to me, but I just felt like nothing was all that pressing. I wasn't really missing anything by being off the grid. The grid could wait. I could take time to myself, because people don’t actually email me as much as I think they do. At 9:30 am on a Friday, I laid in my bed in Philadelphia listening to Phil Collins’ Drum Duet and writing, having left all my stress back home. 

You can watch my weekly vlog from this week right here. It's one of my favorites. I can tell this will be a vlog I watch when times are tough, to remind me that it will be okay, or at least... it's always sunny in #frelidalphia.

-Fran