Sometimes we dive into the despair of our lives and wallow about.  Despair is degrees, and yet it somehow feels the same whether it’s dashed dreams or a torn fingernail after a manicure.  But why?

I have a penchant for the dramatic.  A flare for searching for the worst.  I believe by acknowledging the worst, I can deal with anything.  I know this is flawed thinking.  And yet, somehow saying out loud, “Well, the worst that could happen is…”  But I don’t live in this maudlin place.  It’s a springboard for me to jump over the fear.  I’m told more often than not, “Ann, I love your laugh. It’s infectious.”  Infections aren’t funny, unless you’re a mad scientist.  Actors are usually the ones who tell me this, which weirdly makes sense.  Actors are like a tribe of mad scientists.

I took a 10 year break from my tribe.  At that time I believed the voices of other tribes.  The “to be successful you must…” voices who say things like a) get a real job; b) buy a house; c) get married; d) have children.  What they don’t tell you is the meaning: a) real job = supporting the dreams of someone/something else; b) house = debt (so you’ll have to stay in real job); c) marriage = a lot of work and compromise; d) children = sleep deprivation, a lot of work and compromise.  When my son was a baby I would whisper in his ear, “You will be a compassionate man.”  Stories of crazy young men somehow always involve their mother…

And with my family, I have found happiness, and stability, and love.  But my well of joy dried up.  (I told you at the beginning I have a penchant for the dramatic.) Money can buy you comfort, but not joy.  As the Beatles said, “Money can’t buy you love.”

Ten years ago, I stopped acting.  Seven months ago, I made the choice to join my tribe again. And like flipping a switch, I found my joy.  Oh, I’ve stumbled.  And I’ve questioned my choice (because of money – or the current lack there of).  And the other voices balked.  But my joy, the core of my true happiness is back.  Acting & improv classes, writing my play about the year I lived in China, auditioning, and recently getting ever so close to booking a high paying job (which would SHUT the other voices).  I’m so lucky I’ve had the chance to rejoin my tribe.  And since I’m not throwing out the baby with the bathwater, I’ve gotten a “day job” that allows me to support my dreams.  Even in Hollywood, the city of dreams, I’ve met many people over the past 16 years who chose a “real job” over a “day job.”  They left their tribe for wealth, and even fame.  But joy?  Could that be why it seems there are so many unsatisfied people in the movie/tv business?

I’m so grateful my son’s old enough now to have conversations about his dreams, about the tribes he may one day want to join.  I want him to grow up hearing his voice.  That’s my job as his mother:  to be brave enough to live in my own joy, so he will be brave enough to live in his.

Now when I put him to bed, I whisper in his ear:  “You’ll grow up to be a successful person if you’re true to what’s inside your heart and brave enough to live your dreams.”  He answers, “Yeah, yeah, mommy.  The Jedis are planning a massive attack.  Build the AP-A Attack Ship for battle.  Load the Clone Troopers.  Prepare the missiles…”

He’s giggling.  I’m smiling.  Joy.

n the car on the way to preschool:  “Mommy, why is Anakin jealous?  What does jealousy mean?”

“It means when you can’t feel anymore love in your heart.  You think you have to get love from something else.  But you don’t.  You just need to close your eyes, breath, and look deep inside your heart.  It’s still there.”

“Is that why Anakin is good, then bad, then good?”

“Yes.  It takes a long time for him to find the love inside his heart.”

My five year old son is obsessed with Star Wars.  Not the movies.  He hasn’t seen them for a couple of reasons:  he’s too young, and he’s not a big fan of movies.  He doesn’t even like Disney/Pixar movies because of the “scary” parts.  He gets so emotionally involved, he doesn’t quite understand that it is make believe.  When my son watches a character he’s emotionally attached to deal with something that he personally has not yet learned how to emotionally deal with (ie: Bambi’s mother dying), he screams at the top of his lungs, “Turn it off!  No!  No!  Turn it off!”  So we don’t watch movies.

But he loves Angry Birds and Legos, and since the marketing genius that is Lucas put Star Wars in that mix, it is the next logical step in my son’s cultural fandom.  It doesn’t hurt that my husband is also a huge fan geek.  We have an original Darth Vadar Halloween mask on the book shelf.  It’s up there with other memorabilia – a couple of years ago I got an American Revolutionay hat from the production of JOHN ADAMS – he’s now “Darth Adams”.  My original love for STAR WARS was more in the “Tiger Beat” vein – Mark Hamill was the movie’s answer to my Shaun Cassidy obsession.  IF I had known my husband back then, I would have thought the 12 year old lanky boy talking to me wearing his Darth Vadar mask was a loser.  Likewise, my husband would have seriously scoffed at my pudgy 10 year old self who thought she was too cool with her Dorothy Hamill/Farah Fawcett haircut (depending on the day).  But I digress…

So in the past couple of months my husband using Star Wars stickers, pictures, and Legos, has shared the saga with my son.  He can’t get enough of it: light sabers, spaceships, good vs. evil, storm troopers, rebel alliance, the force.

“Mommy, did you know General Grevious is the worst?”
“I didn’t know that…”
“He’s part robot and part human.  And has four light sabers!”

Because of this my son is engaging me in philosophical conversations.  He’s trying to understand the big questions posed by the world of Star Wars.  It’s lead to fun and fantastic discussions.  It also gives me the chance to teach some life lessons.

I can say this.  But when Yoda says it, it has more meaning for my son.  

At a stop light I look in the rear view mirror.  My son is squinting at me, hard.  His arms are stretched-out, his hands cupped.

“What are you trying to use the force for now?”

With a sheepish grin, “Mommy, I want a treat when we get home.”

Hmmm….what would Yoda say about that?