Living Your Bliss

She had a long-time dream: to dance, to paint, to perform on her own terms.

A native of New York City, Marta Beckett studied ballet and painting from an early age. She danced at Radio City Music Hall and in several Broadway musicals including the original production of "Wonderful Town." But her dream was to have her own show and to make her own art her way. In 1967, Marta and her husband set off on a tour with her one-woman show, but were sidelined momentarily in isolated Death Valley with a flat tire.

It was then that she made an amazing discovery: a dilapidated meeting hall in an abandoned building that she saw immediately as a theatre and potential hotel. Her New York friends were aghast. But she rented the place, initially, for $45 a month, named it the Amargosa Opera House and started renovations herself. She painted backdrops, scenery and, eventually, unique murals of a perpetual, silent audience on the walls of the theatre. By the next year, she was performing her own ballets in the small theatre. Sometimes she had an audience. Sometimes she didn't. But she always performed on schedule three nights a week. As the story of Marta's work at the Amargosa Opera House spread around the world, the little theatre was usually filled to capacity during the performing season. People came to see this dancer turned legend, to see someone truly following her bliss. In her later years, she remarked "It's a perfect life for someone creative. It's as if this place found me."

She performed there until 2012, giving her last sold-out performance when she was 85. Like all of her other evenings of dance and pantomime at this tiny desert theatre, her last performance was filled with joy.

Her legacy continues.

Some years back, Jenna McClintock, a six-year-old girl from Oakland had come with her vacationing family to see Marta dance and she was transfixed. She decided on the spot to study ballet and, one day, to follow in Marta's footsteps. She grew up, became a dancer and wrote to Marta that she would love to learn her repertoire and to keep her work alive. Marta was delighted, never missing one of Jenna's performances. Marta died at her home in Death Valley in January 2017. Jenna continues to keep Marta's dreams alive as she follows her own bliss.

We all have our own visions, our own dreams of what bliss might be.

What's yours? Are you living it today? Or is it still elusive? What would it take to make it happen? What would the first step be?

Sometimes the first step is getting past one's own threshold anxiety or procrastination or the inclination to forever put others first. Sometimes the whole concept can seem selfish. But following your bliss doesn't have to mean selfishness or ignoring the needs of those you love. It can mean simply carving out time and space in your life to do something you really want to do. It isn't something you need to do perfectly -- now or ever. Just do it!

Ask yourself, as you dream of that glorious someday when you can follow your bliss, "If not now, when?"

My bliss, after years of working multiple jobs, was to retire to my little casita to write full-time once again. This new, blissful phase of my writing career started in 2010 when I started this blog and then, not having written a new book in more than a decade, wrote several books -- including Purr Therapy in 2014 and We Don't Talk Anymore published this fall.

My husband Bob is living his perfectly blissful retirement --devoted to pleasure and to learning. This means watching a movie every day, doing challenging crossword puzzles, reading for hours on a great variety of topics, following a demanding fitness routine and learning something entirely new. Right now he is trying to master American Sign Language.

A number of my friends are also following their bliss.

My friend Georgia, retired after years as a teacher of emotionally disturbed children, enjoys painting and other artwork in her small studio. Her husband Mark is an expert woodworker, making lovely furniture, each piece an original. And together they have been advocates and guardians for a neighbor child who needs their warmth and expertise so much.

My friend Maria, after a demanding career as a financial journalist, enjoys giving back to her Ukrainian community in Chicago, sometimes by mentoring young people, sometimes by writing grant proposals for her church and community organizations.

My friend Tim, still working a demanding job, nevertheless enjoys spending weekends as a deacon at his church, helping to feed the homeless in the church's outreach programs and comforting members of the congregation by joining them in prayer for their special needs and concerns.

There are so many ways to live one's bliss without excuses or apologies. Living authentically and happily can be contagious: there are so many ways that living your bliss can extend beyond your own satisfaction and contentment to enrich the lives of others immeasurably.

Reunion Reflections

We've all been to bad class reunions. Those are the ones where:

• Only strangers from our class show up and we all stare into our glasses of wine or punch, making awkward conversation with each other
• The class pariah gets rejected all over again by aging mean girls 30 years after graduation
• Bragging about personal achievements or those of the kids is the center of our classmates' (and often our own) conversations
• Grudges and jealousies still live all these years later
• You find yourself struggling to make a five minute conversation with once-upon-a-time best high school friend with whom you once shared your deepest secrets.

But time goes by and as we grow and change, the nature of class reunions can change.

I first noticed this at my 50th high school reunion four years ago: there was a new ease with each other and greater joy in reuniting with the women who were once Catholic high school girls with me in what seems like another lifetime.

One of the greatest pleasures of that reunion was spending time talking with my former classmate Claire Griffith who had seemed so cool and sophisticated when we were young that I was too scared to talk to her all through high school. Fifty years later, she was the first person I saw -- and embraced -- at the reunion. And as we talked -- so easily -- she told me that underneath that cool veneer had been a young girl who was lonely, who couldn't understand why her parents sent her to boarding school, who felt out-of-place as a non-Catholic at this Catholic school. My heart went out to that young girl and to the marvelous woman she had become. I was thankful that we had a second chance in life to connect.

I recently attended my 50th college reunion at Northwestern University near Chicago. This was wonderful in whole new ways.

                                                                  

                                                         

 My years at Northwestern were a critical turning point in my life. Attending college nearly 2,000 miles away from home set me on the path to a new, independent life. I was away from the chaos and isolation of living with an alcoholic, mentally ill parent. Despite my shyness and initial fear, Northwestern was heaven. I made some of the best friends of my life. I grew both emotionally and academically in a newly challenging environment. My years there prepared me for everything that was to come and made my career as a writer possible. I've always been thankful for the professors who cared and some very special friends with whom I shared so many goals and dreams.

And returning to this place, this pivotal point in my life, for a 50th reunion brought some revelations about the advantages of age and new insights into how we grow with the years, the wisdom of letting go of what no longer matters, the value of warm reconnections and the blessing of love that has thrived and matured through time.

I was surprised and pleased to discover that:

1. We were genuinely glad to see each other just because.... While there was tremendous joy in seeing the classmates who have been lifelong friends, there was also special delight in reconnecting with people I hadn't seen in 50 years. That was especially true of the women with whom I had shared a freshman dorm when I was so young, more than a little scared, but excited to be living among so many new friends.

For example, there was Mimi Keane, who lived down the hall from me during our freshman year. She, too, had graduated from a Catholic girls' high school. But that's where our similarities ended. Mimi's father was a prominent politician and she was a stunning beauty queen (in a very different time and place when that meant much more than it does today). I was in awe of her. I had told Mimi and my other dorm mates that I was thinking of becoming a nun (more as a hedge against total embarrassment just in case no boy ever asked me out on a date during my college years than as a firm life plan). When a nice classmate named Vern asked me out for Homecoming, there was great excitement in the dorm. And Mimi volunteered to do my hair and makeup for my very first ever date. As she transformed my look, helping me to feel pretty for perhaps the first time in my life, she begged me not to become a nun.

And at the reunion, as we embraced, I thanked her for the role she played in persuading me away from the cloister and into a life filled with love.

It was wonderful to see dorm mates -- like Mimi, Brynna, Lynn, Sue and Nancy -- some of whom I had known well and some of whom I had never really known, and to hear about their lives and challenges as we talked with a candor that might have been unthinkable in earlier years.

While we joked in congratulating each other on still being vertical, there was an edge of sadness to this. All of the professors who nurtured and encouraged our young dreams and ambitions have passed away. Fourteen of my good friends from my class --including the beloved three roommates/suitemates who were fellow '67 grads and my warmly remembered first date Vern -- are deceased.

So it was a special joy to see age mates who were vibrant, in reasonably good health and happy with their lives, either in retirement or in still active careers.

2. There was no posturing or bragging, just sharing. There were earlier reunions, either in high school or college, when we seemed quite full of ourselves -- carrying on about career triumphs or kids -- either their intrinsic wonderfulness or their achievements in school and beyond. Now, however, we all seemed to live more in the moment, sharing challenges and disappointments as readily as the highlights of our lives.

3. Old grudges and jealousies were finally irrelevant and fell away forever.  Those post adolescent skirmishes one may have had with a classmate or two back in the day became, at last, of no consequence.

When I was young and insecure, I resented Maria Kulczycky, a journalism classmate who was not only bright and talented, but also wonderfully at ease with the world. Maria could speak her mind. She was confident. She was comfortable with men. I had little confidence, was afraid to speak up and was terribly shy with men. I seethed with jealousy as I sat in class watching Maria flirt with and sometimes even affectionately touch our classmate Tim Schellhardt, whom I considered not only a dear friend but also my secret love -- a love so secret that even he never suspected! So I watched Maria and sulked, wishing that I had the confidence to act similarly. It seems so silly now. All three of us were too sharply focused on academics and future careers to think seriously about pairing up with anyone at that point in our lives. Yet I envied the grace with which Maria moved through her young days as well as the assertiveness and grit that made her such a promising journalist.

Fifty years would pass before I saw Maria again. And what a revelation! As a member of the reunion planning committee, I had sent my journalism classmates emails this past summer, urging them to attend the festivities. Maria responded immediately and warmly, eventually changing travel plans in order to attend. We shared snippets of our lives and memories in emails over the summer. She told me at one point that she had been so excited to see an email from me that she had halted dinner preparations to sit down and read it immediately. And when I saw her at the reunion, I felt only joy as we embraced. It was an emotional moment. I rejoiced, once again, at having a second chance to know and enjoy a truly amazing woman.

Tim and Maria at Northwestern once again!

                                                               

Happily reunited with Maria           

                                   

It was a wonderful day as Maria, Tim and I hung out together, attending events as we pleased and enjoying a three hour lunch together in my old freshman dorm dining room. It was then that I heard, for the first time, Maria's back story: born in the Ukraine only weeks before V-E Day, spending her early childhood in a refugee camp in post-war Germany as her family waited to emigrate to the U.S., coming to the U.S. at 7, not speaking a word of English and making a whole new life for herself. No wonder she was so strong, direct and unconcerned with the trivial in our college days.

As we lingered over lunch, the three of us realized, with wonder, that we were united in so many ways: by our shared history as journalism students in a different, more optimistic and idealistic time; by our early fierce ambition and diverse career trajectories as writers -- Maria as a highly successful financial journalist, Tim as a political reporter who spent some years covering the White House for the Wall Street Journal; by our growth into generatively:  Maria as a devoted mother and grandmother and tireless volunteer  --  doing everything from mentoring to writing grant proposals-- for the Ukrainian community of Chicago; Tim as a loving father and grandfather and also as a deacon at his church, doing charity outreach with the homeless and offering companionship in prayer to parishioners in need of comfort. We also discovered a strange unity in our birth dates. The three of us were all born in April 1945 within 13 days of each other. We decided that we three were simply destined to be friends forever. This leisurely lunch with my two long-ago classmates was the best, the very best, part of our reunion celebration. And the next day, Maria sent both Tim and me a loving email ending with "Let's never stop talking..."

That's a promise: we'll never stop talking... or caring.

4. Feeling grateful to remember and be remembered. It's interesting what settles into our gray matter, leaving an indelible memory. I always smile when I think of my classmate Gregg Ramshaw, whose campus job was working as headwaiter in the dining room of the small dorm where I lived during my junior and senior years. Gregg, who always had a lively sense of humor and special gift for parody, prepared a real treat for all of us the night before graduation: he wrote and performed -- with a chorus of his co-workers -- a naughty version of a hallowed university song with a somewhat scatological ending. We were delighted -- and I've never forgotten that moment or that song.

Gregg went on to a wonderful career as a television news producer and later taught his craft at several colleges. But when I saw him at the reunion -- and we both smiled with recognition of each other -- all I could think of was his long-ago serenade. I went up to him and quietly sang the song in his ear. He laughed with delight and sang the last two lines with me, happy to have had a piece of his past carried into our shared present by my memory of him as he was 50 years ago.

And at certain times, a bit of familiar behavior triggered fond memories. As we enjoyed a reception for journalism alums, Tim grinned suddenly and I reached for my camera as Gregg and Maria were engaged in an intense discussion -- so reminiscent of those days when we were young and Maria would debate fearlessly with anyone. They saw our smiles -- and both smiled, too.

                                         

                           

Gregg and Maria in an intense discussion as Tim looks on

Kathy, Gregg and Maria -- all smiles now!

It occurred to me that we all love to be thought of, to be remembered, to matter to each other whether or not we're in constant touch through the years. And perhaps the specific memory is less important than the fact that we remember pieces of each other's youth, little details, perhaps long forgotten, that spouses and children may never have known.

5. Knowing that our lives have evolved in ways that, at last, make sense. Our life puzzles are complete -- or nearly so. We may have moments of looking back with longing at what might have been, but it seems more common these days to look at the past with today's perspective and to realize that, despite rough spots and disappointments and setbacks and challenges, things have worked out in so many ways.

Talking with classmates that day, this theme came up over and over: how a career setback led to a whole new direction that now makes perfect sense; how an unhappy marriage nevertheless produced some wonderful children who -- to the delight of their parents and many in the world at large -- were simply meant to be; how an unhappy first marriage led to deep introspection and growth and, eventually, happiness and true love the second time around. And how a career choice that seemed so unpromising at first turned out to be just the right move...

I shared the tale of my embarrassment and anguish after graduation as I watched my Northwestern journalism school classmates being hired at prestigious magazines and newspapers in New York, Washington and Chicago, while I returned reluctantly to Los Angeles (due to a family crisis and pressing student loans) and worked for the only female-oriented national consumer magazine then based in L.A. : 'TEEN Magazine. My Northwestern professors were baffled, my friends tactful and polite in their congratulations. I was totally mortified.

But 'TEEN turned out to be truly life-changing. In my nine years there, I developed a specialty in psychology and health reporting, learned so much from the most responsive readership I would ever encounter, wrote my first and most successful book (The Teenage Body Book) and enjoyed the best group of co-workers ever, some of whom are still close friends to this day.

6. Realizing that love, however shared, is life's greatest blessing. I felt love all around me at this reunion: the love of old friends rediscovered, the love of a very special new/old friend in Maria, loving thoughts of classmates who have been dear friends through the years and who were unable to come to the reunion, sweet memories of those who have passed away, and the expansive love one feels for a time and place and people who have made such a difference.

One particular college memory, one pivotal moment, is still vivid so many years later: the moment in November 1964 when I realized that my classmate Tim was a friend I would love for life.

Have you had such moments -- when you realize, with stunning clarity, that someone is a true kindred spirit who will always be special to you? And so many years later, have you been amazed to look back and realize the accuracy of your youthful perceptions?

That long ago November night, Tim and I had been classmates for a year, feeling a bit competitive but otherwise mostly ignoring each other, when a very wise professor forced us to combine our journalistic skills in a shared assignment that required an hour long train trip each way. We were both a little put out, as I remember, until we started to talk on the train and realize just how much we had in common and how much we enjoyed each other. We haven't stopped talking since-- through all the decades of our lives -- even though we've never lived close to each other.

From a distance and through visits over the years, we've celebrated each other's professional successes and personal highlights and soothed each other through disappointments and setbacks. We've wept over the phone together during times of loss -- including the death of the professor who made us do that joint project together so many years ago. Tim has helped me with the research for my two latest books and encouraged me on a daily basis as deadlines loomed.  I have delighted in his continuing success as a writer and a public relations executive and, not so incidentally, in the accomplishments of his four amazing adult children -- two of whom are now on the faculty at Northwestern. This reunion weekend was a wonderful chance for the two of us to celebrate our long friendship, to explore Chicago, to laugh and share secrets -- some fun, some dark -- and to talk for hours, savoring the joy of being together and very much ourselves.

                                                                 

With Tim at our 50th reunion

                                       

And after our wonderful weekend talking marathon!

Our loving friendship has thrived through our long metamorphosis from teenagers to septuagenarians, through a myriad of life changes, triumphs and losses. Loving my dear friend Tim -- from that secret adolescent crush to a mature love that has grown deeper and stronger over a lifetime -- has taught me an ongoing lesson: that there are many kinds of love in this life, all rich and resilient, and all to be treasured.