Words have eluded me for an entire week now…
Trying to find the words to describe the incredible experience that is Listen to Your Mother.
For those who know me in real life, to think that words would elude me is laughable.
But this experience that I had, that the fourteen of us had, cannot be summed up in a few sentences, a Facebook status update, a few 140-character tweets, or a phone call to an old friend.
It was beyond belief.
In sharing my words with this audience – together with these thirteen other souls I had bonded with over coffee and tears – I found that I lost my words in the end.
I am not an overly emotional person.
But this experience of baring my soul, of cheering my castmates from the wings, high-fiving and hugging and crying and laughing…
It affected me deeply.
So to Ann Imig I say thank you from the bottom of my heart for creating this awesome and amazing show.
To Kim and Kirsten, who gave so very much of themselves to see that our San Francisco show was an incredible blend of stories that moved the audience (and who are hysterically funny to boot)…thank you.
To Rhea, Rhianna, Maggie, Lorrie, Andre, Joy, Robyn, Estelle, and Esther…you are all amazingly talented, funny, and caring people that I was honored to share a stage with. Thank you for sharing it with me.
To my amazingly large group of work friends and writer friends, who practically bought the entire first two rows of seats, thank you for your support of my silly hobby-turned-passion, writing.
To my mother, who I have always tried to listen to…thank you for listening to me that night.
To my husband, who encourages me every day to have fun, follow my dreams, and push myself just a bit further than my comfort zone…I love you, babe.
To my daughter, who actually does listen to her mother…but for one night this spring, listened to her with several hundred other people too…thank you for your support and cheering.
To my incredible family members (and Vanessa) who sat in the audience and cheered for me…thank you from the bottom of my heart.
It means the world.
We came, we read, we shared, we laughed, and we cried (and possibly shared Cosmopolitans from a flask).
We single-handedly proved that there are no Mommy Wars, there is no one perfect “type” of Mommy, and we really all exist to prop each other up on the bad days and raise our glasses and cheer each other on the good days.
Because in the end?
We had mothers, we became mothers, and we raised mothers.
And for one beautiful evening in May?
We rocked San Francisco.