His forehead was so cold.

It was like kissing a mannequin. Or a doll. Except it wasn’t. It was the man I fell in love with. The man I moved in with. The man I fought with. The man I resented. The man I desperately needed. The man I cried for and ran to and held every night through our break up. Only a few months had passed since then and suddenly, here we were, in a funeral home – him, a stiff in a coffin, and me, sorting through the pieces of reality as I knew it. I could still smell him on my bedsheets if I breathed deeply enough. This was my Robert. But now, he’s gone.

What became of me in the wake of that loss was something I don’t wish on anyone. As healed and integrated and newly in love again as I am, I am still this woman. This woman who is always keenly aware that horror is a possibility that lives right around the corner. My father’s death was even more shocking and sudden and gruesome. I was only twenty when I witnessed that one. I’ll spare you those details, for today.

But what became of me as a result of losing Robert? It’s a type of sensitivity and strength that can only come from a trauma like this one.

—

I got really angry this week, really angry.

While I continue to adjust to my new “unrepresented” life since parting ways with my manager, I’ve had to schedule meetings with the producers I’ve been working with. Essentially, I have to make a decision about continuing with them or not. I have to review all of my projects and consider the new possibilities ahead for them. I have to take back all the labor of a "manager” and do it for myself.

It reminded me, vaguely, of how it feels when you have to find an outfit to wear to a funeral. It’s awful. It’s not something you “want” to do. It’s not pleasant. It’s just, what needs to be done. You certainly didn’t ask anyone to die, but because they went and died anyway (like the selfish jerks they are) NOW you have to find a f*cking outfit? Really? As if life isn’t asking enough of you already? 

But that’s grief, baby! *jazz hands here* 

Anger is always the first layer. Anger says “this isn’t fair.” Anger says “this can’t be real.” Anger says “f*ck this, all of it.”

But if you wait, and patiently peek right underneath the surface of anger, you’ll uncover the true tenderness and tears.

You’ll find the fear, and the sadness, and the longing.

Which is how I found myself, on Wednesday morning of last week, weeping in my car after leaving the gym. (Don’t worry, I was still parked in the lot.) Tears just springing out of my eyes like the character Sadness from Inside Out. I mean, they were literally jumping out of my eyes, almost as if to their death. Like they couldn’t get out fast enough. 

Eventually, the wave crashed, and passed, and before I knew it, I was back at home – face-planted on my fuzzy living room rug, feeling held by the beautiful web of women in my life while the sads gently moved through me.

And, as they left, what happened next shocked me.

I felt immense peace, space, and calm — an opening. And then, almost faster than I wanted it to arrive, I felt the strong pull of DESIRE.

Vision. Knowing. Direction.

And I heard the instructions, loud and clear. 

DIRECT. 

“I’m sorry, what was that, inner voice of all-knowing wisdom or possibly just a deep, personal desire wrapped in spiritual overtones? What did you say?”

DIRECT.

“Wait, sorry, I thought you said ‘DIRECT’. But, you know I’m a writer. And, like, that’s what I do. I WRITE.”

DIRECT.

“Okay. Is this thing on? G-d? Do you… have a bad connection?”

DIRECT!!!!

“F*CKING CHRIST, OKAY! I HEARD YOU. YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHOUT!”

Apparently, I do, Jamie. You resistant little creatrix, you.

“Ugh.”

Also, you’re not just a writer. You won an award for a film you also directed.

“OMG STOP.”

—

I opened my screenplay about losing my soulmate with a funeral scene.

I also opened my novel with that scene. It’s where the adventure really begins. 

What I never expected to feel was a desire to direct it, myself. Yet, the moment I heard it, I knew it was true. Because this is not just any project. It’s not just any story. It’s this strange and funny tale I’ve woven through the portal that grief kicked open. It’s this deeply and essentially and authentically female story of holding every reality and possibility and person at once. It’s this oddly dark comic fantasy romance – this project that I couldn’t bring myself to shop, YET.

Because, this one — is too much mine.

And trust me, when I heard the call and felt the pull to direct, I really wanted to tuck it back inside my brain and say “NAHHHHH, I’m gonna pass on this one.”

You ever get a CLEAR laser beam of creative energy that’s asking you to move, and then your human body is like: “OKAY, BE COOL. PRETEND YOU DIDN’T HEAR THAT SO YOU CAN STAY IN THE COMFORT ZONE.”?

That’s how I feel. Like I’d really prefer NOT TO FKN DO THIS.

But, in the deepest recesses of my soul, it’s the truest desire —

To continue developing this project, as a director and writer and producer.

So, I’m going to write a short version of this project this year. A snippet. A peek into the world, if you will. Then, I’m going to raise the funds. Then, I’m going to make the damn thing. And then, I’m going to direct it. At least, that’s how I think it’s going to go, lol. My job isn’t to do all of that, today, it’s to take the first step — which is fully accepting that this desire is here, and, letting it fully be here.

It is fully accepting that grief lives in this space with me, and always will.

It’s fully deciding to be the hero of my own adventure.

It’s fully owning where bliss is moving me — enough to share it with you.

And, as for you… well, I hope you’ll come along for this ride.

xo

Jamie

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