The audacity to try it

The Atlantic crossing has begun. We sailed away from Red Hook Brooklyn and New York harbor three hours late on a cold and rainy Saturday night. We headed east over the bodies*, under the Verrazano, across the Lower Bay and out into the shark infested open water on our way to Barcelona with stops in Portugal, Morocco and Spain along the way.

The NYC season was busier and colder than I expected. Over the course of four weeks I twice had the opportunity to rehearse my upcoming Edinburgh Fringe Festival production by signing the members of the theater company onboard. At the start of the first week, a storm diverted us from Bermuda to St John New Brunswick Canada and I found my winter wardrobe to be lacking. I was able to go to my apartment on week two and trade out some shoes, grab a sweater, pet my cat, sign and mail my taxes and fret uselessly about how messy my subletters are (why is she pawing through my jewelry box?). On our last day I was able to visit a friend who’s going through big life stuff and sit with her in soul healing loving support for a couple of hours. All in all, a successful mid contract month.

Did you notice I said we were three hours late sailing away from NYC at the start of the crossing? It was a busy day. Apparently the ship had over 500 pallets of supplies to onload for the crossing and subsequent dry dock. It was all hands on deck, everyone rushing to move these deliveries off the A1A to their destinations onboard. “All hands” means all hands except mine and the other cast members as we have been designated useless for operational ship business.

Something else slowed us down that day and that is the story I have come here to tell.

There is a woman named Hope. She arrived to join us as a passenger for the crossing. When she pulled up to the loading dock she asked “Is there a limit to the number of pieces of luggage I can bring?”. She was told No. She then proceeded to load everything she owns on to the luggage carts one piece at a time. Twelve large suitcases and eighteen boxes and crates. The port staff dutifully accepted these parcels, labeled them, and loaded them onto the ship.

Hope is moving to Barcelona. Hope thought it would be a good idea to use our cruise ship as a cargo vessel to move all of her belongings across the world while enjoying the amenities. Hope did not ask anyone for permission, she just showed up and did it.

Hope is a genius.

The AUDACITY! I’m jealous of this energy while also being completely horrified by it. Can I trade her some of my shame for just a pinch of her bravery? Because frankly she could use it and so could I. Audacity is the courage or confidence that other people find shocking or rude and my god does this woman have it in spades.

I like to imagine that Hope is a survivor. Maybe she grew up in chaos or hardship and learned to use her ingenuity early. She must be Mensa smart to have come up with the idea to use a cruise ship as a moving van and seriously foolhardy to think that she could get away with it. That is the epitome of audacity. I’m fascinated to know what factors create a person that bold. I’m desperate to meet her. Can she show me her ways? Is audacity teachable? Learnable?

I am the opposite of Hope. I carry shame to spare. I could blame it on my gender, on my safe middle class upbringing, on my nature or my ancestors or that thing that happened in middle school. It’s probably a concoction of all of those things. The bottom line is that for most of my life I sat quietly in the corner hoping someone would notice my hard work while less talented people got the opportunities I was too afraid to ask for. I don’t think I’ve always been that way, but at some point my audacity was beaten out of me. Until I didn’t know what it felt like to advocate for myself with reckless abandon.

What am I so afraid of? Someone saying no? Being laughed at or whispered about? I was deeply scarred once in the past when someone labeled me desperate. That word cut to the bone. Heaven forbid anyone know how much I want something, how much I care. I’m embarrassed to ask for the bare minimum. I squirm with discomfort when my best friend asks the waiter if they could please hold the black pepper.

There’s a line in The Miss Behave Show by Amy Saunders that says “It’s not always the person who’s the most talented or deserving who wins, it’s usually just the fucker who wants it the most”. This is my fourth contract hosting The Miss Behave Show at sea and I think some of it’s ethos might finally be rubbing off on me. My stage character has always been more bold than I am, more confrontational, less afraid to ask permission. She does what she wants and maybe she’ll apologize later if she goes too far. Maybe.

As I come into midlife, I am lifting my heart to the sky and welcoming my audacity. My stage persona and the real person underneath are merging. As I learn to let go of ego and the fear of being judged, there are fewer reasons not to ask for the thing. Audacity is a muscle that must be trained the same way I’m finally strengthening my hamstrings. Slowly and painfully. It requires stretching and recovery and as old wounds heal and new connections develop, weird new spots become tender. I still can’t imagine attempting Hope level shit, but with each unsolicited email, with each awkward ask, I might just get there.

Speaking of Hope, what happened there? Well, as soon as the powers that be figured out what was going on (someone sent her crate of dishes to one of restaurants) they contacted Hope and let her know that we do not in fact have room to store her boxes and that they would be off loaded. She said that if the boxes aren’t going to Barcelona then she isn’t going either. So her husband stood on the gangway and waved goodbye as Hope and her eighteen boxes and crates debarked. Don’t worry, hubby and the twelve suitcases are still making the transatlantic journey with the rest of us.

It didn’t quite work out for Hope this time. It turns out audacity doesn’t always guarantee success, but I’m willing to bet it’s worth it most days. Every time you shoot your shot and get knocked down, you’re a little bit stronger. Each rejection makes the next one sting less. I’m pretty sure Hope didn’t lose one minute of sleep over having her boxes rejected, she’s probably riding VIP on the Queen Mary II or fucking the co-pilot in the back of some cargo plane.

Hope is my patron saint for this next chapter in life. She will be my north star. I will carry her in my chest and think of her every time I’m afraid to TRY THAT SHIT. Because even if the boxes don’t make the ship, you’re still moving to Barcelona.

*A few weeks ago we literally had a dead body bump up against our ship while docked in Red Hook and had to have the coast guard come and remove it.