When the flight attendant announced our need to make an emergency landing, just 20 minutes after takeoff from La Guardia last night, I felt a sort of tranquility that comes with utter denial in the face of terror. A fire alarm emitted a sustained piercing high note and the plane floated with eerie calm, low above a green and marshy landscape just outside the city. I repeated a mantra to God of "please let us land safely" and scanned the rivers and roads, hoping one of them would work as a landing strip if necessary (everything ended up ok).
This was an unwelcome continuation of scary flying experiences- the flight to NYC a week prior had been serene until we began to descend and hit unforeseen extreme turbulence in the midst of a pretty patch of cumulous clouds. At that time, most of the passengers screamed while the plane shifted violently around like an Atari joystick and we all held each other close with sweaty hands. Afterwards, the flight crew admitted they had not experienced anything quite like it, and I began to think of alternative methods to return home.
NYC always shakes me up all by itself, without such added physical and mental joggles. Ever since my first visit, I continue to get creatively invigorated by interactions with people who are living my childhood dream of being a famous actress/writer/singer/musician/playwright/artist, even if my dreams have changed a little over time. The grittiness of the city and beauty of the full spectrum of culture and experiences up for grabs there also makes it a wonderland for my inner kid- at least for a spell (before someone plows their car into a crowd on the opposite side of Times Square from me for example, which also happened on this trip, but that's another story).
In any case, over the years I've felt incredibly fortunate to travel to NYC for work to see Broadway shows and participate in creative panels and hobnobbing with casts, crews, producers and creative teams. I've felt overcome with gratitude and awe (and maybe a little awkwardness, jealousy and longing) at seeing some of my artistic crushes in person, starting with the inimitable Bill Murray.
This time around, the celebs included the likes of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Chris Cooper, Laurie Metcalf, Chazz Palminteri, Alan Menken, Jack O'Brien, Tina Fey, Cynthia Nixon, Laura Linney, Russell Simmons, Paula Vogel, Patti Lupone, Danny Rubin, Terrence McNally, Tim Minchin and John Guare.
Growing up in a rural community, I suppose I was particularly susceptible to star-strickenness. I often had a feeling I didn't belong and harbored a Belle-like yearning for adventure in the great wide somewhere. My intro to famous people in all their apparent glitz and glamour occurred on various screens, and I became convinced they had it better than I did, and also that they were supernatural somehow. After living in and near major urban centers in my 20's, I became slightly more accustomed to seeing these creatures in their natural habitats, and a bit of empathy creeped in.
Many of them I learned, were actually from small towns like me, and simply worked very hard, met the right person or had some crazy stroke of luck, which led them into the limelight (sometimes only for a moment). But they were quite human, and most likely a bit discombobulated and longing for anonymity in the countryside, which was my everyday experience.
On perhaps my favorite evening this week, we got an invitation to attend an industry-only midnight performance of A Doll's House Part 2. Camera crews waited outside to get glimpses of famous actors, many who normally don't get to attend shows due to their own performance schedules. My romantic teenage self surfaced as I noticed not one, but two Dead Poets Society stars, Josh Charles (3 rows back) and Ethan Hawke (10 seats over). For a moment I sat there thinking "why am I here?"
But later in the week as Joe Jackson strolled into the diner where I was having breakfast, and then again when my sister and I sat down next to Holly Hunter at a theater and I watched her oddly curled up on the seat like a little kid with a ponytail and tapping toes while her husband patted her knee, I remembered- we're all human beings sharing the same weird ride and the same destiny. Every one of us has similar routines and rituals (we all have to eat), similar worries and joys (we all like to be entertained) and similar individuality and potential creativity. So maybe being a famous so-and-so isn't all it's cracked up to be.
What's more, earlier on in the Holly Hunter day, my sister and her boyfriend and I wandered Greenwich Village which is one of my favorite neighborhoods. I found myself describing what my dream NYC life would be- having a little place on a wooded lane in this sort of hood, but having access to all the theater etc. in the city. I realized that I was describing something that sounded quite like the life I already have!
After our emergency landing, we were immediately loaded onto another plane. It took every ounce of bravery and faith I could muster to get on it (and my boss saying "let's go"). Luckily, the flight was smooth as we drifted at my favorite flying time over dusk-painted clouds to Wisconsin, where as soon as possible I hugged and kissed the greatest artworks of my life, my two little girls, who provide me with all the adventure and inspiration I could ever desire. We are all safely home together, and for that I will grant eternal Oscar/Tony/Grammy/Pulitzers to the Heavens.
