Living Out Loud...

In 1998, a film called "Living Out Loud" had its world premier at the Toronto International Film Festival.

I guess you would call it a small film. The liner notes of the soundtrack describe it as a "closet musical."  But size doesn't matter because this film features a cast of enormous talents – Danny DeVito, who sings a rather lovely upbeat rendition of George and Ira Gershwin's "They Can't Take That Away From Me," plus Holly Hunter and the sensational Queen Latifah in jazz mode. The soundtrack also includes other legendary jazz greats – I'm listening to it right now as Queen Latifah belts out the classic Billy Stayhorn song Lush Life.

Life can have its lush moments if you recognize them. Life is lots of moments, a series of moments. I try to make the best of each one and forget about the others.  

The music is not why I'm writing about this film. Or even the story, about a woman (Hunter) breaking out of her old self and the woman she thought she was before her husband leaves her. Free and on her own, she discovers who she really is along with a humble guy (DeVito) who falls for her. 

The point is, everyone in this film (even Latifa) learns to "live out loud" a little – move closer to their essential essence, become a tad more self-accepting – and they're each liberated by these experiences in their own unique ways. You walk out not only humming the songs, but the story.

That's what I've discovered as I've learned to live my life out loud. That getting closer to who I really am, knowing myself, also leads to self-acceptance. This come from Living Out Loud and enables me the freedom to Live Out Loud. 

Believe me, it's taken years. Hundreds, probably thousands of hours of psychotherapy. Processing. Psychic pain. Insight-gathering. Learning. It's an education – my PhD in me – that's taken practically my whole life. And I know I'll never graduate with any degree.

But it's worth it.

It means that I'm not afraid of myself when I look in the mirror. Nor do I hate myself. Naked, even. I like what I see. And my nakedness is no Vogue magazine moment. Not pretty. Trust me. Just me. All of me. At two-weeks shy of 61. Lumps, bumps, scars, creases, wrinkles – and one perfectly exquisite smile. :)

I will not try to convince you to live your life the way I live mine. How could I? That's the height of pretension. You live your life as comfortably as you can, your way. Not my way.

But that doesn't preclude moving beyond your comfort zone once in a while. I do. And it does mean that you and your life can change. Nothing in life if static. Every day is different.

I trained myself to live out loud on airplanes. Flying solo. I love engaging with people I know I'll never see again. I don't ever lie. Quite the opposite. I'm brutally honest and I've learned that most people are very open to visceral truth telling. They like to tell their stories, too, and often they like listening to yours. Conversations can be fascinating. 

Many years ago, when I used to fly down to Florida to spend time with my parents, I started practicing "coming out" on the two and a half hour flight to Fort Lauderdale. It felt good and always ended with an easy, "Have a great time."

I may have a bit of an advantage, as a journalist. But not really. I'm just curious about other people. Curiosity, I think, may be "contagious" – like yawning.

So, over the years, I've lived out loud – louder and louder. To the point where I have almost no secrets. Except my weight. My doctors don't even know that. Just my husband. 

As for the events of my life, no secrets at all. No lies, either. That's what 49-years of divulging to a professional listener does to you. It's natural to talk, honestly, to listen and to process – the key word. Process.

So you might say I'm extraordinarily aware of life with my mental illness in all its guises and permutations. I'm also aware of my mental health. And my weaknesses and strengths. That's healthy, too. And all the stuff I want to work on.

It's a life-long journey. And on the cusp of 61, I'm no poster girl for "Sixty is the new 40." Nope, I'm proud of every grey hair on my salt and pepper head. Wouldn't dream of a dye job. I'm no slave to the scale and I feel 25. That's what counts to me.

How I feel. How do you feel? 

I hope when this Mental Illness Awareness Week ends – tomorrow on October 10, which happens to be World Mental Health Day – I hope that you can feel good to be you. If you have a diagnosis, you're not alone.

This year, the British Mental Health Foundation is theming their World Mental Health Day as an opportunity for Tea and Talk – Have a natter. Change lives. (It's a fundraiser, but don't worry about that part.)

I like that. Why not give it a try. Have "a cuppa" with a good friend. Or make a friend over "a cuppa." Or throw a little Tea Party.

Give it a shot. Screw the statistics. (They're sure to depress you and what can you do about them, anyway? If you're interested in a serious look at World Mental Health Day, click here.)

The best thing you can consider doing is taking a page out of the British Mental Health Foundation book and connect with someone. Do something to have a good day. 

Try celebrate being you! 

And spend a minute or three "Living Out Loud!" 

Be truly, deeply and madly you!

Flying-High on "Next to Normal" ...

I'm Broadway-bound and here's the scoop! It's cool. 

On May 12, the publicist for the Broadway musical "Next to Normal" sent me a personal email. 

"This show, which was recently nominated for 11 Tony awards, has a very unlikely subject matter for a musical – it focuses on a woman living with bipolar disorder and the effects it has on her family," he said.

He attached a link to a fascinating "must-read" New York Times story about the show's depiction of mental illness and then added: "I think your readers would be interested in this show and we would love to invite you and a guest to see the show, if you are in the NYC area anytime soon."

How about that?

Besides being a mite shocked as to how he found me, I couldn't agree more. You would be very interested, I'm sure, in Broadway's first mainstream musical – a rock musical, actually – about manic depression. 

But... until I received his invitation and two complimentary tickets, I hadn't planned to be in NYC "anytime soon," though I already knew all about Next to Normal. 

Originally, it opened at the 2005 New York Musical Theatre Festival, titled Feeling Electric – Up the Dose – "Darkly funny and brutally honest, this powerful new musical chronicles one family's personal battle to cure a mother of her long-term depression, with the controversial help of one hotshot young doctor who prescribes electric shock therapy as her last resort treatment."

One of my cousins who lives in Manhattan and frequents the theatre saw that production and said "it blew me away."

It's come along way, since then, when tickets were $15 each and it ran for only six performances. 

When the newly-named Next to Normal opened at the off-Broadway Second Stage Theatre in February 2008, Ben Brantley, chief theatre critic of the New York Times, wrote: "To watch this tale of a haunted housewife (beautifully played by Alice Ripley) and the household she in turn haunts is to ride a speeding roller coaster of responses. One minutes you're rolling your eyes; the next, you're wiping them. When the show ends, you're probably doing both at the same time."

With direction by Michael Grief, who also directed Rent and Grey Gardens – I saw the latter on Broadway in 2007 – the current revamped Broadway production of Next to Normal at the Booth Theatre is a "brave, breathtaking musical," Brantley wrote in his April 16, 2009 New York Times review. It "focuses squarely on the pain that cripples the members of a suburban family, and never for a minute does it let you escape the anguish at the core of their lives."

  

It's not "your standard feel-good musical" he said, which is probably why I was offered a couple of complimentary tickets. Ticket sales have vastly improved since the show received 11 Tony Award nominations – all the major ones, including Best Musical. 

That's not why I've decided to fly down to Manhattan for the day to see this show. I want to share my impressions with you. Brantley, to the best of my knowledge, has never been diagnosed with a bipolar disorder. I want to judge for myself. Through my experience. Not the least of which is that I, too, am a suburban housewife (well, sort of) with a husband and 22-year-old stepdaughter. 

And also... winging to New York for the day to see a Broadway show is nothing new for me. In 1969, I flew down to see the original Broadway production of Hair, which opened in 1968 and is now another Tony-nominated revival on Broadway. Theatre producer Marlene Smith hired me to write the program notes for Toronto's first 1985 production of Cats which had opened on Broadway in 1982. On both occasions, I jetted down to La Guardia early in the morning, taxied into Manhattan, had lunch and caught a matinee – then went back to the airport and was home before midnight. It's a kick, believe me.

So, I'm pulling the same routine and I'll be reporting and giving you my own review. By the way, I've reviewed theatre before – I'm not a neophyte – but this time, I'll be watching closely for authenticity. Hollywood has an abysmal record recreating characters with mental illnesses who are remotely close to real. I'm a huge fan of Tara in the new HBO series United States of Tara – but she's an artist. (Think Vincent Van Gogh.) In this show, we have a suburban housewife and the creative team did their homework, apparently, and created genuine characters. We'll see.

This show cuts even closer to the bone, for me. 

Stay tuned. I'll be getting back to you.

*    *    *

On the British front – I jwant to report that I've become a member of Rethink and Time to Change and I've made connections with the heads of several other agencies there, thanks to social activist Robert Ashton. In the coming weeks, I'll be branching out even further – to Australia and New Zealand. 

Wish me luck. And let me know what you think and what you're interested in learning about:

• How other countries' approach mental health and wellness, and mental illnesses  
• How they challenge discrimination  
• How people like us, with psychiatric diagnoses, emotional problems, mental illnesses and disorders are "treated" 
• How we can "heal" 
• How they define "Recovery" 

As far as I'm concerned, you never know, unless you ask. Here, in North America, we think we're the centre of the world – and we're not. I'm curious about other G8 countries with national mental health strategies. I know Australia and New Zealand are even more evolved than Britain. Certainly more evolved than the U.S. and Canada – where the neurosciences currently rule, along with the drug companies.

Something's gotta give. Let's keep the dialogue going. I want to hear your thoughts and ideas. 

I would love your comments, but there is a problem with the blog commenting function right now. If you have a comment that you would like posted, please contact me by email – let me know – and I'll arrange it, until this situation is resolved. 

Trust me, the powers-that-be at The Toronto Star are working on it.

Thanks for your patience and understanding.

Have a great meantime!