"Dear Mormons" or "Joseph Smith was basically a Libertarian..."

I don’t need to rehash the reasons against voting for either of the two “major” parties.  All the other media outlets are full of news on that front today.  I just have a heartfelt appeal to those in a unique position to truly make a difference in this election cycle…

Dear Mormons (practicing and lapsed ;) ),

I understand how vexing this election is for you. 

Traditionally the values of the LDS Church have aligned most closely to those purported by the Republican Party.  People raised in the church have a strong sense of self-reliance, a moral commitment to defending their freedoms and families even to the bearing of arms, and a view of life that is so sacred we’re compelled take every measure possible to protect it.  Add to that the codes of personal conduct outlined in the Word of Wisdom (abstaining from ingesting potentially harmful substances) and the Law of Chastity (abstaining from extramarital sex acts,) and Federal policies such as The War on Drugs and The Defense of Marriage Act seem like good ideas.

However, given this term’s choice in candidates, it’s time to dig a little deeper into Zion’s past and look more objectively before casting a vote.

I submit that Joseph Smith was, in fact, one of the nation’s earliest Libertarians.  When he penned the 13 Articles of Faith, he was sure to incorporate the belief of “…being subject to kings, presidents, rulers and magistrates in obeying, honoring and sustaining the law,” thus admonishing church members to practice their faith to their best ability within the freedoms AND restrictions of the laws of the land in which they lived.  This came into play specifically with regards to prohibition and polygamy when Utah was finally approved for statehood.

Another gem from the prophet Joseph was his governance of Nauvoo, when he described his success in leadership by saying, “I teach [the people] correct principles and they govern themselves.”

This principle is not only an ideal for government; it is the cornerstone of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  Mormons believe that they personally fought a great war in heaven to protect our agency to choose right from wrong, so that we may all benefit from the lessons and consequences of our choices to ultimately become more like our Creator.

Where it may feel like moral high-ground to side with an elected official who would work to pass legislation to limit contentious actions such as abortion and drug or alcohol consumption, it is not our place to work to remove agency from our fellow citizens.  It is our place to provide good examples of living a life rooted in service to one another, loving those who falter, and showing that the Gospel provides a way back no matter how far we slip into transgression against ourselves or each other.

Only one presidential candidate in this race promises to maintain a system of rule that allows us to “govern ourselves.”  Only one candidate respects the agency outlined in the US Constitution.  Only one candidate in this election cycle has championed these things while staying completely honest with the electorate, even admitting when he has fallen short in live televised interviews.

Mormons accept the admonishment to “be ye therefore perfect,” even as they accept this goal as physically unattainable in this life. 

I know many of you think because of your beliefs you should not support a candidate like Gary Johnson who openly states that government should not legislate things like who can marry who and what grown adults choose to put in their own bodies.  But Johnson is on the side of agency – the most sacred of all LDS principles.  He believes in the people’s right and ability to govern themselves. 

And as president, he would leave it in your capable hands (and the hands of your fellow Christian brothers and sisters) to go about the business of “teaching correct principles.”

Do you think a Clinton or Trump Whitehouse would care about upholding the tax-exempt status of churches when they’ve made so many promises to other special interest groups and corporations?  Do you think the money you’ve committed to the stewardship of the church will touch as many lives once the government dips their hands in and takes their fill?

Do you believe that either of these candidates will fight to preserve the liberty of the individuals and state governments when both have show their primary interests lie only accumulating more power for themselves?

The reason I am writing to you is because I understand something the rest of the voices in the media either do not understand, or are too afraid to acknowledge.

The Mormon vote has the opportunity to tip this election to the most principled candidate in the race.  Many “civilians” mistakenly assume that Utah is the only real “Mormon State.”  You and I know that they are wrong.  We know how LDS pioneer families settled the west in Idaho, Wyoming, Arizona, Nevada, Oregon and yes, even California.  We know of the thousands of faithful families in Washington State, and throughout the Great Plains.  We also know the great pride church members take in being civically minded and involved.

And most of all, we know how well Mormons are able to connect with those around us and share our deeply held personal beliefs with our neighbors in ways that earn respect and admiration.

If Mormons took the standard of the Libertarian party and stood strong in our communities, we could turn several Red and Purple states Yellow.  Mormons alone could deny Hillary Clinton the 270 electoral votes needed and also defeat the morally bankrupt candidacy of Donald Trump.

I know so many of you are thinking about writing in Romney or McMullin.  Neither of these men are on the ticket in all 50 states.  And even though they stand for the values you stand for, the office of President of the United States is not the office of Prophet, Seer and Revelator.  Your first duty is to choose someone who would be just and defend the US Constitution, even when that document stands in opposition to your personal beliefs and practices.

The price of freedom is that some will use their agency to choose the lesser part.  You agreed to those terms in the preexistence.  When you vote in this election, please remember that.  You fought so that we could all have choice.  Please consider protecting that choice and the great Constitution, which defends it.

Please consider voting for the ticket with principles that most echo those of the beloved prophet Joseph Smith.  Please consider voting for Johnson and Weld.

Sincerely,

Hillary J.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Blog...

My “brand” is not Christian, or Activist, or even Ally.  Sure, I try to live these models to the best of my ability – but when it comes to my art and my “persona” I try to be as non-political as possible.  I’m an entertainer, writer, musician who identifies most closely with comedy, and based on my irreverent sense of humor, I’m pretty sure I have the soul of a perpetually 13-year-old boy.

But then there’s this…

This aching I’ve felt so acutely since the massacre at Pulse in Orlando.  This heavy, heavy weight in my soul compounded daily by the pain and suffering of people I know and people I don’t – people I’ll never have the chance to meet, because their lives were ended just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time when another person – another human being acted out in a violent way.

I cried – really cried – yesterday when I found out about all the families who lost their lives in Bagdad.  And today I’m crying because I know that specifically my black friends – all of them – are mourning the senseless death of Alton Sterling.

And I hate this because I feel so f-ing helpless!!!  So here it is. All I can do.  I can pray.

It’s okay if you don’t believe in a “guy in the sky.”  But even scientific studies validate the positive effects of prayer, meditation, goal setting and focused thought/intention.  So if you are so inclined – if you also ache for the countless victims of violent acts perpetuated by other human beings, if you can humble yourself for just a minute to look inside at the state of your own heart – this seems as good a place to start as any. 

Dear God (or insert Deity of choice,)

Please take Alton Sterling into your loving embrace.  Please bless his friends, family and members of his community with an outpouring of love, understanding and healing.

Please pour out your grace on all our communities and the law enforcement officers that serve them across this nation.  Help those in positions of greater power meet their responsibilities with greater temperance, greater equity and increased civility. 

Help us to look at our own hearts with honesty and cast out all fear, bigotry and hatred. Please shower us all with more love for our brothers and sisters in every walk of life.  Teach us to celebrate our diversity together, and so create a greater sense of unity across all man-made divides.

I know, Father, that as no respecter of persons, you do not esteem one person, one gender, one culture, one race above another.  For we all are your creation and you love us all as one.  Teach us that same love, across cultures, across, faiths, across ethnicities.

We know that we are broken.  Please take our broken hearts, and make them whole in your love, that we may love each other more perfectly – that we stand united as one people against fear, against hate, and against oppression.

Let us start today by mourning with those that mourn – the family of Alton Sterling, the countless people maimed and killed in Bagdad, the victims at the airport in Turkey, the innocents at Pulse night club – and the thousands of victims daily across the globe whose lives are cut short in acts of violence, hate and apathy.

Help us all to bear the mantle of responsibility to make this beautiful world you gave us a home of peace, tolerance and love.  Help us remember that, here, on this little tiny spec of the vast expanse of the universe, we truly are one.

Help us to be slow to anger, quick to forgive, patient in our actions and thoughtful in our words.  Help us to help each other fulfill our greatest potentials as individuals and communities. Help us to see in each human we encounter on our great journey, the pieces of us that they share.

Please, God, I do my best to do my part every day, and yet when my friends are aching because of injustice, because of violence, because of death and destruction, I know that somehow I have not done enough.

If words are all I have, then please help me to use mine to lift others up, show others hope and light, and to inspire change in those whose hearts are most in need.

I beg for your blessing.

Amen.

The Only Way Past is Through Part II: Happy Birthday to Me

 (Q: What does the following have to do with dealing with my father’s recent death? 

A: I’m not sure. I know only that this is a reflection on my own mortality and it seemed important this week. And yeah – it’s a little morbid. Cheers!)

My Grandma Morse’s birthday is about six weeks before mine every year.  And for some reason, I always take great pleasure in teasing her about getting another year older.

“Grandma, how does it feel to be so old?” (giggle, giggle…)

She never disappoints.

 “Well, you know, it beats the alternative.”  I’m not sure how old I was when I figured out what it was she was saying, but I thought it was kind of hysterical.  “It beats being DEAD!” (Ha-ha-ha!!!)

Source: https://media.giphy.com/media/iE6Iuo73NJAe4/giphy.gif

Did I mention, I’ve always had a fairly dark sense of humor?

I still smirk, but I don’t really laugh anymore.  Maybe it’s because I’m finally gaining some perspective.

This year, I was lucky enough to have my birthday fall on an actual Saturday!  Yeah – I know.

“Hillary, at your age, why would you be so excited about another birthday?  Aren’t you over it by now? Doesn’t it feel weird to be so old?”

Well, this year was kind of special.  I realized it the closer I got.

A little over a month ago, I moved into a new apartment in NYC.  True to form of most NYC apartments under $2,000/month, my living space is – hmmm – well defined.  Okay – that’s a euphemism for limited.  But it’s cozy, kitty friendly, has good access to street parking, includes a really cool roommate that I’ve known for years, is in a nice neighborhood with good train access and has a bomb-a$$ backyard! 

Source: https://media.giphy.com/media/cSDkd9hDV6RJ6/giphy.gif

So, without thinking too much, my roomie and I planned an outdoor cookout-style birthday party.  The impending party date gave us some good goals for things like, getting the lawn mowed, getting a new patio umbrella and fixing the gas grill.

But as the party got closer and our checklist grew shorter, I started to remember the last time I tried to host a Saturday backyard cookout birthday.

It was exactly ten years ago in last weekend.  I was living in a house in Edgewater, Florida on a 1/3^rd acre lot, so I had a pretty sizable back yard.  Of course, no one wants to be in a backyard in Florida in June! But I’d acquired citronella tikki torches and equipped my grill with a new propane tank, even though the bulk of the party was going to happen in the air-conditioned house FILLED with all the party fixin’s! Meat to grill, side dishes galore, (I’m pretty sure it was a fajita bar) and so many beverages!!!

https://media.giphy.com/media/l41lKP154DNqWsvOE/giphy.gif

I’d invited a ton of people with the focus being my improv troupe and their friends.  In fact, earlier that morning, a few of us were guests on a locally produced kid’s radio show to promote our pending 1^st Birthday Show (now a standing RAI tradition!)

I made it to the show and got through the morning, but after our interview/on-air performance, we were ‘brunching’ at D.B. Pickles when I really started to crash. 

You see, I had just completed six months of super-aggressive chemotherapy for a nasty little sarcoma in my left foot.  After four of those months, I had surgery that not only removed the tumor, but amputated a good chunk of what had once been my best foot when it was forward.  I was about eight weeks post op at the time.

I was on a walking boot, so I was getting around okay – off of pain meds, and driving again.  But that day, my immune system just – well – coded I guess. 

I’ll spare the super disgusting details, but my condition took a nasty downturn and I wound up laying on a couch for a while, feebly mumbling directives to a small group of my friends who swooped in to save the day by prepping the food and finishing the set-up.  Eventually, when it became obvious that I wasn’t going to be able to “rally” and join the party, I went and hid out in my bedroom, so at least my friends could enjoy themselves without having to look at me.

https://media.giphy.com/media/cMV9akgudJiRW/giphy.gif

I was pretty pathetic that day.  I couldn’t get fluids down, but my eyes kept watering and I couldn’t stop drooling.  Yup – I was worse than St. Bernard!  I think I wound up putting a towel on my pillow.  The one upside was that at least my drool couldn’t get my hair wet – cuz – ya know – chemo!  No hair to worry about!

My friends checked in on me repeatedly.  I kept telling them to go out and enjoy the party.  I didn’t want the food to go to waste.  I wanted everyone to have a good time, even if I couldn’t – maybe especially because I couldn’t.

I’ll never know the absolute truth about that night.  I know I heard music.  I know I heard periodic bursts of loud laughter and talking.  And I let that soothe my soul for the moment, thinking that even if my body wasn’t capable of joining in the fun, at least fun was just one room over, and I had helped supply it.

And I vowed to myself that my next birthday would be better.

And I kept that promise. I don’t remember the specifics of all the birthdays between that night and Saturday, but I definitely took time Saturday night to be grateful that I was able to be the “grill-master” for my friends.  I was thrilled that I was able to spend most of the night on my feet, tending to my guests.  I was so happy to introduce all of my friends to each other and share stories and tips with each other.  I was relieved that I was capable of getting up and going to the door to let my friends in one by one and show them to our little backyard oasis. 

Source: https://media.giphy.com/media/Z4IXspU3iCHlK/giphy.gif

And maybe this year, for the first time, I really understood and appreciated what my grandmother has told me all these years about greeting another year head on.  Yes, I am ONE YEAR OLDER!!!  And that’s more than okay, because you know what?  It really does beat the alternative…

The Only Way Past is Through Part 1: Father’s Day

I’ve had mixed feelings about Father’s Day for the majority of my life.

My mom and my father T.C. divorced before my first birthday, so my earliest memories of family weren’t exactly nuclear.  I know I had visits with him.  I know I loved him. I know he loved me. But I also know it was complicated. 

More like nuclear - am I right???   Source:giphy.com

He was a truck-driver.  His visits were sporadic.  They were special, but not consistent.

When I was three years old, my mother met and married my dad, Bob Walker.  He’s the dad I grew up with.  He’s the dad that gave me my brother Eric and later, (spoiler alert!) a whole additional family of siblings when he remarried.

For a little while, I had something close to “normal” at home.  Dad joined the Army and worked as a photojournalist for the base paper, The Star Persidian.  We lived in a little duplex home at the Hamilton AFB in Novato, CA.  Dad worked long hours during the week, but on the weekend we’d take day trips into San Francisco, Muir Woods or Pt. Reyes.  We went to Alcatraz and he’d take me along when he drove the base bus for Folks Marches in lovely parks all around the Bay Area. On holidays, we’d visit his Uncle Dick and Aunt Evy in Southern California and take trips to Disney Land. He and I would spin and spin and spin in the Teacups. Mom would watch from the side, because they made her sick!

It was almost four years of living in a Seurat painting.  It was lovely and warm, but just a little bit fuzzy, because if you looked as us too closely, you’d be able to see that the pretty picture was nothing but carefully spaced little flecks of color and the things that a family needs to really stick together were missing from between the dots.

Maybe this one is just a little too on the nose... Source: https://media.giphy.com/media/MS8UECLiPreNi/giphy.gif

Some of the spaces may have been because of my other dad.  He liked to send me cards and gifts every now and then and photos of his other children – my brothers and sisters.  He offered on occasion to try to get our families together so I could meet my other siblings.   

I didn’t know how to feel.  I knew I was somehow still important to this man I never saw anymore, and I knew that he was still important to me.  But it felt like some sort of betrayal to my mom, my new dad and my brother.  My heart felt big enough to love everyone, but I didn’t want to hurt my new daddy’s feelings.  And I didn’t want my brother to think that I wasn’t his “whole” sister, just because we’d been born to different fathers or because I had other brothers and sisters living somewhere else. 

Other factors were also at play: financial factors, geographical factors and my mother’s brain-injury factor that happened just a year into our California odyssey.  Once my dad’s enlistment ended, we left California, and the warm colors and hazy details of our little family washed away.  The distance between my dad and I widened in direct proportion to the distance between him and my mom.  It was a horrible time.  I was only 12 years old and I was pretty sure I just wanted to die.  I didn’t know if making it through high school was a worthwhile goal because I couldn’t really see a light at the end of the ominous tunnel that was junior high. 

Like really obsessed! Source:https://media.giphy.com/media/Q9A55jF4sggdq/giphy.gif

But for a little while, things got better.  When Eric and I went to visit Dad, he worked harder than he had in at least a year to really be present for us.  We spent lazy weekends together nuking popcorn and watching movies.  Or sometimes we’d go to my Grandpa Walker’s nursery and work outside with all the plants and trees and get paid for the day.  He even took us on a vacation to Salem, Massachusetts, because I was going through this phase where I was obsessed with the Witch Trials.

Then Dad took the logical step of any divorced man in his early 30’s and remarried.  This was a perfectly natural thing to do.  And I suppose, it should have been a happy event.  But Eric and I just weren’t ready to share our dad with a whole new family.  I tried to barter.  What if weekends were “whole family time” and Wednesdays were just for Eric and me?  I was told that I was being controlling and manipulative. 

But when we were with the whole new family, we didn’t really get our “dad.”  We got this watered down, worn-out version of him that was trying too hard to make everyone happy and really pleasing nobody.

I got a little older and a little harder.  My 12-year-old despair solidified into 13-year-old apathy and devolved into 14-year-old acrimony.

Since the whole “Brady Bunch” thing wasn’t working, I eventually opted out of scheduled visits altogether. It’s so much easier to keep from getting hurt when you go through the motions of not caring.

Yep. Not quite. Source:https://media.giphy.com/media/EezZdS8K1stl6/giphy.gif

Maybe I should have tried harder.  Maybe he should have tried harder.  Maybe we just both did the best we could, given the situation.  I remember judging my dad and feeling that he was being immature for someone with the benefit of 30+ years of experience.  However, once I made into my 30’s I realized how little three decades prepare you for the really hard crap. I’ve learned to cut all my parents infinitely more slack as I’ve gotten older.

Fast forward to my high school graduation.  T.C. shows up to surprise me and YES – I was surprised.  I hadn’t seen him since my 5^th birthday, when he brought his new wife and my baby sister Charlene to the party.

Now he was single again, with limited contact with his other children. Now he wanted me to move to Utah to spend time and get to know him. Now he wanted to be critical of my decision to move to NYC to pursue acting at one of the top schools in the country (AADA – not AMDA!)

It was so weird to have a father so interested in my life again.  It was a bumpy road. “Dad” hadn’t been my favorite word for several years by this point, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to take another stab at having one.  But curiosity got the best of me.  After all, I was carrying around this guy’s DNA.  I was 18 and I needed to know everything I could about me – like every 18-year-old.  And it made sense that since this guy was present at the factory when I was assembled, he might give me more insight into what made me tick.

I was 20 when I took T.C. up on his offer to move out to Salt Lake City.  I wasn’t really feeling the Intermountain West.  I considered myself a New Yorker through and through (in spite of my brief stint as a California Girl ;) )  But he took me hiking, and went to Karaoke nights with me and tried – God bless him he tried – to teach me how to play pool. Some things just aren’t hereditary.

Possibly actual footage! Source:gify.com

So here’s where I’ll leave it for today.  The desolate 12-year-old Hillary wept on Father’s Day, and the jaded 14-year-old Hillary probably said something like, “I don’t really have a dad anymore.”  But today I’m crying tears that celebrate the story of my heart.  Today I celebrate T.C., the dad I just lost – again.  He showed me that late really IS better than never.  And I also celebrate Bob, the dad I still have, that I don’t spend enough time with. I’ve never called him my stepdad, except to explain my family life to outsiders.  But if step means “step up” to be a dad, well, I guess he did just that. He truly gave me that pretty portrait of a happy family life – even if it was for just a few short years.  I do have those memories and they are so very beautiful.

So thank you, Dad.  And thank you for being supportive of my recent loss.  I wish you and T.C. could both see the tears that I’m crying right now.  They aren’t tears of anguish or self-pity.  They are tears of love and gratitude and forgiveness because I’m finally old enough to begin to understand your side of my story, and I’m finally ready to share my side of it with you.

Dad (Bob) was so busy taking photos, there aren't many like this gem <3!

As far as gifts go, it’s not all that pretty or pricey.  But I can say it’s from deep within my heart and I hope on this particular day, it speaks to yours.  And to those of you who can’t celebrate Father’s Day with your dads or with your children, if they’re still around – please don’t give up on each other.  Yes, sometimes it helps to let go for a little while.  Sometimes people need space and perspective. But no matter how wide the chasm, no matter how loudly the door slammed, it doesn’t have to stay closed forever.  Love will always find a way.  And sometimes, love needs to start inside you before you can see it in others.

Happy Father’s Day.

Back on the Horse

The only constant in our lives is change.

And honestly, that’s the way it should be.  If we stay stagnant for too long, we’re not growing, or stretching, or reaching our ultimate potential.

But change can be messy.  It can come when we’re not ready for it.  And it can hurt like a bitch. 

I’ve spent the last month postponing pain.  It’s a trick I learned very early in life as a performer and a dancer.  You can push so hard and build so much momentum that you don’t feel the pain.  You can feed off the stress, the euphoria and the inertia to just keep going and doing.  But when you stop, and you always do eventually stop – that’s when you have to face the pain.

Sometimes it’s strictly physical – like dancing for hours on blistered, bleeding toes, or doing an entire show through a screaming migraine.  And you don’t feel a thing until the applause has subsided and you’re on your way home for the night.  Then – WHAM! (Not the 80’s pop band.)  You collide with the pain that you’ve been suppressing for hours.  You ice, bandage, medicate, and ultimately curl up into a whimpering ball in bed for a few hours believing that when you wake up the next morning, it will have lessened to the point that you can function again.

Image: geocities.ws

But when the pain is on the inside, it’s a different ballgame.  You can push it off for longer.  What – it’s starting to hurt?  Turn on your go-to music playlist.  A tickle of depression? Recite a mantra while putting on mascara and go out for a night with friends!  Keep over-booking.  Keep making jokes.  Keep focusing on the next thing and the next and the next…

That is, until your last shred of sanity is bare.  Until you’re sitting in your living room at 3:33pm without having accomplished anything on your To Do List, starving, but unable to commit to getting dressed and foraging for food.  Until you know the only way to get past is finally go through…

This post is not me getting through.

This post is me acknowledging that it’s time to get through.  This post is me getting back on the horse.  Back on the bicycle.  Back… to the Future!!! – by preparing to deal with the past.  

Image: moviepilot.com

I’m not the protagonist of Eat, Pray, Love.  I don’t have a bunch of money saved up to take a year off from life traveling the globe, devouring food, slurping red wine and banging three generations of B+ List actors. (Would that I did – winning Powerball ticket PLEASE!!!)

But I realize that if I want to get back on that crazy train to success that I was momentarily aboard in the not-so-distant past, I’m going to have to let myself feel the pain, pick up the pieces and move on.

I welcome your thoughts, experiences, coping strategies, words of encouragement, agreements, disagreements, and mostly, your company, as I take this journey over the next few weeks.  And of course, I understand if this is too icky, too close to home or just not your ‘thing’ right now.

Image: Neogaf.com

Grief is F*cking UGLY.  Believe me – I am one UGLY crier!!! (A fact that way too many of my friends can attest to!)  But I know I can’t and more importantly, don’t want to do this alone.

So thank you – in advance.

Hillary J.