Recently, I've been in a number of conversations with playwrights interested in learning how to find an agent. When asked this question, I always share the advice that Beth Blickers gave to me when I first approached her about five or six years ago. 

At that time, I was working freelance as a playwright, dramaturg, director, producer, and teaching artist. I was juggling a lot of contracts and working hard to find balance in my life.  I already had several readings, workshops, and productions to my name. What's more (and by the grace of all the muses, word of mouth, and good networking), my plays were being read by artistic directors and literary managers at some rather exciting regional theatres. I was eager to become a part of the American Theatre in a more visible and viable way. 

Beth, being the wise and generous playwrights' angel that she is, read three of my plays and was excited by my voice. She put me in her back pocket, as it were, and told me to be patient. She offered me excellent counsel from time to time and introduced me to a number of folks who also took an interest in my work. Each time we connected, she told me to focus on my craft. I did and years later, but exactly on time, an amazing agent, the incomparable Morgan Jenness, found me. 

Officially, Morgan and I met at the 2012 TCG National Conference. I was there for the first time as a Young Leader of Color and she was my mentor. Morgan is someone who doesn't do anything in halves. We spent a year getting to know each another over lunches, emails, and at various conferences.  She is someone I cherish deeply. We have similar values. I deeply admire and respect her fierce commitment to arts advocacy and social justice. In her actions and belief in me, she encourages me to be a better person. When she left Abrams Artists Agency, she made sure that I was in good and capable hands, which is how I came to work with the remarkable and talented Leah Hamos, who has been my source of strength, courage, and stability ever since.

So, for me, finding an agent was about finding a mentor, collaborator, and friend. It also had to do with shaping my voice, continuing to network, strengthening my position in the local, regional, and national community, and determining what my specific contribution to the American Theatre would be. But every story is different and so, without further ado and with permission, here's the invaluable advice that Beth Blickers shared with me:

“If you’ve only written one play and it hasn’t been produced then it is decidedly too soon to look for an agent. And bear in mind that once an agent passes on repping you, you go into their database of people to whom they have said no. And I know for a fact that at some agencies that database is shared within the department. Meaning if you get told no by one agent and approach a different agent two years later, they look you up and you can wind up getting passed on again without being read afresh.

The strongest moment to reach out to agents is when something nationally recognized is happening in your career, when you’ve built of fan base of people who know agents and can speak highly of you and when you are starting to bring in some income so they aren’t working entirely for free. At this point you’ll probably have met some agents in passing at theaters and panels, you’ll probably have worked with some directors who have agents (and are easy ways to get introductions), you’ll have artistic directors and literary managers who will make introductions on your behalf. And I hope you will have talked to represented artists about who they are with, who they know, who they like and why they like them, what agents are actually able to do for them, how they work well together (or don’t), so that you can thoughtfully talk with some agents and make a choice and work together happily for many decades to come.

Don’t (and I’m sure every literary manager will second this list) send us a play you have never heard out loud, even if it’s just in your living room. Don’t tell me about the 22 full length plays, 78 one acts and 592 sonnets you’ve written. Don’t list all of the famous people you know if they’ve never done a thing to further your career. Don’t tell me you’ve been produced by a theater when it was a one night event. Be honest and straightforward. I’d rather a fairly empty resume with a genius cover note then a dazzling array of information that when I start to pick at it, falls apart like dust. And trust me, we check. If you tell me a theater is strongly considering your play I WILL ask that theater about it. And 99 times out of 100 the “strong consideration” means the writer sent them the play that week. Makes the writer look bad to me and the theater.

Do network like mad, go to new play festivals, offer people a mid afternoon iced latte in exchange for an informational meeting, Google theaters, have a website, befriend writers and directors, invest energies in things other than theater, be interested in the world around you and be an interesting person yourself. Know what makes you unique and what you have to offer to the world of theater. The other day I chastised theaters who respond to queries about what they are looking for in a play with “good writing.” I’d say the same to any artist. If I ask you want you want to do in the theater please don’t tell me “write good plays and work with good people.” It tells me nothing about what makes YOU special. And if you don’t know what makes you special why do I care? To quote the great Liz Engleman “why this play, now.” I’d expand that and say agents are asking daily “why this writer, now.” The best writers have an answer. And my goodness they are a delight to represent.”

Over the past few years, I've been asked to serve as a mentor to theatre students and emerging playwrights near and far. And recently, in a forthcoming interview, I was asked to share my thoughts on being a mentor. Here's a collection of thoughts I've shared over the years.

On Becoming a Mentor:
I've always been the one to beg a seat at the table with the smartest person in the room. This way, I could listen, learn, grow, and be inspired. Many of my mentors are the women I knew in undergrad and grad school at the University of Texas at Austin: Amparo Garcia Crow, Jill Dolan, Ruth Margraff, and Omi Olono Osum. Recent mentors include folks I've met and reconnected with since moving to D.C.: Beth Blickers, Teresa Eyring, Gregg Henry, Morgan Jenness, Jennifer Nelson, Mary Resing, and Dawn Ursula. Some are also my peers: Sarah Bellamy, Ilana Brownstein, Julie Felise Dubiner, Jules Odendal James, and Dafina McMillan. So, when I was asked to be the one folks sat by, I thought wait a second, "How can I be a mentor when I'm still being mentored myself?" Then, I got over that, stopped being both selfish and self-conscious, and shared everything these amazing folks taught me.

On Being a Mentor:
I think about this quote from Benjamin Franklin:

“Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn.” 

I believe that being a mentor different from being a teacher. It’s a process of engaging another person in rich, inspired and challenging dialogue about shared passions, thoughts and ambitions. This allows each person to come to the conversation at different points of entry, different levels of experience and different points of views. You meet in a place of respect and admiration. 

On Finding a Mentor:
I started with people that I knew and who knew me. People who could speak to my ambition, enthusiasm, and experience. People whose aesthetic vision I admired and respected, even when it didn't mirror my own. For me, ultimately, it's was essential to find someone who shared my core and practicing values. I found that I was looking for someone to walk with in strength and solidarity. Someone who would challenge and nurture me. These are folks that I trust implicitly. 

Good Mentorship Advice:
1. It is essential that you learn how to talk about your work and aesthetic vision. You must be able to market yourself as a theatre professional. This will help with grants and interviews. Your narrative must begin with you who you are, what honed and shaped your voice and what you aspire to be. Be mindful, that there is a line between being clear about your path and being arrogant. It has to do with your intention. 

2. There is no success without the community. I am who I am because of my spirit, ambition, drive, and vision, but also because many people along the way believed in me and lifted me up. It is a part of my life service and artistic vision to lift others up as well. ​

My time in Louisville is drawing to a close. I head back to D.C. on Monday. Being here, working as a dramaturg on brownsville song (b-side for tray) for Actors Theatre of Louisville's Humana Festival of New Plays, has been at once a remarkable, challenging, inspiring and empowering experience. I am thankful to Jennifer Bielstein, Amy Wegener, Kimber Lee, and Meredith McDonough for this affirming, educational, and career-defining opportunity. What I wouldn't give to come back, and oh what a dream to be here as a playwright! Click here to learn more  and purchase your tickets.  Also, please enjoy these production photos by Bill Brymer and click here to learn more about the cast and crew.

Yesterday, before attending our first first preview, I walked that bridge that takes you to Indiana, as I've done so many times. Only this time, I walked against, through, and into 35-45 mph gale force winds. At one point, I held on to the metal railing as cars barreled passed. I don't know the depth of the Ohio River, but I know that my ability to swim pales against the strength of the tides. 

Step by step, gust by gust, I made my way across and back. All the while, I thought of Dorothy, whose story I'm in process of adapting for Adventure Theatre-MTC. This poor determined farm girl, who dared to dream and asked the universe for something more, something beautiful, something different. And so, she was scooped up by the wind and dropped somewhere new, magical, wonderful, frightening, and free.

I thought about her journey and all that she learned ... all that she wouldn't have learned had she stayed in one place. Then I thought about all of the change happening around me, all of the unbelievably amazing opportunities life has given me, and I felt blessed. I also felt really stupid for walking out on that bridge in the midst of a wind advisory. But honestly all of that is what I think it takes to make it through life: the audacity to dream, heaps of courage to embrace change, a lot of determination mixed with a bit of stupidity, a complete willingness to ask for help when you need it, and the humility to learn from all that you've experienced. This is also why your failures are as important, if not more so, than your successes.

Today, I'm going to finish my 10 minute play, SISTERS, BY WAY OF GRACE, which I've been commissioned to write for Theatre Ariel's 10X8: FOOD, FAMILY, and PHILOSOPHY Salon Series. It's an imagined encounter between Tziporah and Miriam. More on all of that soon! 

When I finish, I'm not going to take on that bridge that takes you to Indiana. The wind advisory is still in effect. Instead, I'll just meander about the city and see what adventure awaits.

Last month, the National Symphony Orchestra presented NSO at UNION STATION, two train-themed" concerts at Union Station as part of their In Your Neighborhood Program.  Under the leadership of NSO's Assistant Conductor Ankush Kumar Bahl, WUSA Channel 9's Andrea Roane served as mistress of ceremonies. I wrote the script, which consisted of short vignettes that not only introduced each song and composer, but also captured the spirit of the music and offered a glimpse of the vibrant landscapes one might see while riding a train. It was such a rich and joyous writing experience.

I sat front row at both concerts. Applause and cheers abound after each song. Every now and again, I'd look around to see a room brimming with people of all ages, races and multiple abilities. I was delighted to see so many families with children. I can't say enough how much I enjoyed working with the National Symphony Orchestra and hope that this is the first of many collaborations. And now, at long last, I have these wonderful photos by Josh Sisk to share with you. Please enjoy!

It's the rain. It's the joy of deeply held and lasting friendships. It's the blessing of a most beloved, patient and supportive family. It's the oddness of holding energy around the possibility of someone, who does not hold you in the same regard, and the courage to accept the unrequited feelings and the effort to release that energy. It's the humility of not being chosen first coupled with the gratitude of being included anyway. It's the excitement around upcoming work. It's the hope radiating around a career opportunity of a lifetime. It's that I'm in the dream stages of writing a new play. 

These are my morning meditations and life goals:

• To be a better me today than I was yesterday. 
• To grant myself humility in neglect, grace in achievements and compassion when facing challenges. 
• To be of service to other theatre artists and students.
• To deepen my knowledge, sense of joy and wonder, and and capacity for love. 
• To write beautiful plays.

And then there's the richness, power, and awe of this ... when poets, freedom fighters, and revolutionaries dance.

This video is powerful and evocative. It moved me to tears. 

Here's how it is described:
"A blind and homeless man sits by the side of a building hoping for some spare change, but no one seems to notice him or care. A stranger walks by and changes the message on his sign and suddenly the homeless man's fortunes change."

But it's not a PSA in support and awareness of the homeless and/or disabled communities. It's an ad for online copy writers. Thank you, A. Rey Pamatmat for sharing this useful bit of dramaturgy.

Confession: I silenced the little voice in my head that said, "Wait a minute, she didn't even ask if she could change his sign." I did so, because I found the compassion of people giving so touching. I have a heightened awareness to the homeless community right now for a number of reasons:

1. There but for the grace of God, my family, and a handful of dear friends go I, in this wretched economy.
   
2. In my new play, Among These Wild Things, one of the characters is a former featherweight boxing champion, who is now living on the streets. I made notes on this act of giving, but lack of engagement
   
3. The weather is awful right now. There are people in great need of shelter and warmth.
   

Mind you, using the poor and disenfranchised to evoke compassion is nothing new and it's where things get tricky. 

Also, let's contemplate this woman's action to change his sign. It reminds me of a scene in Episode Six of the ever brilliant House of Cards when Claire Underwood sees a homeless man perched outside of her office and hands him a $20 bill. She tells him there is a cafe up the street and walks away. We see him look at the money, but he does not move. The next day, he returns the $20 bill to her as a beautifully folded crane. She takes the crane, contemplates it and learns how to make cranes of her own. I'd also like to think that Claire sees this man as a man and as someone for whom she should not make assumptions. Also, I hope we get more of him in this next season.

There is a space where the women in the video's actions could be applauded. She didn't just walk by or drop of a few coins. As someone good with words, this is what she could do or give. In my own arrogance, I have seen the signs of the homeless or experienced the pitches, and wanted to offer a few tweaks. Historically, much has been made of this space of not just giving, but of doing what you can. Colonialism is a result of this space as are the many welfare programs in this country. 

And it is here where I want to focus this conversation, this space of knowing what is best for a community and therefore providing a service. It's troublesome as it relates to the work we do in theatre when we provide artistic programming FOR a community and not WITH the community. 

With theatre, we are creating what we believe is a deeply powerful, important, and meaningful experience. But within that is the knowledge/working assumption that the community doesn't know what it needs and/or that it needs to be taught, and certainly that it needs to be taught a standard of excellence. But we are surprised and disappointed when the community doesn't show up, and because of our business model and need for sustainability, we are also panicked. We do our best to try to engage with the audience: surveys, post show discussions, marketing, etc. But something is missing. There is a disconnect in all of this somewhere.

I decided to write about this, because I've been a part of conversations about how in the nonprofit theatre world, we serve our communities by providing artistic programming for them versus with them. This is subtle, but marked distinction. Also, I've been a part of conversations about how theatres use people of color in their marketing, but their programming and artistic/administrative staff do not reflect the same level of diversity. There is a disconnect between the mission statement, the programming, and the community, which could account for dwindling audiences, the continued lack of diversity, and no doubt contributes to unstable capitalization. Click here to learn more about how all of this is intertwined.

There's so much to unpack here. I thought about deleting the video from my Facebook page, but felt the conversation was relevant and important to have. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

I started my day in conversation with Sarah Bellamy (a true blessing in its own right) about Penumbra Theatre Company and being able to live in a time where we can directly name the work we're doing around advocacy, social change, and eliminating racism in the theater. I am also sitting with the mourning and celebration of Nelson Mandela's life, work and legacy. He is a living testament to a time, space and energy when the fight for freedom came at a profound cost, but he lived long enough to see powerful change as a result of his efforts. Many of our own civil rights leaders and freedom fighters were not granted that grace. Of course, there is more work to do in many areas including theatre. 

My conversation with Sarah also allowed me to engage more deeply with a series of personal losses that have happened over the past year or so ... which resulted in this morning meditation...

Growing up in Tennessee Colony was difficult. Racism, prejudice and attitudes toward poverty have done much to damage my self-esteem, optimism, sense of wonder and enthusiasm for life. Daily, I am reminded of the work needed to nurture my spirit. I don't always win, but having dear friends and a supportive family is a salvation.

Over the course of the last year or so, I have lost three people who have loved me for most of my life. These people were my god parents, Debbie and James, both to cancer, and a dear family friend, Alan, who we lost on Wednesday to a heart attack. 

All three were friends of my father and mother. I loved speaking on the phone to Debbie and James when I was little. They lived in upstate New York and only visited a couple of times to my recollection. So, it was special to know that someone, who lived so far away, cared about me and wanted to talk to me. I was penpals with their daughter for a long time. Also, I have many treasured childhood memories in the home of Alan and his wife Mary. Playing on their living room floor, going on fishing trips, eating and laughing together, and watching them in friendship with my parents.

I remember asking my father once, "Why do they love us and want to spend so much time with us? Why do they love me?" They weren't family and so I didn't understand. Also, I had never met anyone on my mother's side of the family and so learned early that bloodlines don't automatically assume love. He explained, "They love you because you're you and you bring them happiness." 

To be loved by someone outside of your bloodline for simply being you and perhaps for the joy you bring to their lives is a wondrous experience. To lose that love is equally challenging. 

​All of which led me back to Mandela Nelson, a man who was loved and admired by so many. I am one of those people. I was inspired by his fight for freedom and humbled by his commitment to peace and reconciliation. His spirit drives the work that I do around Diversity and Inclusion in the American Theatre. It's hard to contextualize all that I'm experiencing right now, but I want to thank Madiba for his life's work. I want to thank those who believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. I want to move forward in service. Thank you for all who give me the opportunity to do so.

The thing about core values is that once you establish them, they will be tested. Constantly and at varying degrees of intensity. You must continually nurture, finesse, and engage them. In doing so, you will either re-avow your allegiance or release them. Quite frankly, it seems that the more you honor and live by them ... the more you firmly hold on to them, the greater the test will be. As great as holding on for dear life to a twig in the midst of a tempest. You dare not let go, for you must protect yourself and the twig. You're in it together. Such a moment happened to me last night:

It was just past midnight. I was lying down in bed. My upstairs neighbor was either watching porn or playing videos games. There were odd and random sounds and bad music playing. Really, it could have been either. 

Despite efforts to the contrary, I was wide awake. I turned to my side and placed a pillow over my head. This strategy has never worked to drown out sound, but the effort--its dramatic release of frustration--seems worthy of repetition. I saw a blue light flashing on my phone indicating a message. I'm waiting to hear back about several exciting job opportunities, so every message is read with eagerness and enthusiasm. 

I read the email and was struck. I was being asked to consider something that put my personal, professional and artistic integrity on high alert. My heart started racing and leapt into my throat. It was difficult to breathe. My vision blurred and I was thrown into a fit of tears recounting the number of times I'd been asked to whitewash a situation and put conversations about racial equity, cultural awareness, and gender parity aside for the betterment and ease of the room. 

But then I remembered the line that I drew some years ago ... an invisible, but palpable line that stood between who I am (the essence and truth of my honor and dignity, and how I choose to live in the world) and what I am willing to walk away from no matter what the cost. By meditating on that line, I contemplated what it would mean to cross it and the silence I would have to bear if I agreed with the conditions set forth in this email. 

Make no mistake, the cost of walking away from this situation would be great and public, but I would have to walk away. I would neither be able to stand the hypocrisy nor stomach the lies. What's more, I wouldn't be able to advocate for women playwrights and theatre artists of color or continue the work that I'm doing around Diversity and Inclusion in the American Theatre with any credibility. 

That line, which temptation, greed, convenience and power, oft tempt to erase brought me comfort, hope, empowerment and sanity. I renewed my allegiance and slept a good, uninterrupted sleep. As for the rest, we'll see what unfolds.

This morning, the wonderfully informative, inspiring and addictive newsletter Brain Pickings featured Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. I first read Bird by Bird in college. Originally, I had enrolled at UT as a journalism major. I quickly realized that I wouldn't be able to tell the truth in that field ... at least not the way I understood truth at that time. So, I switched my major to screenwriting and took every playwriting and performance ethnography classes that were offered. 

After my first playwriting class with Amparo Garcia Crow, I bought Bird by Bird from the Barnes and Nobles on the Drag in Austin. (The store has since along with many old haunts as since closed.) It's a witty, wonderful book, quite worn with wear, that I return to now and again for inspiration and solace. One the quotes that Maria Popova, references is one that deeply resonates with me:

"As we live, we begin to discover what helps in life and what hurts, and our characters act this out dramatically. This is moral material. … A moral position is a passionate caring inside you. We are all in danger now and have a new everything to face, and there is no point gathering an audience and demanding its attention unless you have something to say that is important and constructive. My friend Carpenter says we no longer need Chicken Little to tell us the sky is falling, because it already has. The issue now is how to take care of one another."

"How do we take care of one another?" 

I ask this question a lot. I ask it in the face of senseless and harrowing accounts of callous disregard for human life. I ask it as the gap between the wealthy and poor continues to increase at staggering rates all the while services to the poor are threatened and slashed. I ask it when thinking about the nation's failing education system and the beyond broken prison system. I ask it in the wake of reports of bullying, rape, child abuse and the recent reports of the knockout game. 

I'm overwhelmed by these ceaseless breaking news reports and editorials that attempt to capture the violence and articulate the cause. I'm often inundated with fear, anger, sadness, frustration and a sense of helplessness. Where is the human decency and personal integrity in all of this? Why are we ruled by pride and not humility, honor and common sense? Why is there so much anger? How do we shift this anger into something positive and productive?  How have we failed each other, this generation? How do we teach our youth that there is something beyond themselves that they can serve, be it spiritual or for the good of mankind? 

Trying to answer these questions is why I wrote LOVE BROTHERS SERENADE, a hiphop infused drama that follows two young men, Reynaldo and Ricardo, as they struggle for survival and fight to forge their own identities in DC's inner city ghettos. It explores the impact of neglect, systemic racism, and gentrification on inner city communities, the effect of which creates an environment ripe for street gangs, violence, and drug/alcohol abuse. 

This play has received a lot of attention lately. It was a 2013 Semi-finalist at the O’Neill Playwrights Conference and recently a finalist for the Source Festival Full-Length Plays. I hope it finds a home somewhere, because the community engagement work that I want to do around this play involves educators, artists, social workers, policy makers, religious and civic leaders, and most importantly, young people. With this play. I want to try to find answers to how we better care of one another. As a theatre artist, this is one way that I can start the dialogue and mobilize action for change

I'm back from TCG's Fall Forum on Governance, an event that brings together theatre trustees and senior staff from across the nation. This year's theme was “Investing in Vitality: Actions Plans and Honest Dialogue to Strengthen Capitalization and Diversity.” We spent the weekend discussing how a strong business model rooted in diversity and inclusion and based on a long-term financial plan will better serve a theatre’s company's mission, vision and purpose as well as its community. It was a powerful, engaging, informative and emotionally/politically charged convening that focused on intersection of diversity, inclusion, artistic freedom and financial health.  I’ll be capturing my notes and reflections on TCG Circle’s Diversity and Inclusion Salon. 

By Sunday evening when I arrived at Penn Station, I was exhilarated, but exhausted. I was also in pain from having sustained an accidental self-inflicted hot water second-degree burn on my thumb. Don't worry, I’ll spare you the details and photo!

The train was 45 minutes late and overcrowded. Couples and families were split apart and strangers were seated side-by-side. Most folks plugged into electronic devices right away. All around me, people were listening to music, watching movies, working on spreadsheets, writing reports and sending emails. I thought about working, but couldn’t summon the focus or strength. Instead, I rested and thought about the uncertainty and exciting possibilities that lay ahead. Doing so, allowed me to overhear a touching and unexpected conversation between the two men seated in front of me. One was older, in his late 30s, the father of a 7 year old girl. The other one was a junior in college, in his early 20s. 

The conversation began in Trenton, where the Young Man had boarded. My ear picked up their conversation when the Young Man started speaking about the differences between Princeton and College Park as college towns. The Young Man was from a small town in the Midwest and then had transferred from UMD to Princeton in August. He was still trying to get used to everything. After spending most of my life in a farming/cattle ranch community, before attending undergrad and grad school in Austin, TX, I understood what he meant by getting used to everything. Austin is great college town, but it’s also a big music town that hosts the ever-popular SXSW Festival, has a lot of great food and excellent outdoor activities. While worlds apart in many ways, both College Park and Princeton have beautiful scenic campuses, are peopled with brilliant, accomplished and creative minds, and rest in close proximity to the nation’s most exciting, international cities. 

The Older Man suggested that part of the Young Man's trouble was that New Jersey has an identity problem. “Princeton is a great school, one of the best schools, but I would never want to live in Jersey. But because of work, I’ve spent time in a few major cities and the shore. One on one, New Jersey has some nice cities, as beautiful as any city in America. But, for some reason, somewhere along the way, the state got a bad reputation and it stuck. You know, the whole armpit thing” 

The Older Man then recommended that the Young Man take a few weekend trips to New York and mentioned that the last time he was there, he saw Avenue Q. This, as you can imagine, delighted me to no end. Usually, I'm the person on the train that tells strangers to go see theatre in various cities. 

Now, the Young Man had never heard of Avenue Q, so the Older Man explained that it was an irreverent “parody, riff, take” on Sesame Street. “Instead of counting and the ABC’s, we learn that everyone is racist and sexist and that we’re all basically good people who do bad things sometimes and have all kinds of issues. It was the funniest, smartest thing I’d ever seen.”

The Older Man then asked the Young Man if he had ever watched Sesame Street. The Young Man replied, "Of course, I grew up on it."  The Older Man confessed that he hadn't watched it growing up, but does now with his daughter. Then, he started talking about the puppetry of the Lion King and tried to connect with regards to the history of puppetry. He wasn't quite getting right, which made me want to interject and launch into my Intro to Theatre lecture about the history of puppets and the impact of The Lion King on puppetry in the American Theatre, but I didn’t and I'm glad. If I had, it probably would've prevented what became the most amazing unscripted conversation I've ever eavesdropped on in my life. 

​When talk turned to the Lion King, the Young Man got excited, because had seen it with his parents. They talked about how the Broadway production was so different and even more beautiful than the movie. The Older Man shared that he thought Scar was a terrible villain, because he killed his own brother to be king. To this, the Young Man adamantly disagreed. He thought Ursula from the Little Mermaid was "the worst person in the world. Well, not person, but character. She's pure evil. To see that people are weak and lonely, to make promises to help them, to make impossible bargains, knowing they won't be able to ... and then to take their lives. That's just wrong. I hate her so much." He got deeply emotional when he spoke. His voice rose, but also quivered in timber. It made me think he had met his own Ursula at some point in his life. The Older Man agreed and said he would make sure to talk to his daughter about that when they watched it again.

​From there, they launched into the most compelling and detailed conversation about princesses from the following Disney Movies: Aladdin, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty. They spoke passionately and at great length about the trajectory of each woman: what they had wanted, the villains they had to face, the challenges they overcame, and what they learned/how it changed them. In the end, they determined that Belle was the absolute best of all of the Disney princesses, because she was smart, liked to read, was patient and kind to her father, was a little weird, didn't want to do what everyone else wanted to do and she was pretty. 

The Older Man felt good about this, because his daughter loves Belle so much and he's been worried about her only wanting to be pretty. The Young Man felt good about this because he always connected with the Beast. When he was younger, he was angry a lot and didn't always know what to do with his emotions. Also, he wants to fall in love with someone like Belle, a smart, pretty, kinda weird woman, who doesn't want to be like everyone else.

​After that, they started talking about places to visit in D.C., what the Young Man wanted to do with his life and gambling. I stopped listening at that point and wrote down everything I could remember. When I finished, I looked up and saw that the Young Man had gone to sleep and moments later, the train slowed to a stop in Baltimore. The Older Man stood up and gathered his things. He helped an elderly woman get her suitcase down and before departing, he looked back and down at the Young Man. He didn't smile, but his eyes softened. 

It was only then that I felt a twinge of guilt. These two men, who had never before met, were caught in a moment when their worlds had intersected on a deeply personal level. They couldn't have known their conversation was being stolen and recorded in such detail. Everyone around us was plugged in and seemingly oblivious. But I couldn't help, but bear witness. My expectations for where this conversation would go had been so vastly and delightfully overturned. I was so struck by how the world had opened up to this rare, wonderful and unexpected moment of intimacy. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did ...​