January 2024
Q: What’s hard about being a leadership consultant who pulls from the sports and performing arts worlds to work with both worlds to achieve and/or enhance their social impact ambitions?
A: Succinctly explaining what exactly it is that I do.
Q: What’s fun about doing this work?
A: Just about everything deemed “leisure” is relevant to my professional development.
Per question 1, I’ve spent months years trying to get my website and work description “just right” before going all in on self-promotion. After all, the so-called best practices and business experts seem to agree that you should have a crystal clear “elevator pitch” before anyone will even consider your work. I’ve finally realized that this is just not conducive to how I have ever been successful or accomplished anything in my life. Whether it’s choreographing on ice, producing a film, teaching a class, or managing a stage, my best work happens when I go in with a strong dose of trust in my knowledge and experience and not much else. Over-preparation stifles creativity and over-planning makes every decision feel too precarious. So It may not work for the risk-averse, transactionally-operating, linear-thinking, types. But for people and organizations who are ready to make real change in the world—who understand that to do better requires taking a leap of faith out of the existing structures of “how it’s always been”—my ability to work in the unknown, to be vulnerable, to be dynamic and responsive while trusting a solid foundation of skills is an asset. Everything that has ever been created was first born in someone’s imagination. And imagination doesn’t live in “best practices”.
So instead of getting caught up in cerebral topics and long-form analytical posts out of a fear that I need to constantly “pitch” myself and convince the “how it’s always been” world that I do, in fact, know what I’m doing, I’m going to stick to the fun stuff.
I’m already excited about my plan to wrap up each month with a short list of my favorite “leisurely” things. Films, TV shows, Books, Sports moments, music, and whatever else comes up. Here’s my list for January:
Film: Rustin
I watched this early in the month and I’m tempted to watch it again before writing anything just to make sure I remember and cover all the amazing things I felt and could say about this film because it more than deserves it. I will definitely be seeing this again but what this film deserves more than my praises is for you to just watch it as soon as possible.
If you don’t know who Bayard Rustin is, your time is running out for blaming that on America’s censoring and suppression of Black stories…and gay stories…and Black gay stories. America still does this. But Rustin’s name and place in history is finally getting more mainstream recognition for being a pivotal visionary and engine in the Civil Rights Movement. Films with stories like this often sit in my queue for a long time, waiting for me to have the time and emotional capacity to watch it attentively. Because I’m sensitive. Thankfully, I used to work with a woman—a fiction writer and editor—who often referenced Bayard Rustin in casual conversation. His work, story, and existence seemed like a lifeline—or at least a major influence—to this person who has had similar identities and experiences to Rustin. For some reason, having some prior connection to a story through a trusted person helps movies like this jump the line. If you’re the same way, here’s your invitation to log onto Netflix and press play.
The cast AND crew of this film are a dream line up of talented artists who are seasoned in dealing with complex, important, and profound characters and stories. For me, a person who knows faces better than names, I pressed pause so many times to IMDb people because it felt disrespectful to recognize so many but not know their names for how brilliant their performances were. Overall, it’s a film that feels like it’s just scratching the surface of Rustin’s story without feeling shallow or simplified. As someone who’s been a part of social justice work and activism, I also appreciate how the story balanced the inspirational energy of the story without shying away from internal conflicts and disagreements that can arise. I’m sure some gloss was applied to details here and there but it didn’t portray this particular view into the Civil Rights Era as a tidy, straightforward, and complete movement that happened “back then” like so many other depictions have done. The editing, the noise, the lighting, the contrast, the intersection of storylines and characters both factual and fictional…the overall composition of the film delivers an emotional and critical piece of history in a way that’s artistically exciting while leaving me feeling charged with a duty—yet enticed anyway—to learn way more than what this movie could fit in under two hours.
TV Show: This Way Up
This was a re-watch for me which is not something I do a lot, especially with TV shows (or do we say “series” now?). There are plenty of…shows (I’m sticking with shows) that have 47 seasons of 182.5 episodes that I’ve “watched” many times while, cleaning, folding laundry, baking bread, attending Zoom meetings, and writing nonsense online. But like your average American Girl Doll I don’t get emotionally caught up in these shows—even when they’re especially heinous—anymore than I get emotionally caught up in white noise. This Way Up is not white noise.
Written by and starring Aisling Bea, its twelve episodes over two seasons are just not enough. Written by and starring Aisling Bea, its twelve whole episodes over not one but TWO seasons feels like an overly generous sharing of her gifts that I would feel obliged to decline out of politeness were we at a dinner. And gleefully wolf down once the host forced more onto my plate also out of politeness.
I might be avoiding the points you actually care about here. Why the fuck should I watch this, Allison? If me saying because doesn’t convince you then you’re forcing me to divulge that secretly buried in this comedy are massive yet bizarrely specific mirrors to some of the most vulnerable, difficult, and heartbreaking experiences I’ve had in recent years. Way to go asshole.
Not long before I watched This Way Up the first time, I had outlined a story—inspired by many of these experiences—for a potential film. I needed to see a depiction of common life traumas that wasn’t so tunnel-visioned and calculated and definitive, for better or worse. There is no shortage of stories about characters who endure a single major tragedy that they then triumphantly overcome to win prom queen, the Olympics, a Nobel Prize, and a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut. As if grief caused by anything but a direct hit over the head, and subsequent healing that doesn’t result in measurable achievements, are burdens too ambiguous to stir up help from friends and family; they aren’t even relevant enough to be told through stories. What if a person’s complex and whole human existence was labeled by their name rather than portioned behind a diagnosis? What if your breakdown was the result of an accumulation of relatively normal stressors in your relatively normal life from which you can take a mental health retreat—with our without jacuzzis—but to which you have to return? What if you lose someone to suicide who wasn’t a family member, best friend, or even someone you see very often but that person no longer existing completely disrupts the shape of the world as you know it? What if healing is messy and boring and surprising and confusing and mundane and really not very distinguishable from plain old living life?
When I saw This Way Up, I felt like I was finally watching the story I wanted and needed to see. I still have the outline to the story I was working on and perhaps I’ll expand it to a script one day. But for now, this show has been a salve.
I promise this show is absolutely hilarious. Especially if you appreciate Irish humor (which I’ve theorized has deeply influenced Northern Maine humor, the patriarch to my own humor). Hopefully by now I’ve said the word humor enough to counteract all the dread and gloom I shared above because I probably wrote more dread and gloom than Aisling did. Altogether you could plausibly label this show under several genres because the writing brings the characters to life for us to witness as relatable humans rather than plugged in to deliver us parables and punchlines.
You can certainly enjoy this show without getting as deep and mushy and analytical as I did (/that I do with everything). But for what it’s worth I’ll add that my Master’s degree thesis was about how performance artists are inherent—perhaps ideal and exceptional—community leaders and organizers. Unfortunately I did not interview Aisling Bea for that paper but I do believe her voice and body of work supports my theory.
Book: Bravey by Alexi Pappas
I promised myself that I’d make this a true “listicle”: A thematic list accompanied by brief, supportive commentary that’s maybe a little bit funny sometimes. I have clearly broken that promise to myself which I really made for your (the reader’s) sake so I’m sorry. This one is literally a book though so I’ll try and keep it tight.
Do you know who Alexi Pappas is? Because I didn’t and that’s ridiculous. My whole life has been a battle between sports and arts (and my sport IS an art). Even though I’ve reportedly made a name for myself as someone who isn’t afraid to break the rules, go against the grain, and rebel for good, I also have finally learned how freeing it can be to have an example of someone who has already done the thing you’re trying to do. It’s easy to get burned out from being your primary source of affirmation. I knew that sports and arts aren’t incompatible. I knew that they more-so complement each other. I knew that I could simultaneously pursue artistic goals and athletic/sports-based goals and that I wouldn’t feel whole unless I did. AND YET. I didn’t realize how much I was still wavering on trusting myself in all of this until I read Bravey by Alexi Pappas, an actor/filmmaker and Olympic runner.
I’m obviously not an Olympian (or even pursuing athletic goals beyond to simply “become athletic again”) but I’m still very involved in sports advocacy and organizing. And although art, especially performance art, has been a part of my life since forever it was only a few years ago that I admitted to myself that I wanted to pursue film professionally (and then did…and am). But reading just the introduction to Bravey was like receiving permission I didn’t know I was missing to live the way that I have basically always lived and had recently made “official”.
I am once again being too indulgent with my writing in order to say “hey go read this other person’s writing!” but I’ll end with this review:
As briefly and vaguely alluded to in my essay on This Way Up, I went through kind of a lot these past few years. And by a lot I mean the last few years was really an excavating and vomiting up the worse yet more intensely suppressed previous decade and perhaps a little bit more than that too. Don’t worry though because thanks to all that work I’ve come more and more back to myself and have been craving a sense of the fire and eagerness and ambition and bravery I remember having before those few years plus previous decade and perhaps a little bit more. Lucky for me, the world I’m most socially connected to has evolved and now the main ingredients to a “healthy, balanced, and sane” life are weighted blankets, gummies that make you sleepy, and frequent naps in between pickleball matches. To be clear, I am a fan of this. We’re all being exploited while the world is collapsing and we should prioritize rest and playing with friends.
But I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t find some “old school” motivation. I had overtrained, strained, broken my body and mind when I was younger and I yoga-d, meditated, green juiced, therapized, medicated, and rested myself for almost as long after that. It was time to take a risk and try just living my best life using this ridiculous spread of a spectrum I’ve learned from. I wish I had thought to look to an athlete to reconnect with the sort of motivation I was craving but to be honest this book had been sitting on my shelf for a while and when I cut out social media for the holidays it started calling my name. The truth is, I don’t think I would have even considered turning to an athlete memoir to help pick me up because for some reason I think we devalue the prescription-like dedication of athletes as either immature or exclusively acceptable for the elite—especially in today’s “rest is the new hustle” culture. Just like we’ve been socialized to believe that art and creative pursuits are only worthy of our time if we’re exceptionally talented and can reliably make money from it. The truth is, cultural trends for what makes a “healthy” life are trends not unlike fashion. We have to find what works for us at any given point in time whether it’s in style or not—especially if it gives us what we need to feel most alive again.
While this book did help me reconnect with my inner-athlete to influence and motivate all parts of my life, it’s written in such a practical way for anyone who reads it. Pappas shares so much about her life—already a personal generosity—and so many ideas, methods, and skills she’s learned from coaches and mentors from throughout her life. These aren’t necessarily unique for a memoir I guess but she writes and offers them in a way that feels like a teammate sharing the gems they’ve picked up in their development to help lift everyone up. I think an indirect lesson from reading Bravey is how enjoyable it is to consider this concept of a teammate—which she distinguishes from the role of a friend—when pursuing work in competitive fields. Teammates can be actual people in your everyday life or people you barely know who spin in a similar circle or are bravely pursuing a similar pathway as you. Learn without envy, share generously, and be a part of making other dream-chasers with wild imaginations feel less alone.
Music: Believers by Mother Feather
Speaking of people I interviewed for my graduate thesis…people who I’m pretty sure per the rules of university laws or something I’m not allowed to confirm nor deny…all of which is beside the point because there is no better example of incredible performance artists being inherently bad-ass leaders of community for social and human good than MOTHER FEATHER.
Led by powerhouse, visionary, and majestic talent Ann Courtney, Mother Feather is perhaps one of the first bands—or artists in general for that matter—that I’ve ever intentionally followed as a fan and admirer. This was back in 2018 when I was living in Brooklyn and unknowingly approaching the slow-motion implosion of my life. Regardless of my rebellious reputation, I was still clinging to this deeply rooted compulsion to prove that I wasn’t “too out there”; that I was still on the “reasonable” path that you’re “supposed” to follow if you’re a mature and professional and independent adult. Long story, short: You can’t be a Bravey nor a Believer and keep up the act as a compliant, agreeable, fitting-in sort of human.
During that time, my inner artist was screaming because I kept letting myself get pushed aside by people who were bolder and louder about being creatives (or rather, I politely stepped aside and waited for someone to give me permission to be creative while colleagues dumped their “boring” work responsibilities onto me so they could focus on their “real” work). Although I lived in NYC for 7 years, I was always either too broke or too burned out or too broke and too burned out to even be a spectator to art very often. So when a friend of Ann Courtney’s introduced me to her and brought me to a show at The Knitting Factory, I had no idea how desperately I needed to be there. Mother Feather puts on a performance without a single fuck given to what a venue or stage suggests their show should be like. And they match the boldness and audacity of their performances with a depth and intentionality in their musical and lyrical composition.
As a figure skater who always chose songs by the likes of Joan Jett and for various life-identity reasons always felt like an outsider on the ice, I have always hated how the sport is so easily mesmerized by ingenuity that plays within the lines. It’s easier to see now how I was trained to wait for permission before daring to call myself an artist (and how I often stepped aside for others not because they were necessarily bolder and braver than I was but because they played by the sport’s cultural rules far better than I ever cared to and were granted permission early on to pursue their ideas as they wished). It’s wild how we can know and preach on subjects with such conviction yet still be blindsided by the ways in which we’re following the rules against our own advice.
Thankfully, as it would unknowingly be my last season coaching in New York, Mother Feather lit enough of a spark in me that I dared to insist on choreographing and receiving credit for one program idea. I still can’t believe how much labor and conceptual work I put into shows and performances and even news interviews where I just let myself believe that it was altruistic to not worry about credit—the work had to be done for the sake of the students, after all—while others were given assumed or explicit credit. But if only one piece of my work could be credited to my name, I am most glad that it’s the one I did to a song by Mother Feather.
Even though the full concept wasn’t totally put into play, it was a start in me remembering my abilities to take something imaginary and make it real. When I didn’t get to implement all the parts of my idea—that would have brought in community influence and connections so that the skaters could, for once, use the opportunity to transcend the limitations of the sport’s traditions rather than merely take it on as an assignment with prescribed dimensions and time limits—I finally felt like it was for reasons that would be in my control as I regained my confidence and dignity again. I finally started to realize how this idea that others were more deserving of getting to do the work they loved was a myth and that if I waited for it to be my turn I would never get it.
I still dream of doing a full Mother Feather on Ice show—or at least being financially successful enough that I can support the artists I love in the ways they more than deserve. While the pandemic slowed all of us down I can only imagine how it affected bands like Mother Feather who have received obvious success and notoriety around the world but are also “typical of many hardscrabble NYC bands, capitalizing on the momentum of their regular live shows while juggling bartending gigs and side jobs to make it all work.” I play their vinyl regularly and mix their songs into the playlists I use when I teach off-ice classes (slowly indoctrinating the next generation of MF-ers). If I’m to use what I’ve learned from Alexi Pappas, I’d say that I consider Ann Courtney and Mother Feather altogether as one of my “teammates”. I love celebrating and sharing all that they work to create and I feel more confident in my own work just knowing that they’re orbiting the sun at the same time I am. So as I swerved into 2024, eager to get my fire back but not sure how, it was beyond fitting that Mother Feather released a new song and a fire-storm of reassurance that they’re still here with big, fiery, brilliant-as-usual upcoming plans.
I am definitely a Believer. And if you are, too, don’t wait for permission to proclaim it. There’s more than enough fire to go around.
Sports moment: Bisan
I fully believe that creation and recreation are the whole purpose of life. While we continue to live in a world where a fraction of people (and those who wish to be them) so unnecessarily discriminate against and eradicate whole communities of people in their selfish pursuit of hoarding wealth, power, and the freedom to play however, whenever, and wherever they wish, picking up a camera, a paintbrush, or a ball becomes a radical act.
To me, sports have never been about who in the world is the “best”. Playing a game or practicing an athletic craft requires you to use everything that makes you human. And if you take away all of the accolades, trophies, memorabilia, and hierarchies that have been tools in turning sports into tools for politics and business, your left with these bizarre, cool, ridiculous, and sometimes silly games that exist for no reason than to entertain us and make us feel alive. That may sound really deep but it doesn’t take much thinking to get to that point. So while I continue to read news about Israel’s continued plans to again “move their ground operation” to the city they recently advised all Palestinians of Gaza to move to—and while I continue to work in a country where people are being fired for expressing support for human rights and dignity—I know that this fleeting clip of joy and play shared by Bisan is no small moment.
And while voicing dissent against the most violent and deadly military action this century that has killed more than 10,000 children is, for some reason, “risky” to my personal and professional reputation, it can also be easy to let the voices who might say something like, “how can you focus on sports right now when they’re starving?” make one hesitate to choose this clip in particular to share. I think our insistence on curating our advocacy around traumas and tragedies and statistics can contribute to the dehumanization that makes it so easy for people to turn away. I’m not saying we should stop talking about the atrocities that continue to happen in Gaza and around the world where the exploitation and disregard for mostly African and Arab and Indigenous lives are for the stolen benefit of countries like my own. We should absolutely keep talking about it. But these narratives continue to repeat over and over again throughout history so much that they create this illusion of being the whole story—so complete that we must be powerless in changing it.
Last summer I had the opportunity to attend a global summit on youth sports leadership. I met people from India, South Africa, Australia, Mexico, China, Japan, Mexico, and so many other places. Everyone had similar stories about how they use sports—netball, rugby, ultimate frisbee, dance, basketball, martial arts—to connect with kids in their communities and serve as a conduit for resources and other development needs the kids might have. And I met Carol (not her real name).
We can talk all day long about how sports help kids build resilience, get better jobs, do well in school, foster positive peer relationships, and so on. Only since October have I realized how ignorant people are (or choose to be) about how pervasive and long-existing the aggressions against Palestinians has been going on. But the reality, both from having an eye on global news and having worked alongside many Israeli and Jewish activists who organized actions in support of the liberation of Palestinians and to raise awareness around Israeli occupation, was very present to me when I met Carol over breakfast that first morning in London. She was using sports—however loosely defined—with kids who didn’t have seasons or years to build up their resilience. She told me about kids who’d show up to play the day after one of their parents was killed in an explosion. She told me about not always having a “regular” group of kids because they would get displaced or incarcerated or killed. Carol’s organization brought sports to kids because playing sports is proof to yourself that you are still alive when being alive is, itself, resilience.
Bisan has risked her life to share images and stories of the latest horrors being carried out in Gaza. Bringing attention to this game, these smiles, these bouts of laughter don’t in any way detract from the seriousness of what’s happening. It’s a protest against the killings and suffering being sold as the whole story by simply daring to play—the most human thing people can do.