Three upcoming workshops: Wanna hang out?

I have three writing & yoga workshops coming up! During these workshops, we come together to practice, discuss, create, and connect. (And, no, I will never make you share your writing!)

No experience is necessary, all my workshops are open to beginners to both yoga and writing. And if you have a writing and/or yoga practice already, these workshops will help you take it to a new level.

June 23rd - Oak Island, NC

I'll be at Rebel Soul Yoga doing a half-day retreat on meditation, yoga, and writing for anxiety. We will explore mindfulness,  yoga philosophy, and journaling prompts. There are only a couple of spots left, so reserve yours here.

September 6 – 9 - Boone, NC

I will be leading a Writing and Wellness Yoga retreat with the incredible yoga teacher and health coach, Cecily Armstrong.  We'll be covering topics such as the various aspects of emotional and physical wellness, nutrition, journaling as a form of healing, and using yoga as a way to reconnect to your life.  Get more info and sign up at Art of Living Retreat Center.

September 28-30 - Buckingham County, VA

I will be leading a Yoga and writing for anxiety retreat at Yogaville.  Both Yoga and writing offer ways to tap into the heart of the present moment and see what is true and real in everyday life. The key to more inner peace lies in learning to drop the story and access the serenity of the present moment so we can stop obsessing about the past and future. For those of us with anxiety, that may seem like an impossible task, but there are proven ways to retrain the brain and create healthier habits. Sign-ups are open now!

For more information about my Pose & Pose Workshops, click here.  And feel free to contact me with any questions. Hope to see you at a retreat!

That time I met Barbara Bush and her running shoes

As a twelve-year-old Canadian, I really didn't know what I was supposed to wear when I met the First Lady of the United States.

Had I known that she was going to show up wearing running shoes, I think I would have felt much better about the whole thing.

I had acted alongside the spectacular Jessica Tandy in "The Story Lady" a TV movie that exulted the joys of books and reading to kids. The role was tailor-made for me, the pre-teen nerd who frequently walked into walls because she could not put her book down. The show got some attention, and it inspired Mrs. Bush to create The National Story Lady Project, a nationwide project to foster inter-generational reading. And when the invitation for the program kick-off party arrived, I was rather embarrassed to find it was it was me, and not the First Lady, who was on the cover.

My mom and I, plus the writer and producers of the movie, went to the White House. I don't actually remember what I wore, but I'm sure it was full-on-preteen-circa-1991 glory. I would be surprised if lace gloves were not involved. We stood around a very flowery room and drank tea with the First Lady and pretended this was just what we did on Monday afternoons.

Barbara Bush was very kind to me and sweet about my role in the film. I was trying to pay attention to her, but I could not stop staring at her shoes. She was wearing a beautiful suit, accented with white sneakers (were they Reeboks? I'm pretty sure they were) that had the word “READ” on them in puffy gold paint. They were incredibly dorky and wildly endearing and they were the best things I had ever seen.

I wondered if she had done that herself or if there was an official White House bedazzler. Was this a career I could grow up aspiring to?

We drank tea from tiny floral china cups and I learned how to eat finger sandwiches without dropping the saucer. There were photo ops and Mrs. Bush gave a little speech about the movie and then my mother and I just stood around awkwardly for a while, trying not to touch anything. Neither Mom nor I ever felt comfortable in fancy situations. We were the kind of family that went camping for vacations and considered dinner at Sizzler to be only for extra special occasions. So, we passed our uneasiness back and forth, while we stood below a larger-than-life-size painting of Jackie O in a gilded frame that probably cost more than our house.

But I kept thinking about Mrs. Bush's shoes. Even in the midst of all the secret service and crystal chandeliers and crustless sandwiches - she was cool and normal and maybe even kind of like me. All while wearing those awesome shoes.

I presented the First Lady with a book, which seemed like the right thing to give someone who had all those libraries. It was a book I loved, by an Indigenous Canadian author, since I assumed the White House library wouldn't already have that one. She later mailed me a thoughtful thank you note, which must be somewhere in my basement.

I wasn't very political when I was twelve. I knew that the Bushes were Republicans and we were Democrats and I knew those things were different. But I also knew that the only thing I cared about was that the First Lady of the United States had smiled kindly at me, had lit up when I gave her a book -- and had rocked out the coolest shoes I had ever seen.

Thank you, Mrs. Bush. Rest in peace.

————– You can leave a comment here, or join us on Facebook,  Instagram, or Twitter!

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• Questioning the Cult of Busy
• Farewell to Robin Williams: a thank you note
• How to care for your introvert: a helpful guide

Upcoming event in NY!

Hey, New Yorkers! I'll be doing a public event at Mohawk College in Utica on October 27th and I'd love to see you there. I'll be talking about my experience with mood disorders and the tools that help make life a little easier as an introvert who struggles with anxiety, depression, and a panic disorder.

But it's gonna be FUN, I promise!

You can get tickets here.

Mostly I write but sometimes I say the words out loud

Hey all, I wanted to share this clip from a talk I did in June - all about anxiety, depression and panic attacks. Even though I don't entirely love living with these things - I love talking about this stuff. It makes me feel less alone, it reduces the social stigma around mental health and above all, it reminds me that healing is possible when we can connect and laugh and say to each other oh my God, I totally know what you mean.

Hope you enjoy this short clip. (I have been doing more talks lately, so I should have more clips to share soon.) And if you're interested in having me come talk at your school, organization or conference - you can see my speaking kit here!

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilcjT2Sbbnc&amp]

Authentic creativity at Hippocamp: a whole fancy PowerPoint talk

I'm super excited about the Hippocamp nonfiction writers conference in Lancaster, PA this weekend! I'll be giving a talk about how to find your own unique creativity: how to refine it,  own it, and how to make sure you never get blocked from it. I've got PowerPoint slides full of embarrassing old photos, helpful tips and cartoons. It's gonna be fun.

There are still some tickets to the conference available, so come hang out and talk about words with me and a whole bunch of extraordinary writers.

And no promises, but last year at this conference - they had a mashed potato bar.

Just saying.

with love,

~Lisa

(If your school, conference or company is interested in having me come speak - you can see my speaking kit and contact me for more information.)

Managing anxiety: off the yoga mat and onto the stage

 

I went to Providence, Rhode Island last weekend to speak at Johnson & Wales University and The Lady Project Summit. I did a reading from my book, spoke on a writer's panel and gave a talk about the rewards and challenges living an authentic life and embracing who you really are.

It was a phenomenal weekend for many reasons. I  had lots of teary-eyed hugs with people who are on their own journeys towards living a life they truly believe in. I also met wonderful people like Maureen Petrosky who took me to Gracie's, which is a restaurant that not only has unbelievable food, but also shares a name with my dog.

I was also scared out of my mind a lot of the time.

I have structured a pretty quiet little life for myself. I struggle with anxiety and get overwhelmed easily, so I try to keep life as simple as possible. I spend time with my husband, dog, and close friends. I do yoga. I stay home a lot, watching Netflix and reading books and cooking dinner. It's lovely.

But I've started doing these events which thrill and terrify me in equal measure. Sometimes, when I am in a new place, standing at the front of the room with a bunch of people looking at me, I panic and go into fight or flight mode.

This is a pretty typical evolutionary response to fear. When our ancestors had to face down a woolly mammoth, we had a couple of choices. We could try to kill it or we could run away from it.

The thing is, these days, we don't see many woolly mammoths.

We see public speaking. Or an uncomfortable conversation. Or a group of strangers. Or an opportunity that is unnerving. Or a situation we can't control. Or an outcome that is unknown.

But our minds go back to woolly mammoth territory and we want to either fight it or run from it.

What if there was a third way?

This is the most monumental thing that doing yoga has taught me.

I do hot yoga. That's the one that is 90 minutes in a room that is heated to 100 degrees.

It's hard. But it's not nearly as hard as life.

So, the yoga studio is my place to practice dealing with the actual hard things in life. Because when I get to a yoga posture that is challenging me - and my instinct is to either run out of the room or walk up and kick the instructor in the shins for making me do this - I hear my teacher's voice in my head:

Meet resistance with breath.

Maybe I can get beyond my caveman mentality and just stop for a minute. I can realize that I'm stronger than I think I am and I can be still for a moment and stop the spinning of my mind. I can take a breath - then decide how I want to respond.

So, as I stood in a glorious theater in Providence, RI, with a group of strong and interesting women all sitting there, ready to listen to me speak - the spinning started:

What am I doing here? Who the hell am I? What makes me think I have the right to stand here and say anything about anything to anyone? They are going to throw things at me. I need to run out of the room right now.

And then I took a breath. I met that resistance from my inner critic, with my breath. Then I remembered that they actually invited me to come speak. They wanted me to do this. These people had voluntarily signed up for this workshop of mine and no one was tied to their chairs.

So, I said:

"Hi. My name is Lisa Jakub. Thanks for being here today. I'm a kind of nervous, but really want to talk to you about something that is important to me. I want to talk about how we can all live a life that feels authentic even if it's different from what other people expect of us. And the reason that I feel like I can talk to you with some authority about this topic is because I screwed it up so majorly, for such a long time."

And then they laughed and then I loved them.

That's what can happen when we don't operate on automatic pilot and when we are open to options beyond the binary way we are tempted to see the world. It's not always yes/no, black/white, good/bad, kill/run - the world is nuanced and so are we. When we can still the story line in our minds, a whole beautiful world of middle options become clear.

Sometimes we get a chance to make friends with the woolly mammoth, and we're rewarded with a fantastic weekend, spectacular people and some really good macarons.

——– You can leave a comment here, or join us on Facebook or Twitter!

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• Panic attacks, social anxiety and other perks of being me
• Don’t just do something – sit there
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Through the looking glass of fame

The University of Southern California recently bought a letter at a London auction, penned in 1891 by C.L. Dodgson. The only reason that anyone cares about a really old letter from C.L Dodgson is because he wrote books under a pen name -  Lewis Carroll. It's a three page letter, on sepia-toned paper with perfectly old-timey slanted script. The letter seems to have the sole purpose of explaining to his friend, Mrs. Symonds, why Carroll hates being famous. He says:

“All of that sort of publicity leads to strangers hearing of my real name in connection with the books, and to my being pointed out to, and stared at by, strangers, and being treated as a ‘lion.’ And I hate all of that so intensely that sometimes I almost wish I had never written any books at all."

It's fairly shocking to learn that Lewis Carroll was so appalled by fame that he had some regrets about writing Alice in Wonderland. (It's also surprising to learn that he was such a fan of underlining.) But clearly, he really didn't like that whole celebrity thing.

What did it even mean to be famous in 1891? What was it like to be a celebrity in the days before TMZ and paparazzi and Twitter fights? Were people hiding in the bushes at Thomas Edison's house? Did W.E.B. Du Bois get hounded for autographs while getting his mustache groomed at the barber shop? Could it really have been all that bad?

Yes, clearly for Carroll it could, because some people are just not cut out to be famous.

I am also one of those people. Now, let me state this clearly, before anonymous internet commenters beat me to it: I am not claiming any major type of fame here. I had a taste of that celebrity lifestyle when I acted in movies that did well at the box office. I had that mobbed-in-malls, autograph requesting, red-carpet walking lifestyle for a few years -- until I was 22 and realized, like Carroll: I hated it. I found the rejection, the lack of privacy and acting as a puppet for someone else's writing to be increasingly harsh and unsatisfying. It threatened to completely overwhelm me. Panic attacks struck and I found myself gasping for breath in dark corners, clutching my chest in an attempt to keep my heart from ricocheting off my ribs and busting through the skin.

So, I quit.

But sometimes when people find out that I used to be an actor, they often ask, with this wide-eyed expression, why I would ever leave Hollywood. I try to explain that it's just a job, with all its pros and cons, and sometimes you get tired of a job and want to try something new. Some people give me this look that apparently people have been giving for 124 years, because Carroll references it in his letter:

"Of course there are plenty of people who like being looked at as a notoriety and there are plenty who can't understand why I don't share that feeling. And they probably would not understand how it can be that human beings should have different tastes. But it is true, nevertheless."

Not everyone is cut out to be a doctor, likewise, not everyone is cut out to be famous. Yet, unlike being a doctor, most people think they would be pretty good at being famous.

But we see people who are bad at being famous all the time. Some celebrities crash their cars, go on bigoted rants and get dragged out of theaters in handcuffs. The problem comes when we fail to remember that these are people simply doing a job. If someone is a bad bartender, they get fired, but unfortunately, it appears to be quite difficult to fire a celebrity. Poor job performance just seems to get them promoted up the celebrity hierarchy.

This disastrous behavior could be blamed on money or power or access to every indulgence imaginable, but I believe it's the result of being treated - as Carroll said - as a "lion." It sounds enviable, after all, who wouldn't want special treatment? But in reality, "special" inherently means "different." And it's hard to be different.

I've recently realized that in my desperate attempt to not be a lion, I became an ostrich. By pretending that 18 years of my life never happened, I was simply sticking my head in the sand. We all have a past that stomps its feet and demands to be dealt with. My past pops up during 90's movie marathons, regardless of whether I acknowledge it or not. While the past is not deserving of a staring role in the present moment, it can be worthy of a little thank you in the credits somewhere. Because where would any of us be without it?

I hope that Lewis Carroll got to a point where he could see that the work he did meant something to people and realized that he was not required to be a lion or an ostrich or even Lewis Carroll.

All he ever needed to be was C.L Dodgson.

————– You can leave a comment here, or join us on Facebook or Twitter

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• The things we leave behind
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Weighing in on weighing in: celebrity gossip

As per usual, there have been a lot of celebrities in the news lately. It's all:

• Shia LaBeouf
• Philip Seymour Hoffman
• Justin Bieber
• Woody Allen

And I wonder if I should write about these things. Sometimes people expect me to have opinions, perspectives and profound thoughts that shed some new light on the drama. I've written about those things a couple of times in the past and the articles tend to get shared a lot and the blog hits go through the roof.

But it just doesn't feel right to me.

Because really, I can't explain why Philip Seymour Hoffman fell off the wagon after 24 years and why Shia LaBouf put a paper bag on his head. I'd just be speculating and rambling and really - I don't think it's any of my business.

I tried writing something about Justin Bieber a while ago. Something about how I, too, was once a 19-year old Canadian with questionable decision-making skills. But after I wrote it, I thought "so what?" This is not what I care about anymore. I deleted it.

Sometimes I wonder if all this celebrity media attention is not just a big distraction so that we don't have to sit quietly with ourselves and our own lives. It's way more fun to judge Justin Bieber than it is to deal with my own shit. Criticizing someone else's life means I have less time to notice the ways that I deal with the world. But spending my time condemning others is not really going to make my life -  or anyone else's - any better.

So what do I care about? I care about the stuff that we all go through. The stuff that is messy and complicated and in need of constant re-examination. The stuff that keeps us all up at night. I care about trying to figure out how to be an authentic person when so much in our culture is centered around image and status. I care about contributing to the world even though the problems are so much bigger than me. I care about finding different definitions of success. I care about life lessons I've learned from my dog.

I'd really like to avoid having posts on here that are like - "Huh. Yeah. I donno. Some people are weird, I guess." I'm just going to write about things when I feel I have something worthwhile to offer to the public conversation. I've decided that sometimes it's okay to just be quiet.

It's not that all celebrity commentary is trite. There are people who write about entertainment issues and do it really well. My faux little sister Mara Wilson is one of those people who does it thoughtfully, while offering insight and wit. But I realized that I can't do it and feel like my authentic self. I'm still trying to figure out how to navigate these waters of being me, and this particular channel is too turbulent.

Instead of writing something about Woody Allen and feeling like a fraud, I'm just going to stick to the things that are really important: how to survive almost being killed by a manatee.

——– Have comments? Please join our conversation over on Facebook

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The Tiger Mother: race, success and lessons on the wrong thing

The Tiger Mother is at it again. She's getting folks all riled up by saying that the parenting style of some groups (such as Chinese, Indians and Mormons) primes their kids for success more than others.  Personally, I can't offer any opinion on parenting, since we've not chosen to go the kid route. My only parenting advice is that liver treats work well for convincing Grace to not attack the neighbor dog. People are getting all flustered about the racial implications of what she's saying - but I keep coming back to one thing:

What the hell does "success" mean?

Tiger mom says it's clear - income, occupational status and test scores. That kind of makes sense. It's a nice, clean, empirical way of measuring something.

• Higher income = more success
• Higher status = more success
• Higher test scores = more success

That seems to be a widely accepted definition in our society. But I'm not sure I like it. By those measurable accounts, I was much more successful when I was 15 than I am at 35. Twenty years ago, I had:

• Higher income - I got paid more.
• Higher status - I was more "famous" (whatever that creepy word means).
• Higher test scores - I rarely went to school, but the movie marketing people told me that I "tested well" with screening audiences, which resulted in more work.

But what about...oh, I don't know...happiness? Where does that rank? What about passion? Purpose? Authenticity? How do you measure that stuff and roll it up into success? In our culture it's pretty simple: you don't. You toss them to the side because you can't buy yourself a boat with purpose.

I have so much more joy and passion now than I did when I was an actor, but those intangibles don't seem to carry as much weight in some circles.

I recently made a list of the things that equal a successful life for myself. It mostly had to do with my family and friends, contributing to the greater good and taking care of my mind, body and spirit. None of them had to do with being on the cover of People Magazine.

But it took me a while to develop this way of thinking. When I left my acting career, I was scared of what people would think. Would I get thrown in a pile of useless "has beens"? Was I, at 22, washed up and destined to never do anything as good ever again?

I went through a phase where I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. I even visited a law school to sit in on classes and went to their campus store and looked longingly at the sweatshirts. At least if I was a lawyer, I'd have a fancy degree I could wave around. Something that proved to other people that I was still worth something.

It finally dawned on me that I didn't want to be a lawyer (no offense to the lawyers out there...especially my dad). I was just trying to feel like I had a justified place in the world and people would think that I was still successful. But what I really wanted was to be a writer. That less prestigious, less financially rewarding occupation was what made my heart flutter.

Ambition is wonderful. But I was being ambitious about the wrong things.  What I really wanted was a life that really fed my soul - not just my bank account and other people's opinions of me.

Being successful now means that my life has meaning. Being "known" never made me feel successful. Doing interviews didn't do that. Getting invited to fancy parties didn't do that.

What does make me feel successful is volunteering to clean litter boxes and write thank you notes at the animal shelter. Or getting an email from someone who was touched by something I wrote on this blog - which I offer for free and get paid absolutely nothing. Or making my husband laugh.

So, what if we thought about success differently? What if we thought about:

• passion instead of income?
• authenticity instead of status?
• happiness instead of test scores?

I'm not sure that the Tiger mom would understand, but you couldn't pay me a million dollars to go back to being "successful." I'll take my poorly-paying, lower-status profession that makes me deliriously happy. And besides, I don't think lawyers are allowed to wear sweatpants to work.

——– Have comments? Please join our conversation over on Facebook

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Money. Part 2.

Much to my surprise, people I've never met have opinions about me. Some are good, some are not so good, and I do my best to take both the positive and the negative with a grain of salt. But some comments I simply find fascinating. I am curious about the larger context and why the commenter might hold that belief. Someone referred to me as "privileged" recently.

I am privileged - I've had wonderful opportunities, I have a good support system and my health.

But judging by the rest of her comment, that's not how she meant it. She meant - She is Rich So She Can't Possibly Relate to My Regular Person Life.

I was kind of shocked by this. It's yet another indication of how much the whole Hollywood facade has fleeced the rest of the world.

Movie stars are rich. They pull in a millions per film and are booked on shoots back-to-back.

I was not a movie star.

I was a working actor.

Big difference.

I guess the assumption is that all actors cruise around in their Porsches without a care in the world. I drove my beloved Toyota for more than a decade and never knew when I was going to work again. For the vast majority of my acting career, I earned less per year than a telemarketer.

I never did it for the money, but I was grateful for it, because there is a significant investment involved in getting a job. Just like in any small business, you have to spend money to make money. There were flights from my home in Canada to Los Angeles and the bills associated with living at the Burbank Holiday Inn with my mother for three months so that I could audition for projects.

There were the rare times when I worked on a big film and for that year I got a financial upgrade. But even then, my dentist still out-earned me. And unlike normal jobs, where you can assume that your pay will be fairly steady, the year after a blockbuster, my income took a sharp downward turn. And if you think the residuals should be making up for that, read this. My residual income these days is below the poverty line, which makes me very grateful that my husband and I have other sources of income.

I'm not complaining, I was thankful that I had a job that paid me at all and it was a job that I enjoyed, for the most part. I have never worried if I could afford my next meal, and that is a significant luxury in this world.

But I think this is yet another way that the tabloid culture of celebrity separates people. It makes non-actors think that all actors must be on a different playing field, where there are no concerns about when the next paycheck is coming or how the mortgage is going to get paid. Yeah, that's not really a worry for Angelina Jolie, but most actors are not Angelina Jolie. They are working people. There are thousands of actors out there, many of whom you would recognize, who are just scraping by.

I didn't come from a family with money. We did fine, but to use the word "privileged" to describe us would be absurd. I was privileged in that I got a jump on a retirement fund and I had a passport full of international stamps. I suppose I was privileged in that I was invited to fancy parties (that gave me panic attacks) and sometimes got recognized on the street (which also gave me panic attacks.)

But this idea that my income has ever drowned out my ability to relate to "regular people?"

That's about as laughable as the cover of the National Enquirer.

——– Have comments? Please join our conversation over on Facebook

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Little Mis-Perfect

My friend's daughter, K, recently had her very first test at school. It was a spelling test, and she got 9 out of 10 correct. Having never done that well on a spelling test in my life, I was quite impressed. But K was devastated. Other kids in her class had gotten a perfect score. And she hadn't.

I really felt for her. I'd been there. I know what it's  like to feel not good enough. I know how painful that is. But I also thought to myself, "C'mon, kiddo. It's a first grade spelling test. It's no big deal." (Yes, it is a really good thing I'm not a parent.)

A couple of weeks ago, I received a request to speak at a high school.  I was asked to talk to 150+ kids about the entertainment industry, being your authentic self and choosing your own own path in life, even if that looks a little different.

My knee-jerk reaction to this request was "No." It was "(expletive), no" actually. I can't do that. I'm not good at public speaking and I would be nervous and uncool and I'd just have to be....you know....my authentic self.

See the problem with my logic? I was not going to talk to kids about how it's okay to be themselves because I wasn't going to seem like a perfect person.

Yikes.

I love that for a moment there, I thought I was wiser than a five-year-old.

Clearly, I have some perfectionist tendencies. Some are specific to my old LA life, like the idea that perfect stops at 105 pounds. Or the idea that what other people (producers, media, movie-goers) think of me is of the utmost importance. But it seems like my little friend K already feels a similar pressure, even without being part of the film industry.

Regardless of where the pressure comes from, those feelings are tough to wrestle with and sometimes I get pinned to the mat, flopping uselessly under the weight of that perfectionist ideal. But I didn't want to get pinned this time, so I decided that I would pick my ass up and go talk at the school.

I'm probably going to look nervous and I will likely not express myself as well as I would like to. I might trip on my words or my feet. But there is also a chance that I say something that is helpful. In showing my vulnerability and humanity, maybe I can connect with them more easily than if I just glide right up there and spout perfect prose like some sort of Public Speaking Angel.

All I really want is a moment to say that it's okay to let down your guard and be who you were meant to be. It's also okay to change your mind about who that person is. Yes, it's scary and sometimes it hurts, but it's worth it. And I can only say that with any honesty if I actually live it.

Because there is no such thing as perfect. Anyone who portrays themselves as such is LYING. We all have something that we try to hide, something that we  fear someone will reject us for. If we could just let go and embrace our imperfections, we would give others permission to be themselves as well.

And what a beautiful thing that is.

It's even better than getting 10 out of 10 correct on a spelling test.

——– Have comments? Please join our conversation over on Facebook

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New post at HelloGiggles: Oprah and Lindsay Lohan

Hey all,

Just wanted to let you know that I have a new post up at HelloGiggles - Addicted to Chaos: Oprah's Interview with Lindsay Lohan

I hope you enjoy it!

You're either in or you're out

I admit it. I have a girl-crush on Mary Louise Parker. I've never met her, but my adoration is long-standing. It all started with Fried Green Tomatoes, when she was so sweet. Then there was The West Wing, when she was so cool. And then there was Weeds, when she was just so...hot. I love her in everything.

Last week, my crush became full-blown when she said she is pretty much done with acting because she is too "thin-skinned." She talked about the intrusive culture of negativity and criticism that actors are exposed to. She thinks it's ugly. It is.

Parker wants to spend her time writing, being with her family and taking care of her goats. (Reminder to self: look into getting some goats.) You gotta love a chick who has her priorities in line.

I totally get it - had a tiny fraction of the publicity that Parker deals with, and it was too much for me. I realized that the more I worked at my "dream job" - the more vulnerable and unpleasant the rest of my life became. The trade-offs were simply not worth it anymore. It seems that she feels the same way, and I love that Parker is setting her limits and refusing to participate.

It's a good reminder that there are consequences to trashy and harmful practices like rewarding snark and buying gossip magazines. Maybe it just seems like benign fun, but it's not, and one of the consequences is no more Mary Louise Parker.

We can't fix everything that is wrong with the world, but I have hope that if enough people starting calling this out as unacceptable, the direction of media can change. Maybe we can return to a time of accountability in reporting and a basic notion of privacy and decency.

But then my Kumbaya-We-Can-Change-The-World optimism comes crashing down around me when I hear that Oprah is paying Lindsay Lohan 2 million dollars to give her an exclusive post-rehab interview, then star in an eight-part documentary series on OWN.

Because clearly, that girl needs more money and exposure. That ought to help the situation. (Damnit, why is there no such thing as sarcasm font??)

I LOVE Oprah, but this is a major misstep. This is a blatant grab for ratings. This is putting an ant under a magnifying glass and watching it burn. Because even if Oprah attempts to produce this show in the most Oprah-like, soul-inspiring way, people will inevitably tune in to submit to humanity's most base desires -  watching someone suffer so that we don't have to think about our own purpose in the world.

I'm so grateful that I was never famous enough that Oprah wanted to do a show with me when I was young and stupid. I'm thankful that there is no reality show detailing my attempts to sabotage my own life while recklessly falling in love with anyone who would make eye contact. I'm thrilled that there was never a comment section that kept track of exactly how many poor decisions I made in any given week. But that's seems to be what sells now.

So, I sigh and go back to wondering - a la The Truman Show -  "How will it end?"

I really don't know how it ends, but regardless, I officially want Mary Louise Parker to be my new best friend.

I'd totally help her with the goats.

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• “Stars are just like us!”
• Your dream is stupid
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The Post-Huff Po post post

Life got a little strange last week. I received an email from a reader informing me that the Huffington Post wrote this. I'm grateful for the Huff Po piece because it connected me to all of you new readers. You have told me your stories and said unbelievably nice things and seem like a thoroughly lovely bunch people. I'm happy to know you.

But, it seemed ridiculous to me that they titled it "Lisa Jakub's Post-'Mrs. Doubtfire' Life: Former Child Star Blogs To Inform Us Of Her Whereabouts"

They made it sound like I was playing Hide-and-seek for the past 12 years. Like I've been crouching in the hall closet under a pile of shoes and I just jumped out and yelled "I WIN!"

I don't really think you have been sitting around wondering where I am and what I've been doing with myself. That is not the impetus of my writing. So, that brings me to an important question: what is my intent?

I'm a writer and I have to write. It's a compulsion. I want to write about all kinds of things. I want to write about how I love Mara and about how movie money works. But I also want to write about how it's okay to change your mind. It's okay to choose a life that is not what everyone else expected of you. It's okay to decide that being happy is worth more than money or a law degree or marrying your high school sweetheart just because they were nice enough.

Me "revealing" my early life in film was only done by way of introduction. That is part of who I am and I need to be honest about myself if I'm going to tell you a good story about anything. You'd never believe me, otherwise.

But that is not a very riveting headline, I suppose, so they make it sound like I am graciously giving you the answer to a riddle that's been keeping you up nights.

Some of the Huffington Post comments were mean - mostly of the "I don't care about her" variety - but the vast majority were kind and supportive and I'm thankful for that. I must admit that the mean ones did make me laugh. They made me want to go to a website about fishing and click on the article, read it, log in and tell them they should stop writing it because I don't happen to care about fishing.

But reading that you are irrelevant is not that fun, so I have a new rule: NEVER read Huff Po comments.

What I will do is write about movies and that crazy world of pop culture. But I'm also going to write about making the hard decisions and what happens when you're 34 and still don't have all the answers.

Oh, and I'm probably going to make a lot of spelling mistakes.

I hope you'll stick around for all of it.

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Remembering how to smile pretty

It has been gently mentioned to me that perhaps a photo with an alpaca is not quite appropriate for a professional writer. So, I'm getting my headshot taken this week.

Photo shoots used to be a common part of my life when I was an actor. It was never something I thought twice about. It was simply an aspect of my job and I did it as readily as someone else might attend the Wednesday morning staff meeting.

But now that I'm retired from that line of work and it's been a solid decade since I've been in front of a camera that wasn't also a cell phone - I'm nervous.

When I left L.A, I stopped thinking about if my body was camera-ready. I wonder if I've lost my photo shoot skills. Now, I smile too big, making deep wrinkles around my eyes and showing too much of my teeth. I can't remember which is my "good" side. I stand funny and allow my severely duck-footed feet to point at their absurd angles. I forget to pluck my eyebrows and can never shave my knees properly.

I loved those "unflattering" photos of Beyoncé at the Super Bowl. Since we have all untagged ourselves and our double chins on Facebook, doesn't it make us all feel better that even Beyoncé can take a bad photo?

I don't want a perfectly idealized photo of myself. I don't want to be airbrushed to look 10 years younger than my real age. I'm a 34-year-old writer. I have really dry skin and my hair is unruly. And all that is okay.

I guess I just want a photo that looks like me. And that doesn't have an alpaca in it.

Let's see if I remember how to do this.

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The Happy Birthday person

The anonymity of the internet can be a dangerous thing. It gives people the chance to voice their most nasty thoughts without having any accountability. Comment sections can be brutal, heartless and shockingly cruel. They tend to look like something you'd see in the Roman Colosseum circa 80 AD. They even have a handy little "thumbs down" button. But that is just half the story. The internet also allows for connection on a level that is broader than ever before. Some might say that it's a superficial connection, but since Facebook is the only reasonable way for me to stay in touch with my friends in Zimbabwe, it doesn't feel superficial to me. It offers access to people you couldn't reach before and there can be a true sense of community. It might feel a little different from a community that is created by a cul-de-sac but it's a community, none the less.

There is someone on the IMDB  message boards who wishes me a happy birthday every year.

On my actual birthday.

That's pretty awesome.

It's so easy to become infuriated with the media. It just takes one story about Anne Hathaway ducking into the car of a total stranger so that she can ditch TMZ, and I'm ready to go on an obscenity-filled rampage. But then, I am reminded that most people are not like that. Most people who are interested in movies simply love film and love actors and want to connect. I've met many of you via Facebook, Twitter and email over the past several weeks since I've started this blog. And you know what?  You're cool.

Since I've been completely hiding from my old life for the past decade, I've not had the proper venue for acknowledging the kind act of that dedicated birthday well-wisher. I always felt too shy to say it before. But I've been getting braver lately.

So, thanks, No-one2 for all your thoughtful messages. They have meant a lot to me.

And thank you to everyone who has written and welcomed me with open arms. I've loved hearing your stories of how you took the path less traveled and made difficult choices to pursue your own happiness.

I'll quote someone who emailed me and say that it's been wonderful to connect with you, "one normal person to another."

Isn't that what it's all about, anyway?

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"Stars are just like us!"

I hate getting my hair cut. I always have. That's why I had that down-to-my-waist hair until I was 15.

My hair is a little shorter now, but I still only get it cut twice a year.

I was at the hair salon waiting for my semi-annual appointment and the receptionist offered me some magazines while I waited. I expected her to bring O Magazine or something where I could compare the 14 different types of asymmetrical bob cuts I was never going to get.

She brought me People Magazine and Us Weekly.

I reacted as if she had handed me a dead fish.

It's been decades since I've touched those kinds of magazines. As an actor that used to dodge reporters and photographers, I know what it's like to be on the other side of that lens. I know how it feels to be a hunted animal. In fact, it's one of the main reasons that I left my career; I couldn't handle the fact that the better I was at my job, the less right I had to a normal life.

But since my cell battery had died and my hairdresser was up to his elbows in hair dye goop that he was still putting on his previous client, I set aside my moral compass and flipped through Us Weekly.

This page stood out to me.

It caught my eye because this is clearly not something that they believe. These magazines are not really saying that famous people are just like everyone else. The entire magazine is based around the fact that they are inherently different from regular people.

If your dental hygienist went out to buy kale, would that be photo worthy? Would there be an article about how the teller from the bank likes a certain brand of lip gloss? Would that sell magazines?

Of course not. But why do we really care about those mundane details, just because those people happen to work in film? Actors are not better or smarter or more talented or even prettier (thank you, Photoshop) than anyone else in the world.

Tigerbeat used to want to know about my favorite foods and what music I liked. These days, that information is no longer of general public interest - and I'm quite grateful for that. But I'm not fundamentally any different than I was in the 90s, I just changed my job.

So, honestly. Why does this stuff matter?

I never figured out the answer to that question because I had to get my hair shampooed.

But it's still worth asking.

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