Dear Writer Director Letter #95
I’m writing to you from the first bout of real rest that I’ve gotten in a month.
Dear Writer Director,
I’m writing to you from the first bout of real rest that I’ve gotten in a month. Since March 1st, 2025 hit the calendar, I have been working towards making two, really three, goals happen. Two of the goals were professional. One was deeply personal and very scary. The first two required a great deal of money and support. The third goal required a great deal of vulnerability.
Since March 1st, 2025, I have thought mostly about money, resources, and the old system of Law & Order in the United States. I have thought extensively about who the old rules really protect and who the old rules condemn. I have had more meaningful interactions with friends and colleagues in one month than in the entirety of the last four years. I have come out the gate in a big bold way, and now I’m sitting here on the floor of my Chicago bedroom FLOORED by how wildly different my reality is.
February 2025 Olivia was a baby. She thought life was much simpler than it is. March 2025 Olivia now knows she was right about a lot of things that she feared she was naïve about. March 2025 Olivia now knows that she was right about most things her entire life that were positive outlooks. Olivia now knows that the only thing that ever held her back was making a choice out of fear. Olivia now knows in her bones that a life lived in fear was the problem.
Somebody I loved and respected called me “a crazy fascist” over text in February. It was really disturbing. Am I a fascist for having my own opinion? For sharing my perspective? I don’t need your perspective to be my perspective. I just refuse to stay silent anymore and make myself small. February 2025, to be honest, was a terrifying time. It was a rollercoaster of uncertainty. People I trusted betrayed me over night. Snowstorms delayed flights, but at the same time, people from my past lives showed up in profound ways. A rock critic who took me to Mary Poppins for my 22nd birthday ordered me a limo to the New Jersey airport, so I didn’t have to worry about the cost. A director I had once worked with treated me to oysters at an Irish Pub across from Lincoln Center. I was free falling every second, and people caught me every other second. I learned, slowly and then more quickly, that I could trust people. I could trust artists. Artists are aware of the nuances of life, and so they see more. They’re not off looking for magic far away. They know it in whatever stands right in front of them.
I’m writing to you from the first bout of real rest that I’ve gotten in a month. I’ve been in so many banks, and I’ve had so many multilayered conversations with Bankers. Every single Banker I interacted with was a kind and considerate person, but none of them were in charge. They always referred me to someone over the phone or- They had to wait on some third party to make a decision about me before they could do anything. Corporations are like that. They have so many routes towards blocking real human exchanges. It feels like you have to be absolutely perfect to get any respect. All of these interactions were good though because it blew open my long-held assumption that any business owner who was serious could just get a business loan. Apparently, that’s not the case. I’m glad I learned that truth about life, currently, in my body.
After I was rejected for a Credit Limit increase at one of my banks yesterday, I mentioned to that particular Banker that I had a Gofundme, and that my audience was supporting me. He made a snide comment like, “That must be nice.” He had no curiosity about why they were supporting me, what I had done to earn it. I could read him perfectly. He thought because I am a pretty girl, people just do things for me. When I started building my body through Muay Thai, a year in, I finally allowed myself to become proud of my looks. I had really earned what I had. I’m well aware of all the assumptions folks generally make about me. I refuse to allow their assumptions to be true. The next day, I was on the phone with that Banker, and he admitted openly that he was jealous. I felt sorry for him. He must have so many resources around him. He has no idea.
Dear Writer Director, sometimes it’s go go go time until you’ve accomplished something big, and then you’re allowed to rest. Sometimes you’re thrown into action. That is not the time to be afraid. That is not the time to slow down unless you really feel called to. I was not about to slow down until I got sick for the first time since January. I felt feverish, and I had a little cold, so I decided to skip my work out day after my rest day. I decided maybe we’ve worked hard enough for the moment. Now let’s recover.
The next time I walk into those Banks, the tables will be very turned, but I also hope that life is better for every single one of those Bankers I talked to.
They, too, deserve to feel the love they already secretly have.
Love,
O