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A creative exploration of the recent Saturn-Pluto conjunction at 22 degrees Capricorn, referencing past Saturn-Pluto alignments that have coincided with other major world events and drawing directly on the archetypal imagery and ideas in Richard Tarnas’ transformative and thought provoking text “Cosmos and Psyche.” I have taken generous creative liberties with the planets and how they are depicted and not everyone will agree with my characterizations. All of the quotes below that reference Tarnas are from the “Cosmos and Psyche” text and are not my original work. Cover images: “Dark Goddess” by Laura “Pelick” Siadak and “The Messenger” by h.kopp-delaney.

They stand shoulder to shoulder in the house of Capricornus, their fine black capes fluttering in the wind. It has been decades since they have been this close, 38 years to be precise.  They gaze out over the Earth and observe much unrest. Humans are finding ways to divide themselves again. Tension and the potential for dark chaos is growing each day. Saturn, her cold blue lips and pale, wrinkled skin gleaming in the waxing light of the Moon feels a sense of satisfaction as the limitations grow and build among humankind, like great walls delineating boundaries, separating wrong from right, dividing people and determining endings. Many are confined against their will, some held for no particular cause or reason or action. She breathes deeply into the tightening, constricting, and ever-growing discipline being foisted upon the humans below. “This is my essence embodied. The endings are becoming clearer now. The limitations are falling into place.”

Pluto, his jet black tresses nearly invisibly blending with his onyx skin, takes her hand. “What dark chaos shall we bring them this time, my dear? I have missed you.” He can sense the creatures that inhabit the darkest crevices of the mind and imagination taking hold, further sowing unrest, doubt, confusion, and anger among the Earth’s human inhabitants. The rise of othering among humans has grown in recent years. Overt acts of racism, xenophobia, and hatred have been given more audience and more mainstream approval under recent leadership. The flames of the Underworld have been stoked and holy fire burns within so many people’s eyes. Some grasp for their holy books. Others look to weapons. Many feel lost, drifting in a sense of hopelessness that seems to know no bounds. It is a dark time among humankind, indeed. Pluto understands the darkness and knows that it is part of the cosmic ebb and flow.

The last time these two powerful forces aligned across the solar system from one another, nearly 2 decades ago, the world witnessed tragedy, death, loss of lives, and unfathomable terror in the form of buildings smoldering in the middle of a major metropolitan city. Holy fire inspired these terrorist actions by religious extremists, fueled by the alignment of Pluto and Saturn along the Sagittarius-Gemini axis. And yet somehow, even in the face of such trauma, a select few called forth “… intense focus and discipline, with minimal resources, and exceptional courage and acts of will in the face of extreme danger, hardship, death, and moral darkness.” (Tarnas, p. 257) Would the current alignment yield the same courageous stepping forward to stand against the dark, raging waters of chaos? Only time would tell.

Saturn spoke first, breaking the long silence that had elapsed between them. “A great many fingers have hovered near the triggers that could unleash another Great War here upon the Earth. This brings me a great sense of unease.” She paused and reflected, “…naming the inhuman cruelty and violence, the bestial evil, the holocaustal and nuclear horror, the ethnic cleansing, the predatory imperialism.” (Tarnas, p. 260) A sense of sadness came over her, for Her boundaries, delineations, and limitations do not exist in order to bring such suffering to the souls of the Universe.

Pluto raised His arms to the sky, conjuring a great storm. “Yet in order to expose the underlying cosmic truths, we must break down, destroy, and rip apart what exists in order to make way for something new. Whether it be by war, violence, civil uprising, plague, or storm. The sentient beings of the Earth must be disrupted, disturbed, and thrown into darkness in order to emerge anew.” He remembered fondly the millions of acres of land burning in the southern hemisphere as She drew nearer to him mere months ago. Pluto fears nothing.

“I don’t think I can stomach something so violent right now, Pluto. Did you say something about a plague? Remember when we danced together nearly a century ago? 1915, was it?” Saturn’s memories span eons and sometimes the details are difficult to recall.

“Yesssss,” he hissed. “The Earth is definitely ripe for a plague. It’s been far too long since humankind has had to face its fears of the microscopic realm and all the hidden, filthy, disgusting things it can do to their bodies.” Pluto chuckled and drew a pouch from the folds of his cloak. The globe spun below them and He sprinkled the first bit of virus on to one of the most populace realms of the Earth. He knew in his heart that the price this virus would exact would not be limited to lives. It would amplify “… the characteristic Saturn-Pluto motifs of judgment and guilt, cruel punishment, claustrophobic bureaucracy and totalitarian confinement…” (Tarnas, p. 243) 

Homes would come to feel like prisons to some under months of mandatory confinement. Many would feel the need to place blame, turning to race and national origin in order to incite race-based violence against their fellow humans. Some would call the government’s response an attempt to suppress the rights of the people, denying and defying scientific evidence. And there would be so much loss. There would of course be loss of life, but also livelihood, fortunes, and dreams for the future would drown in the waters of the novel coronavirus.

The celestial dance continued, and Saturn and Pluto slowly began to drift apart once again. Upon Earth, humankind sits captivated by fear, uncertainty, and disbelief of the new reality cast upon our lives like a sudden shadow we never saw coming. We hold our breaths. Some of us are called to action and heroes step out of the shadows to face the chaos. Most of them wear surgical scrubs and masks, the front line of this unimaginable war. Yet others openly question or defy the warnings, raging into the streets, government buildings, public places screaming about their rights. It is a divisive time. It is a deeply uncertain time. The only certainty is that we will emerge from this time changed.

68 days.

68 days since we locked the doors of our beautiful cultural arts studio Arcadia due to a COVID-19 outbreak here in Washington State, where we will forever bear the crown of the first state in the US to have multiple outbreaks and cases of coronavirus.

Mid-March seems so far away now. I remember those early days of the viral outbreak and reminisce. I remember our diligent doorknob and light switch sanitizing, and our social distancing in aerial classes, before we had to close our doors for who knows how long under an order by our governor. March events were optimistically moved to April and May. The worldwide number of cases was still below 1 million.  Most of us had no idea what the near future would hold. Every single one of us has been impacted in our own profound way. Very few of us will emerge from this time unchanged.

The primary artistic discipline I have practiced, taught, and performed for the past nearly 20 years is aerial dance. This art form incorporates aspects of improvisation, ground-based dance, and aerial acrobatics, and provides a perfect medium for storytelling and artistic expression. Aerial dance necessitates the use of an aerial apparatus such as a fabric, a trapeze, a hoop, or a harness in order to facilitate connection between earth and sky. Our apparatus becomes our dance partner.

But aerial dance also often necessitates creating and building movement with other dancers and partnering and/or working in groups is a very common exploration in this work, as it is in most dance forms. The images in the header of this article demonstrate some of the moments of powerful connection, narrative, and tenderness expressed in my company The Cabiri‘s work in the past few years. Today, the notion of entering into someone else’s physical bubble, sharing breath and sweat with them over many days and hours of rehearsal and creation and performance feels so forbidden. COVID-19 has created distance on more levels than I can possibly fathom.

So now, in the age of COVID-19, what does aerial dance look like? Throughout most of the country (and world), indoor fitness and dance studios have been closed for weeks. Some may never reopen after this crisis subsides, due to lost revenues during the pandemic. For those of us who have our own studios, we have been able to continue our aerial dance practice a little bit while maintaining our mandated closure.  But the way we used to practice, teach, and create is in the past for the foreseeable future.

As some studios are allowed to reopen, a huge litany of new considerations, liabilities, and requirements will follow. Sanitization, physical distancing, symptom monitoring among staff and students are among the new factors we will have to consider. I recently tried running some basic aerial dance sequences in a double layer cotton mask and, while it did not impede my vision or move around during all of my spinning and inversions, it did create a restriction on my respiration reminiscent of high altitude training. I offer words of caution to anyone who intends to incorporate mask-wearing into their aerial practice or teaching – you will not be able to do everything you used to do. Be prepared to modify your practice, take more breaks, and not have the stamina you previously enjoyed.

But what of the connection we used to share with our students, our fellow dancers, and perhaps most importantly our audiences? This will suffer too in the coming weeks, months, and potentially years. The days of sitting in an enclosed space with dozens or hundreds of other people are over for the foreseeable future. The beautiful intimacy and connection we once knew as artists sharing physical space with each other as part of the co-creation process will not exist for many days to come. And so what stories will we tell? What dances will we make? How will we explore and create connection while maintaining physical distance? The grief I carry at the loss of my primary medium for making sense of life and the world has impacted me profoundly.

And so I wonder if perhaps it is time to explore isolation, distance, and those dark spaces where we exist alone. And although the darkness can be frightening because so little is revealed and so much is unknown there, it is also the home of the Mysteries and is the realm of dream, imagination, and the subconscious. We emerge from and return to darkness in the course of our lifetimes. Personally, I look forward to an opportunity to explore those spaces more intentionally this year to see what emerges.

Header photos by Warren Woo, Marcia Davis and WittyPixel Photography.

For those who haven’t already read my recent post Glimpse Into the Life of a Managing Director, I suggest starting there so you will have some context for this post.

The TL:dr version is that I work a full time day job as a paralegal and am the volunteer Managing Director of a nonprofit performing arts organization during nearly every spare moment of time when I’m not at work. I take full responsibility and ownership of the lifestyle I have created for myself, but it can be difficult at times.

Despite how busy I am and how essential I am at both of my jobs, with my average workday spanning nearly 14 hours 5-7 days a week, I often feel alone. The assumption is that busy = fulfilled, right? That person whose Google calendar is a checkerboard of appointments and obligations lives an amazingly rich life, right? What if that wasn’t actually the case?

I have spent a lot of time reflecting upon this lately.  Socially, I am an introvert. I do not seek to spend time in large groups of people nor do I relish making new friends. My attempts at small talk often meander into the awkward department. I have always been a quality-over-quantity kind of person, seeking to spend time with people whose personalities and interests I feel drawn to most strongly. Could this be the reason I sometimes feel isolated? Perhaps, but I don’t think so.

I recently had the realization that nearly all of my interactions with people every day are transactional in nature. I report to work and say hello to my colleagues. I arrive at the studio each day to clean and prepare to teach, rehearse, or take class. I greet my fellow instructors, troupe members, and students and then we conduct the scheduled activity and everyone goes their respective ways at the conclusion. In the course of these activities, connections are formed. I have great fondness and respect for so many of the people I work with, perform with, and interact with as a teacher or a student and I cannot imagine my life without these incredible humans. But at the same time, those relationships do not fit into my definition of friendships – primarily because the interactions are somewhat secondary to the transactions. We are all doing these things in service of a larger thing – a paycheck, a fitness or artistic goal, or an upcoming performance. I’m the first to admit that if I am having a hard day and need to talk or am looking for someone to grab a cocktail with after work, the people with whom my interactions are primarily transactional are not on the list of people I contact.

Professional boundaries and distribution of roles in my life are also very important to me, which can result in isolation. I would not expect the person I love to train circus with to also be the person I geek out with about astrology or metaphysical studies. I don’t expect my romantic partner to be my sounding board for all of my leadership-related woes. I would not feel comfortable buddying up with students who are two decades my junior to vent about the challenges of entering middle age, nor would that be appropriate.

I have also noticed how much interactions have become less about face time and more about interfacing and communicating through screens, an inherently sterile and cold medium. Yet people break up via text message. People quit their jobs via email. People spend hours discussing heated, emotional topics via instant messaging. Have we forgotten how to talk to each other? Is this truly the appropriate medium for matters of love and life? Have we grown so attached to our large and small glowing boxes that real, in-person interaction is becoming irrelevant? Are we really so busy that we must rely on such an impersonal method of communication? Will there come a day when the ability to read and interpret body language and facial expression isn’t second nature anymore, and is instead a novel skill?  Not in my lifetime, I suspect, but probably not all that far off either.

And so, when I do find those rare moments of free time, I occasionally feel lost and unsure of what to do with it. I can only read, write, do yoga, and meditate so much. Introverts are not anti-social; we crave connection as much as anyone else. My insanely packed schedule means I click NO on the RSVP page of events more often than not, but there are times when an outing with a friend or two sounds lovely. I find myself more often than not being the one to initiate plans with friends, which also starts to feel tiresome and lonely at times. Did they forget I exist?

The rare occasion when my notification light comes on and someone is reaching out to me just to say hello or schedule a time to get together with no prescribed agenda and no transaction in mind is becoming more and more rare these days. Was it something I said?

What this post is not – a plea or suggestion to those who know me to invite me to your next BBQ or brunch. I’m doing just fine, but I appreciate the concern. What this post is – a reminder that loneliness comes in many different forms. Never assume that because someone is busy, they are living a fulfilled and rich life. Don’t stop inviting those folks to your gatherings. Don’t hesitate to send a hello message or invite them to lunch. They are likely to decline (because busy) but it can help to alleviate those empty feelings and let them know you are thinking of them. And who knows? Perhaps they will actually show up sometime.

And for those of you who do remember your exceedingly busy and often absent friends, thank you. Keep remembering us. We think of you often, even though you might not see us much.

Many of us who end up in a leadership role at a nonprofit organization never intended, nor consciously desired to be there. Often, people are drawn to a cause and find themselves contributing in meaningful ways. And their role grows over time, until they find themselves in a position of leadership at the organization, not by any intentional design or aspiration, but by default. As the Cabiri (a nonprofit organization where I am a founding member and now the Managing Director) approaches its 20th anniversary a month from now, I find myself reflecting on how I got here and what the future may hold. I hope that by sharing some of my world, it will bring new perspective and understanding to the countless others who are doing this work all over the world. Our nonprofit leaders are a resource more precious than gold – they are worth protecting and cherishing.

My History – The Short Version

In 1999, I was 23. The ink on my two bachelor’s degrees was less than a year old, and I’d been living on my own in Seattle for 4 years.  A veteran of the performing arts world (I started in musical theatre at age 5), I was looking for something new to put my creative energy into as an adult. I discovered street theatre and performance art and felt strongly drawn to its visceral, honest, powerful potential.

I met John Murphy, Founder and Artistic Director of the Cabiri on a sidewalk in March of 1999 and we, along with 3 other performing artists, formed the troupe shortly thereafter. Myth and folklore was always the focus of our work – movement, props, costumes, and music were all informed by the stories that inspired us.

After a year or so of performing on street corners and outdoor festivals, we decided it was time to legitimize our work by becoming a nonprofit organization and applying for tax exempt status from the IRS. Things moved quickly after this – in November, 2000 we became legally incorporated in Washington State and in 2001, we were granted tax exempt status. I filled out the application paperwork for both of these milestones, with the help of an attorney friend. We opened a bank account at the now-extinct Seafirst Bank. I kept the checkbook in order. We started applying for grants, and were quickly successful at receiving a bit of funding for our performances. I was our primary grant writer, self-taught. My title in the Cabiri was “Secretary / Treasurer” for many years. And so began my gradual climb into a leadership role in the organization. These invisible yet essential tasks had to be done by someone, and no one else was stepping forward to take them on. Leadership by default.

At some point several years into our history, John and our Board of Directors gave me a new title – Managing Director – to honor the amount of work I was doing. Elevation and acknowledgment felt good, but I didn’t know how to be a leader. I came into the organization driven by my passion for storytelling and performance, not to make business decisions, interact with vendors, troupe members, and volunteers, and handle interpersonal dealings with other artists and organizations from a position of authority. And I certainly never imagined myself managing a six-figure annual budget, a dozen staff members, volunteers, and a cultural arts facility.

The Lady Behind the Curtain

Much of the work I do for the Cabiri (entirely as a volunteer) is invisible. A small sampling of the ongoing tasks I oversee includes filling out annual insurance renewal applications, running payroll each month, paying all our bills, filing our annual tax returns, negotiating contracts and leases, applying for and managing grants, managing the budget, updating both our web sites, responding to emails, taking out the trash at the studio, managing our aerial curriculum and instructors, creating and updating the monthly studio schedule, interfacing with renters, teaching 3-5 classes each week, performing in the Cabiri, and interfacing regularly with our social media, marketing, and technical personnel and our board of directors. The cost of failure or ineptitude in most of these areas is very high. Some of the items on that list are thing I enjoy doing; the majority of those items are compulsory.

Did I mention that I also work full time as a paralegal? Are you seeing that list and thinking that a lot of these jobs really should belong to a bookkeeper, a lawyer, a studio manager, and a janitor? I agree completely. But, given how small we are and how little resources we have, all of these responsibilities rest on my shoulders, along with a couple of other dedicated, competent, trustworthy people. And so my leadership style is largely a byproduct of my workload, i.e. there isn’t much room for things that don’t add value.

Why don’t I delegate more? This is a question I hear often. Delegation of critical functions is a risky proposition that can have catastrophic effects if it doesn’t go well. A local arts council got into hot water with the IRS after a series of bookkeepers came and went and knowledge and responsibilities became diluted over time until eventually no one was performing the required tasks. Delegation of critical functions is also a time-consuming process, often taking months or even years to fully realize. It is very uncommon to have a volunteer with the proper skill set and dedication cross our path and choose to stay involved for the months or even years needed to successfully take on a critical function in the organization. It is often more efficient and less risky to maintain the status quo. (I am happy to report that our newest work study volunteer has taken over the task of keeping the studio plants alive and taking out the trash on Wednesday nights. Small victories are worth celebrating.)  

I am inspired by people who work hard, who bring depth and richness to their work, and who are proactive about what can be done to make improvements and add value to the organization. I cherish people who communicate clearly and often, who collaborate and keep me informed, who understand the importance of my role and its many facets. Reliability, consistency, directness, and honesty are very important to me. When time, energy, and resources are scarce, I seek to find allies who are assets. I intentionally create distance from individuals and organizations who do not add value, who create negativity, chaos, and uncertainty. Every decision I make as a leader serves to support, protect, and help the organization grow and expand.

The Price of Leadership

Being the boss of anything can be a pretty thankless job. (It can also be deeply fulfilling and incredibly rewarding, but that is not the focus of this article.) When something isn’t right at an organization or someone has a bad experience, the leaders are blamed – sometimes rightly so, other times at no fault of leadership. Conversely, when everything is running smoothly and life is good, the leadership is rarely thanked or acknowledged. It is easy to sit back and enjoy the beautiful fields of flowers before us (or perhaps even pick or stomp on the flowers) without considering the farmer who labored to create it. Stepping into a leadership role is like stepping in front of a firing squad of critics. Leaders put themselves into the public eye, and are often on the receiving end of endless unsolicited suggestions and advice on how to run one’s business. It is a role that truly tries one’s patience on a daily basis.  

Managing human beings (both volunteers and employees) is perhaps the most challenging aspect of leadership, and rife with paradoxical expectations. We humans are special snowflakes. The approach that works well for one person is dreadfully off putting and perhaps even rage-inspiring for another person. Leaders should be fair and consistent, yet also incredibly flexible. (What?) Leaders are expected to adapt their approach and communication style to accommodate whichever snowflake needs their attention today. We can’t simply work to understand ourselves, our challenges, our shortcomings; we must also become masters of everyone who works for us, and behave accordingly. We aren’t allowed to have a bad day or be grumpy or short with someone. We aren’t allowed to get angry or have a meltdown in public. We must extend understanding, compassion, and forgiveness when people make mistakes, even if no apology is offered and no responsibility is taken by the offending party. Yet we apologize often and thank people for their feedback, even when it stings so hard we have to fight back tears. We aren’t allowed to arrive late or forget something important, because all eyes are on us. When someone doesn’t follow policy and we cite policy in a conversation with them, we are viewed as impersonal, unkind, and bureaucratic. If we are too gentle and subtle with feedback, it often goes unheard. When expectations aren’t communicated clearly enough, people become frustrated. When expectations are communicated too often and too explicitly, we are resented as micromanagers. Leaders who make an effort to connect on a personal level are seen as warm by some and nosy by others. It is impossible to be the perfect boss to every person. When there is a problem or challenge and a difficult conversation must be had, guess who’s going to be in that room trying to sort it out the best she can every single time? Yup, it’s me. Thankfully I’m almost never in that room by myself. The support and compassion of my co-leader John makes all of this infinitely more bearable.

And so I try my best, and I acknowledge my many imperfections. My work style is task-oriented, goal-focused, logical, and direct. I prefer to address issues directly and quickly and shine light on situations in order to move forward. I am not afraid to take action and make changes in order to protect the organization and the studio and to serve the ultimate goal: added value. I am not afraid to speak up when something isn’t working and I am never shy about giving feedback. But I sometimes forget to say thank you and show appreciation. My direct, linear, fact and task-oriented approach can be be perceived as cold, uncaring, and harsh. Slowing down, improving my patience, and learning to let the little things slide has been the focus of my personal development as a leader in the past few years. I listen more and ask questions instead of jumping to conclusions. I consciously strive to create opportunities for people and actively support their personal and professional growth as much as I can. I admit my mistakes and faults. I apologize often when I have misstepped and sometimes even when apologizing is just the right thing to do. I accept feedback and take it to heart without becoming defensive. I keep showing up each day and trying my hardest. And I still make mistakes, often.

Because of my workload and the weight of the responsibilities and expectations I carry, I live in a constant state of scarcity and the crushing pressure of obligations. That’s a heavy burden to bear. And it is a lonely existence. In the past few years and especially since we opened our studio, signs of stress are manifesting in my body. I have chronic insomnia, often finding myself wide awake at 3am (it’s my own personal witching hour) worrying about things. I have recently developed an occasional stutter when speaking. A year ago, I went to the doctor with chest pains which turned out to be “nothing,” i.e. no obvious physical cause. They still appear often, especially when my stress level is high. My hands sometimes shake. Nausea comes at times. Waves of vertigo and dizziness. I grind my teeth at night. Doctor visits have yielded no results – I’m healthy, with below normal blood pressure and absolutely no sign of disease. There are days when I wonder if it is more than I can bear. I am not sure what the breaking point looks like because I haven’t gotten there yet, but I have tasted it for sure. Without the unwavering support of my partner and closest friends, it would have happened already.

If you’ve made it this far into this undeniably heavy article, my biggest suggestion to you is this: have patience with the leaders in your life.

If you have never been in charge of something, you cannot possibly imagine what it’s like to be in that role. No really, you can’t. Whether it’s your boss at work or the director of a nonprofit organization or a professor at school, they are carrying these burdens with them every single day. Be patient. Try not to judge them when they don’t get it right. They are humans too.

If you have time and energy to do more, thank them when things are going well; don’t take those times for granted. Find out how they like to be shown appreciation. Get them flowers on occasion, write them a thoughtful note, or bring them a little treat once in a while.  Ask them if they need help, often. Even if they say no every time, it alleviates some of the loneliness to know that people are willing and interested in helping. Extend them respect, always, even when they are not at their best. Listen to what they have to say without interrupting. Give them space for their ideas and direction. Be open minded and receptive and honor their contributions. See if there are low level tasks you can do for them so they can focus on other things – like taking out the trash, vacuuming the studio, putting the mats away, refilling the paper towel dispenser.

Actions speak volumes for task-driven people like me. Show up, stand beside us, see what you can do to help. Put down your phone and look around to see what you can do to participate in creating, building, and sustaining the wonderful things in your world. Find ways to be selfless and generous every single day. I sometimes daydream that my organization would find 2 or 3 people with even just 25% of the time, energy, and competence I am willing to invest in our success. Can you imagine how much we could grow and thrive with more support? It is amazing to consider the possibilities if we weren’t in a constant state of scarcity. We could have a dedicated person to write grants and raise funds for us. We could have resources to pay our artists and teachers more. We could travel to teach and perform. We could afford the cushy toilet paper for the washroom.

But seriously, without the people who selflessly keep nonprofit organizations running, where would our world be? What would my organization be without my tireless dedication for the last two decades? Likely nonexistent. Nonprofit leaders are a precious resource worth protecting as fiercely as they work to protect their organizations. We must cherish every single one of them.