IRAQI REFUGEE panel on 2/4

I'm a panelist. Its THIS THURSDAY at Intersections, 274 5th Avenue, NYC 7pm

IMPROV SHOW: Weds. 2/3 730pm

Hi Robot Performs at COMIX 7:30

FREE!

Check out long form improv!

353 West 14th St, NYC

reinvention

In class recently, I reminded my students that they could reivent themselves. They were in the middle of a longform and it had started falling apart abit. they were getting off track and getting a bit down on it. I shouted 'Reinvent the moment! Reclaim whats happening right now'.

They looked at me like I was a nut at first, then...the improv got more free and a bit more fun....

How often in life have we already decided how something is gonna go? We already know the outcome before we even go through the moment. "Today's gonna suck", 'There's no way of making this better!", "Nothing will change. This is how it is." ----Is it? Is this how it is? Or is it only how it is right now?

We each have the opportunity to reinvent ourselves every moment of our lives. You decide how each moment is going to play out. Take charge. Reinvent. Reclaim the moment.

Did you miss it? Don't worry -- here's another! Unlimited opportunities for reinvention.

Photos from improv shows at Comix 2009!

Happy Holidays!

Go women!

I just taught a brief intro to improvisation session for some ladies at the holiday party/event for Womensphere (http://www.womensphere.com/) and was reminded how powerful improv training can be in our life.

After 45 minutes, the women were hooked and wanted more---more of learning how to be MORE of who they are, more of being free to live each moment fully, more ok with whatever variable gets thrown at them. Good stuff. Its how I want to live my life.

And you? New session starts January 11 on Mondays. Jump.

http://www.kimschultz.net/

straight talk from Iraqis...

Here is a sampling of some of the words we heard while speaking to the Iraqi refugees in Lebanon, Jordan and Syria:

"It's like a prison here."

"I have only one son and he cannot talk now"

"Just resettle me!"

"All day, we are sitting together...thinking...waiting...."

"I am sorry to not be able to offer you tea...but know in our heart, you are now family."

"Since leaving Iraq and my daughter, I have forgotten everything. We have no memory now, only sadness"

"There is no future for me. I only hope now for my children."

"Thanks for you!"

"It is normal to be scared now"

"There is no place called home now."

"We need voices. You must be those voices."

http://iraqivoices.intersectionsinternational.org/

Home.

I'm home from my amazing trip abroad. Here are some thoughts:
__________________________________

So…one week post Middle-East-Iraqi-refugee-experience. I feel lost… a bit like a refugee myself. A bit.

Trying to wrap my brain around the experience is not easy. New York looks different. My friends seem new. All I have seems shocking. And after only three short weeks! I’m trying to spend each day growing back into my skin without losing the skin I have acquired from the Iraqis we met. I don’t want to lose what I experienced in their skin. This urban refugee crisis screams for attention, although the refugees are not. They are quietly waiting…for something to change…6 years later…

The refugees, social workers and children swirl around my head. I keep thinking about Majid and his 4 beautiful children and his brother who was shot and killed in the passenger seat right next to him. And I think about once famous boxer and artist who came from a family of artists who are now scattered all over the world. I think about his need to tell his story on his terms—the way he wanted it heard--the threatening letters, the dismembered bodies, his inability to create anything artistic anymore, the disclosure that he felt like a bat—only coming out at night. I think about the woman whose husband abandoned her and her daughter in Damascus and who wouldn’t let us take her picture, not because of fear of persecution, but because she no longer feels beautiful. I think about the poet we met, who was also a victim of intense torture, and who chose to share a love poem with us. A love poem.

And I think about the artists displaced in Damascus because art is dead in Baghdad. And I think about the hopeful Iraqi teens and young adults who are brave enough to believe in a future with education, a future of college in America. And I think about the children, always the children-- who look up at me with empty, confused eyes that have seen what children should never see.
This is what I think about now that I am back. These people who did nothing wrong but survive and flee—becoming refugees of our choice, OUR country. This is the face of our war in Iraq. This is the fallout. I feel the weight of responsibility to tell their stories as a call to action. After all, this is our mess to clean up.

I also think about the arab woman I accidentally clocked in the head at the airport in Amman and the fact I said “Shukran” (Arabic for ‘thank you’) to her instead of “excuse me” or “I’m sorry” before walking away and boarding my flight. Cut me some slack. Arabic is hard!



Stay tuned for how you can help or go now to:
http://www.thelistproject.org/
http://www.ninemillion.org/
http://www.refugeesinternational.org/