Today I went on an audition in Phila. South Philly to be exact– a block from the restaurant Stogie Joe’s. Maybe 11 years ago, I was there enjoying a drink with girlfriends and noticed a sign advertising “Sinatra Sundays’. Well, My Uncle Benny adores him so I told them, I’ll be back with my family for that!

Fast forward a few months and there we sat, all 12 of us, enjoying some of the city’s best pizza and a fine rendition of “I did it My Way”. When I got home I turned to FB to ‘like’ the Stogie Joe’s page and there was the last name Iovacchini. Mary Iovacchini ‘liked’ Stogie Joes. Hmmmmm. I was supposed to grow up with that name. I’d found out about 8 years prior that was my birth father’s name– and you don’t see it too often. At this point, I’d met my half-brothers, their children but no one else (and certainly no one near Philly).

I decided to write to Mary I. Hi!! We might be related. I’m an Iovacchini too. Mary replied right back– cool! She’d married one and didn’t I know that the restaurant which brought us together was owned by her husband’s cousins. Maybe they were my cousins too? I was so hungry for information, for family connections, for pieces of the puzzle. Mary, would you have coffee with me?

Our two hour long conversation was like water for my parched soul. It was as if this divine appointment was part of an unfolding story that only God could write. Dad had left before I was born and I’d created quite the realistic yet unhelpful story of my own for decades–this story now percolated in my subconscious mind and felt a lot like unworthiness and shame with words swirling around like ‘bastard’ and unwanted.

Let’s circle back to today and that audition, shall we?

I was so so brave.

On my walk from the car, I heard in my spirit about how all of heaven was supporting me. And by heaven, the Lord meant my ancestors. I also understood that heaven was below my feet and was rising up like a geyser of love or I was the rocket ship hovering over the base of fuel ignited and preparing the vessel to take off. I felt powerful!! I felt that my soul was charged and the art that I made yesterday tittled ‘Voltage’ was hard at work– propelling me toward goodness, fun, connection, and success.

My ancestors (first, I’ll speak about the 2 paternal grandparents that I didn’t meet) were alcoholics and abandoned their 3 boys to the Philly orphanages…separated into three facilities. Breaking up their brotherhood forever. And My Oma who helped raise me, never seemed to get out of survival mode. Her own husband divorced for being alcoholic and working full time– peace came in the evening with a cigarette and her crochet needles. But mostly I saw her struggle, anxious…secretive.

Did any of these people live in anything but a realistic way I ask you?

So today, when upon returning home to my loving, supportive husband, he asked me to be realistic about the likelihood that I’d get a callback when the others were professionally trained actresses and me, well I had a few classes of improv under my 59 year old belt. My initial response– my very ordinary response was “You are right. Of course I should be realistic.” but my words were hollow.

So I climbed in the hot tub to pray. I’d asked a dozen people to pray this specific prayer– that I’d have a door opened to be surrounded by like-minded creative people. So when one of those friends texted me with “what did you discern about the like-minded people’…this is my response.

My mind is like this– unrealistic

I understand that those who break free from generational patterns of trauma might lean into this magical way of thinking. Not in way that disregards all the hard work but that counts the emotional labor and prayers as the hardest work we do. To believe again.

To believe in possibility and breakthrough — not necessarily that we end up on stage performing but that we live from tenderness. That there are no more monsters under the bed. That my inner child is safe to be completely and utterly unrealistic. Dreaming and planning and enjoying her little funny silly self.

And that ‘big me’ has plenty of space for her to play. Because the opposite of trauma just might be play.

I know my ancestors unlived life in me is cheering today– Go, Anita Go!! Keep

up the unrealistic expectations that God is real, the spirit of God grows us way beyond

living realistically.

A life of faith is oh so unrealistic — thank God for that!!