EXTRA

I can be very extra. Some may even say dramatic. I know. I am especially extra when it comes to my kids. Many of us would say there is nothing we wouldn’t do for our children, that we would go to the ends of the earth for them.

But what about someone else’s kid? 

ADVOT recently launched a new workforce program with the support of the Los Angeles County Department of Arts and Culture: the ADVOT Creative Collective. Young people in lockup become part of a creative ensemble. They are paid for their time, creativity, commitment, and ultimately, for presenting their work to an audience. The pilot did not go according to plan.

Funding took longer than expected. The facility presented challenge after challenge. We started slowly, finally found our rhythm, and then participants began getting released. By the time we reached our final presentation, we had two young people left. Those two young people weren’t particularly interested in becoming actors. So we adapted.

Pivoting is what we do at ADVOT. Honestly, it’s probably something we all need to practice more in our lives.

We listened to the youth and changed the plan. We got permission to film, and instead of forcing them into a traditional performance, we created a short documentary where they could tell their stories. We also created a portrait project with beautiful photographs of each of them. At one point, I meant to order three photos for each young person. Instead, I accidentally ordered an enormous number of photographs.

As I sat there separating piles of photographs into individual envelopes, I thought, This is very extra. This is a little ridiculous. Maybe I shouldn’t give them all of these. And then I thought, actually, why not ?

Maybe overwhelming isn’t always a bad thing. So I gave each kid a huge pile.

“You win from my mistake,” I told them. “Next time I am NOT ordering this many. But for now, enjoy!”

Yes, they were overwhelmed. But it was followed by laughter. Them staring at the pictures. Choosing which ones to hang on the wall. And so much joy.

“Oh, Miss. This is dope.”

The next time, I didn’t print quite as many. But I did enlarge a few.

One of my beautiful students looked at hers and said quietly,

“I never had big photos of me before, Miss.”

I thought about my own children. Twelve years of school pictures. Bat mitzvah photographs. Family events. Vacations. Birthdays. Albums and frames filled with evidence that someone was watching them grow. 

Maybe my extra was good. Maybe sometimes abundance is exactly what someone needs, especially when they have experienced a deficit of so much else.

Then came another obstacle. Despite doing everything we could to bring people into the facility for the final presentation, clearance issues meant almost no one could attend. Again came the question: Do we really need to do all this?

Do we need the popcorn for the film? Do we need to set everything up? Do we need all the extra things we planned when almost nobody is coming? As I loaded supplies into my car, I kept hearing versions of that question in my head. Do we need this? Is all of this necessary? Every time, my answer became clearer:

Yes. Not because hundreds of people were coming. Not because there would be press. Not because someone important would see what we had created.

Because the young people would know whether we showed up for them.

I rallied our staff. I bullied my beloved friend and Advot supporter into coming, even though she would be the only audience member. I bribed the mental health practitioners at the facility with lunch. Together, we became the audience.

The show went on.

I have performed my one-woman play, Flowers Aren’t Enough, thousands of times around the world. I have performed for hundreds of people, and I have performed for two. Somewhere along the way, I learned something important: The size of the audience has almost nothing to do with the significance of the experience.

Yet we obsess over the numbers. How many people came?
How many young people participated? How many people will see it?
How many people will we impact? I know numbers matter. I run a nonprofit. Believe me, I understand.

But numbers are not the same thing as worth. I have been told many times that I can be “too much.” That Advot sometimes gives too much.

“This is so over the top.”

“Do we really need the good markers?”

“ The beautiful art supplies?”

“ The more expensive masks?”

Yes - we do. I will fight back on that every time. Too often, young people who have received very little are expected to keep receiving very little.

I believe the opposite. Give them more. Give them the good markers. Bring the beautiful masks. Print the photographs. Set up the room. Show up with two facilitators even when there is only one young person in the medical unit.

Of course there are boundaries. Of course resources need to be managed responsibly. More is not always better.

But sometimes we draw the line too quickly and too soon. We decide something isn’t worth doing because there aren’t enough people. We stop setting the table because not enough people are coming to dinner. We lower the effort because we think nobody is watching. But somebody is watching.

The young person is watching. They notice whether we came prepared. Whether we brought the good markers. Whether we made the room beautiful. Whether we printed their photograph. Whether we treated their performance like it mattered.

Whether they mattered. That is the paradigm I will keep challenging in myself as much as anyone else.

Effort should not be determined by audience size. Care should not be determined by numbers. A young person’s worth should never be determined by how many other young people happen to be standing beside them. Two kids are worth the effort. One kid is worth the effort. They don’t need to go to college or accomplish something extraordinary to earn it. They simply need to be. There is always, I am telling you, always—something extraordinary in the ordinary. 

You need to choose to see it.

“Miss, these are super-ass fancy markers.”

“I know,” I tell her.

“There are a LOT in this package.”

“I know.” I smile.

“I gotta share, right?” she asks.

“Nope,” I answer.

“They all for me?”

“Yup.”

“For me, me?”

“Yup.” Then that shy, disbelieving smile appears. It gets quiet.

I know that quiet. It’s the quiet when they realize I mean it.
That I showed up.
That I’m going to keep my word.
They see me see them.

And yes, they see that I am definitely a little extra. And that’s okay. Because everyone deserves a little extra now and then -

So I invite you when you have the choice to give more, not less. More time. More care. More belief. More love.

Be extra.