#and it just always sucks being the one single brown person in every iteration

[chimney-begins]

god i need some more bipoc friends. it is so isolating being the only brown person in a crowd of white ppl all the time. 🫠 anyway if u a bipoc into ttrpgs or any fandom you've seen on my blog pls hit me up bc im SO lonely. 🙃

[sabrinamichele]

2019: The Year of Love, Love Lost, and Paris

     I know it’s time. Time to finally open up and talk about what’s been happening in my life. I know that I don’t have to share, but every time I try to move past it, I continue to feel drawn to share this. I know that in sharing this, like the countless times I have shared before, I will find myself better for having opened up. So, to be clear—this is not a completely selfless act—but it doesn’t make sharing it any easier. So, I’m ready to talk about dating, about love, and the heart break that 2019 brought me. I feel strongly that I need to preface this piece with the understanding that these words, thoughts and feelings, while they are mine, I know that by sharing them I may hurt someone. My intention is not to be mean or to hurt someone, but by being so candid, and by sharing my truth, I recognize that I very well might. I think there will always be that risk, and if you are on the receiving end of that, I am sorry. With that said, I want to be as honest and real as I can, because this isn’t the space for fakeness, or for pretense. This is where real truths, even when they’re hard, come out and vulnerability is found. So, in the spirit of sharing, *takes a breath* here goes...

     While I have dated for the past five years, I have, for the most part, remained pretty mum on the details. This hasn’t been done because I didn’t want to share, but, more or less, because I frankly didn’t know how to. My dating/love life has often, in hindsight, felt like learning how to drive a car: definitely with its starts and stops, plenty of awkwardness, some wrong turns made, and so much to learn. (Yes, this analogy truly describes how dating as an adult for the first time in your thirties after being married for eleven years truly feels like. *laughs*) Needless to say, I did not know how to navigate it very well, let alone to start opening up about topics like dating, sex, love, and heartbreak. So, after five years later, I think I’m finally ready to share. To be clear—I absolutely do not have it all figured out. I am not perfect, and I definitely have made my fair share of mistakes (yup, still human). But I also finally acknowledge that that doesn’t mean I don’t have something valuable to share. I don’t know, frankly, what the sharing is going to look like, but I am ready to start. As I have with every single thing I have written here up until now, I share with the hope and intention that in doing so it might help someone else. I truly believe it’s this shared humanity—the realness and vulnerability that exists in sharing what is real in our lives, and often times hidden away—that this is so incredibly attractive, because it is so rare, and it’s also where real connection takes place. So, with that intention, I promise to be real, honest, and vulnerable as hell.

“The mark of a wild heart is living out the paradox of love in our lives. It’s the ability to be tough and tender, excited and scared, brave and afraid—all in the same moment.”

— Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness

     When I think about the past five years, and trying to navigate dating, this quote feels so incredibly true and relevant in my life. The ability to, despite everything that has happened in your life up to this moment, meet the next moment and person with fresh optimism and hope for what might be. The ever-optimistic question of, “What if?”  Trust me when I say I know all too well what it is to be equal parts excited and scared. That is where I was a little over one year ago: Trying to date...again. Despite the heartache and the disappointment, and all the frustrations that go along with online dating—I was willing to try again because, deep down, I genuinely wanted to find someone, even if all my previous attempts had failed not ended the way I had hoped. Can I just take a moment to commiserate with anyone that’s reading this (male or female) who has also felt the pain and frustration of online dating? Yes, it can suck—and yes, people can suck—so you’re not alone in having mixed feelings about it (yes, I’m making some assumptions here, but I feel safe in making them). Goodness knows that I have had enough iterations with the dating apps, both love/hate, and moments where I swear “Never again!!” With that said, I think we can all—okay, fine—most of us can agree that they are a tool, and in today’s society of disconnection, they are a very helpful tool for connecting people; so, if you can get past the crap and frustration, they can be a positive. (Notice the emphasis on can here; I didn’t say they always are! *laughs*) This is at least the reason (and justification) for their reappearance in my life last year.

     This is how I started dating again, and how I met him—the man who would become my boyfriend last year. (Trying hard to not use names here—ever.) By and large, he was the most significant event last year—significant in many ways, but I think context helps to clarify why he was a significant event in my life. To back up a bit—dating has been incredibly hard for me in the wake of my divorce—there have been many men I have “dated,” in a sense, but often times I have, in the early stages of dating been too afraid of the labels, and the commitment, to even consider calling it a relationship, let alone calling someone my “boyfriend.” Before him, I have only had two relationships I could truly classify as truly “dating,” and only one I think would agree that we were boyfriend/girlfriend—exclusive, at the very least. Trust me—so many labels, so many new hurdles to navigate—so dating him was significant in that we both jumped in rather quickly, and also fell pretty quickly for each other. It was the first person, post my ex-husband, to tell me that he loved me, and to also ask me to be his girlfriend. I’m aware that, to many, that may sound cheesy, even juvenile, but here’s the truth: despite all the hurt and frustrations I’ve had with the opposite sex—deep down, I am a romantic at heart. A romantic with an insanely big heart who wants to fall in love again. (Yeah, I just admitted that.)

     So, I fell hard. I fell in love with all the firsts: the way it felt when I was around him—it felt exactly how it had, falling when you are young—the way you get excited to hear someone’s voice over the phone for the first time, the first time they hold your hand, the first kiss, the way they look at you...we were like two kids, and it felt incredibly special. I share all of this because I think it’s important to reflect—to look back and smile knowing I got to have that again, to experience having love, and a boyfriend, again...I want to be intentional in saying that because, if you’re like me, when something like that ends, it is incredibly easy to demonize someone, to focus on only the hurts, and to forget all of the good parts. I hope that you don’t.

     Suffice it to say, we did not last. Much like a candle that burns hard and bright, then just as quickly burns out...that was how we seemed to be, unfortunately. The man I fell in love with...well, I don’t know what happened to him, honestly. All the emotion, the vulnerability, and amazing connection I felt in the beginning, just...disappeared. I felt it most acutely on our first trip away together. I had been trying to communicate with him about it, without much success—and then the night before our trip, when I tried to talk to him about it again, the message I got back was, basically, “I don’t know what to tell you. This is how it’s going to be,” In my head, what I heard was something to the effect of, “Tough shit.” I was dumbfounded. I was trying to connect with him on this lack of connection, to discover the “why,” and met with, well, nothing. It was incredibly hard hearing that as we were about to go away for our first trip together. Trying to have a romantic weekend with someone who is not emotionally connected with you, or even trying to be, well...it’s a good recipe for a disaster, which is what that weekend was. I tried to make the best of it, but I found myself reminded of how disengaged my ex was with me and it, frankly, scared the shit out of me. In hindsight I wish I had had more courage. Courage to have a real conversation on the real disconnect we were having that weekend. But it felt like every time I tried, it was like trying to talk to someone who spoke Greek, and there was no place for understanding or vulnerability there. I came back not really knowing how to proceed, but knowing we definitely still needed to talk about it. After I made multiple attempts to initiate talking about it with him, I was met with only short texts back, and several blow offs instead of actually talking to me in the week following our trip. I felt miserable, sick to my stomach, and only an escalating sense of desperation to have this awful feeling end. I felt like I had been taken to this incredible high in our relationship, to then be dropped off the edge of an emotional cliff. Without a partner willing to communicate, who literally just disappeared after an uncomfortable first weekend away, I just felt desperate to have my pain end. Less than a week from my birthday, desperate to do what I thought was best, I ended it—after which I promptly bawled my eyes out. (Yeah. I’m being painfully honest here.) In hindsight, I can see that we weren’t meant to be, but the truth is, it, and he, still meant a lot to me. I have had well-meaning girlfriends even try to convince me that I didn’t actually love him, “No, not really.” Well I am here to say that I did love him, and that I don’t regret it. Any of it. As hard as that breakup was for me, I will always be grateful for loving him. I will always be grateful to have him show me what it should really look like...even if it didn’t last. To have someone show you that you are worthy of pursuing, worthy of going on romantic dates with, worthy of romance, and, ultimately, worthy of love...I am honestly grateful for all of it.

     With all of that said, the end of “us” left me in a very dark place for a time. I felt betrayed and I felt rejected. Rejection’s sting is something I am far, far too familiar with these past five years, but it always hurts more when I’ve invested more. I am not necessarily proud of how I chose to handle my hurt and pain this time, but I embraced that I was in a “dark and twisty place,” as I called it, and I set my intentions with men accordingly. I didn’t want anything more than something of a casual nature, which suited my needs, and my heart, just fine during this time. I don’t look back and applaud this; it was simply the way I chose to handle the hurt I was feeling at the time, and I want to be honest about that.

     If you’re still reading, I applaud you. My dating/love life is not for the faint of heart or those only inclined to read short stories. Without further ado, this is when someone new came into my life. I feel the need to pause and say that I do feel badly—he met me smack dab in the beginning of my “dark and twisty” phase—right as I had intended to not be with anyone in a romantic way, is when he met me. I told him as much the night we met, but the message still got filtered a bit through the lens of someone who I think, deep down, was hopeful for more. He and I were not friends, per se, but we were also not dating—because I was not interested in dating anyone in the dark place I was currently in—but I also found the previously used label of “friends with benefits” didn’t quite seem to fit either, so we found a label we could both agree upon, which was “lovers.” And we honestly enjoyed as much time as we could with each other in this space. For me, it was exactly what I needed in that moment. We enjoyed each other’s company, and we enjoyed many of the same things; we found a safety with each other—both in the sharing of our past, but also simply just by being together. I recognize this title implicitly says more than I ever have shared before about a relationship, and I’m okay with that. I am thirty-six years old and incredibly tired of living in the fear of talking about or not talking about sex. I was married eleven years, so I think it’s safe to say I am aware of what sex is—and it’s something I still engage in to this day. *laughing* I know that by sharing this, there will be some of my family/friends who are probably disappointed, but frankly? I’m not interested in filtering my writing anymore for fear of what you, or others may think (or not think). Enough said.

     I am a firm believer that people come in and out of our lives for a reason. With that said, I genuinely believe I was meant to have this man in my life. Even if it was unconventional and didn’t look like other relationships—it was still meaningful, even it if wasn’t meant to be for forever. I was very up front and honest with him about where I was at, day one, but it doesn’t mean that feelings didn’t get involved. If I’ve learned anything in my years of dating—it’s that it’s incredibly easy and natural for emotions and feelings to get involved where sex is concerned. I think we both knew that this was always a possibility, and we were both very honest with each other about what that would mean. I knew he was potentially moving out of the area soon, so it felt safe. Safe to let my guard down; safe to just be me; safe also because it was just so easy to be around him. But, with all of that said, I never felt that way about him. Even when I found feelings creeping in, I pushed them down not wanting to go there—we weren't supposed to go there, right? But, before I knew it, we were facing a point of no return—I had agreed to go out of state to a wedding as his plus one—and subsequently had made plans to go to Paris the day after we were to get back. The trip was going great, but somehow, without really seeing it coming, I found myself hearing him tell me that he was falling in love with me, and that he needed more. My heart ached in that moment. My heart ached because I knew I couldn’t say the words he would have liked to hear me say next, and that I couldn’t give him more. I have never taken those words lightly, and I didn’t then either.  The next day we flew back, and I had to face one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had. It was hard because not only was it over, but I was also losing a friend—he couldn’t stay friends with me—and we had truly become close over those few months—my heart ached knowing I was losing that, but also for all the unspoken words I felt between us in that moment, “I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I’m sorry you met me here, in this dark place I’m at right now. I’m sorry I am not where you are at, at least not today.” So, I said goodbye, and I flew to Paris two days later.

     So, Paris. I flew to Paris, kind of spontaneously, with a man I had dated earlier in the year, and who I really liked. If I’m being honest, he was someone I had hoped (deep down) to have something more with someday. In hindsight it all feels like it was wishful thinking, but, at the time, I couldn’t help but feel excited and hopeful. A handsome man who I was interested in had invited me to join him in Paris and, on a whim, I had decided to say yes. I mean, how do you say no to that? Our first date was one of the most romantic I’ve ever been on, honestly. I was about to go to Paris for the first time earlier in the year and he had invited me to a French themed charity dinner, and the night ended with slow dancing (yes—slow dancing) in his living room. I know, it all sounds a bit hard to believe, maybe even a little nonsensical, but I genuinely believe that a big part of love is truly that—nonsensical. So, seven months later, I went to Paris for a second time, but this time, with him. I went to Paris, and I tried hard to keep my expectations in check, but it was hard for me to not find myself hopeful...for a spark, for more... I do not want to dwell on the details, but I will say that my overwhelming feeling from this trip was one of disappointment. I know that it’s not fair to compare, but for me, there was no way I couldn’t not compare them, having both trips so close in proximity to one another. While one man was so incredibly attentive, emotionally connected, and engaged—the other was the exact opposite. Perhaps, not at first...but as the trip went on, I was incredibly aware of it. It makes me sad, in hindsight—I was in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I felt more alone than ever being there with him. I felt like he didn’t emotionally connect with me most of our time together, which was a little surprising, but also left me at a bit of a loss, as I’m incredibly empathic to the people I’m around. I often felt a bit like I was walking around on eggshells being with him, unsure how to “just be” around him. It was not romantic. It was not about me. And my heart turned in on itself with the juxtaposition it found between my travel companions. I had hoped, foolishly so, to fall in love in Paris, and instead I was with someone who I realized was still in love someone else. I don’t say all of this to be hurtful, but to simply be honest. It was a painful and incredibly emotional week for me.

     But, somehow, even after all of this, my emotional week wasn’t complete. There was more waiting for me. Sitting in the Paris airport, waiting to come home, I was sitting next to my travel companion, filling the time while we waited to board the plane by mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when my eyes caught on two words, a name. His name. A man I have written about here before—the first man I fell in love with after my ex-husband. My brain was still registering seeing these two words again as my brain finally assimilated what it was I was seeing. It was a picture of the man I had fallen in love with proposing. My heart dropped. I sat there in shock, absorbing these pictures, these words—then I quickly closed the app—my brain’s obvious attempt at self-preservation. I sat there for about ten minutes before finally starting to cry—my partner sitting next to me completely oblivious to my tears or my pain. I have been asked, since then, why I cried...and it still baffles me how anyone could ask me “why?” But I will try to convey to you the “why,” even if it’s completely irrelevant.

     I cried because the man I fell in love with was proposing to someone else. I cried because he was, in every single way, exactly what I wanted—at least in that moment of my life. And even though I can look back on us and see just how much he didn’t deserve the love I had for him, it is irrelevant to the simple fact that I did...love him. I loved him in a way that I have never known before...connected with him in a way I had never known before. I cried because this hurt me—seeing this, as it should. But it was also necessary. I knew this was the moment I had to let it all go. To finally, somehow, find a way to forgive him—to let go of all the pain that had been inside me for far too long. That is one thing I will always be very grateful for. To the man that I would call my boyfriend, and the man I would call my lover—I realized just how much pain I had been living with, not just from my breakup, but from the men I had loved, but who, ultimately, hadn’t been right for me. I finally recognized this in moments I had been with my friend, my lover, and he would be asking me simple questions, and I would be reduced to tears in a matter of moments. It was embarrassing, but he also never made me feel bad or ashamed for it. I also had a moment of clarity, a few months later, in a conversation with my last boyfriend, finally talking about our breakup and how much his actions had hurt me. He said to me, “Don’t let me be the cause of your pain.” Those words resonated with me because of just how true they were for me. While I had done such a good job of not letting my divorce not define my life, to keep me from moving on and dating again, I had allowed these men, each heartbreak, to carry on in my heart—each hurt still there, right beneath the surface. I realized then and there I owed it to myself to finally forgive them, and to move on.

     While I haven’t figured it all out exactly since then (read: I’m still figuring so much out in this crazy life, especially now), I am proud to say that I came back from Paris and I finally forgave the man who broke my heart more than most. In writing this, I recognize that there is still room for forgiveness, for letting go, which I completely acknowledge. I am not perfect, and I’m still figuring this life out as I go, but I’m also incredibly proud of just how far I have come.

     I have loved, deeply. I have had my heart broken, and, sadly, I have hurt some hearts along the way. I am here, sharing this, to hopefully normalize that dating may not look the way you expect it to—it may be messy and unconventional—and you may make some mistakes (or a lot), and you may have your heart broken...but here’s also a beautiful truth: you get to decide what happens next. You.

So, in this moment, I am creating something new and I am trying to have a wild heart in dating. I am both hopeful, excited and scared...but above all, ready. I know what I bring, and I also know what I want. Dating is hard, but it’s also so much harder if you’re not ready.

When I wrote these words, almost a year ago now, I was in such a different place. I was actually ready to try to start dating again. Unfortunately, this year has not been the year for trying to date, at all. It’s been incredibly hard trying to pick this piece back up, to try and talk about something that’s happened so long ago now, but I also feel like I needed to. To give these words voice, even if I find myself in a space where I’m not optimistic about love or dating, as I was earlier in the year, pre-global pandemic. With that said, I still want to write about love. I still want to talk about what dating has taught me, even as I find myself in a particularly weird year for it.

With that said, the best advice I can offer, for the years of dating I have experienced, is this:

•    Know who you are, but also be comfortable, just as you are. You don’t need anyone to complete you or to make you happy. Trying to have someone fill this role won’t make you happy, ultimately.

•    Know that it’s okay to want someone—but not to “need” them to feel okay. You have to be okay, just you. You also have to love you, first, before anyone else can love you. Any attempts to shortcut this will leave you disappointed.

•    Try really hard to not grasp for someone or something, or to chase someone who has left of their own accord. I’ve had to learn this the hard way, and sometimes I’ve needed to be reminded, but it is a powerful truth. If they want to talk to you, they will. If they want to see you, they will ask. Try to not read between lines that aren’t there. Sometimes it really is that simple. You deserve someone that pursues you. Pure and simple.

•    Be honest and be kind. I think I’ve said this very yearly on in my writing, but it begs repeating. It does no one a service to tell them what you think they want to hear, let alone yourself. Always be honest (even when it is hard). And try to do so with kindness. Enough said.

•    Grace. If I had to leave you with one word, it would be this one. Have grace, and not just for others, but also for yourself. I know, for me, I need to have equal parts grace, both for others and for myself. It is so easy to allow my expectations of myself and others to put people on a pedestal. Pedestals are unrealistic, though, and people aren’t meant to be on them. Have grace for when people disappoint you, or for when you disappoint yourself. This beautiful adventure is called life. It’s going to surprise you and challenge you—and it’s not going to look how you had expected it to—ever! And that’s okay. Get comfortable in the uncomfortable—the not knowing.

     With all of that said, I end this post a little differently than pre-pandemic Sabrina would have. I always feel like I have to end things on a positive note. Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for happy endings and naturally want there to be one. Pre-pandemic Sabrina ended this so full of hope, excited for a year full of as of yet unknowns and adventures. While this year has definitely held quite a few surprises, not all of which were bad, more than ever this year has tested us all and pushed us to many of our breaking points. I wish I could share something incredibly positive, something uplifting, or something exciting, but I’m afraid I just don’t have it. I think in the absence of that, the one positive this new space has left in my life right now is time to reflect, time to sit in the space created, just me. I’m getting comfortable, really comfortable, with just being me. It’s not easy, especially as I crave connection and companionship, but I also know, deep down, just how necessary it is. In this vacuum of time and space this pandemic has created, I’m learning how to truly love me, to learn the wounds I have yet to heal, and—probably the hardest yet—how to finally let go of not having a romantic relationship. It’s hard, and it can be scary, but I think it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. As scary as “giving up” has felt for me, I feel only stronger in who I am for having finally done it. I’m not giving up forever. But I am—for now. And I’m okay with that. In letting go, I feel that I have found the strength within me to face this, but also a feeling of peace about it. I genuinely don’t know what this next year will bring, BUT I can confidently say a stronger Sabrina will be here to face it. And for that, I am grateful.

[cinephiled-com]

New Post has been published on Cinephiled

New Post has been published on http://www.cinephiled.com/interview-directors-powerful-doc-linda-ronstadt-sound-voice/

Interview: Directors of the Powerful Doc ‘Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice’

Since bursting onto the music scene in 1967, Linda Ronstadt has been an icon for more than half a century. Her extraordinary vocal range created iconic songs across rock, pop, country, folk ballads, American standards, classic Mexican music, and soul. As the most popular female recording artist of the 1970s, Ronstadt filled huge arenas and produced an astounding 11 Platinum albums. Ronstadt was the first artist to top the Pop, Country, and R&B charts at the same time. She won 10 Grammy Awards on 26 nominations and attained a level of stardom the Tucson native never could have imagined.

In Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice, Ronstadt guides us through her early years of singing Mexican canciones with her family, her folk days with the Stone Poneys, and her reign as the Queen of Rock throughout the 70s and early 80s. She was a pioneer for women in the male-dominated music industry and a passionate advocate for human rights. Even more attention was heaped upon her when she had a long-term and high-profile romance with California Governor Jerry Brown. In recent years, her incredible voice has been lost to Parkinson’s disease, something she accepts with a dignity and grace that is inspiring, but her music and influence remain as timeless as ever. With incredible performance footage and heartwarming appearances by friends and collaborators such as Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, Bonnie Raitt, and Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice celebrates an artist whose desire to share the music she loved made generations of fans fall in love with her.

It was a thrill for me to sit down with the award-winning directors of this film, Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman (The Times of Harvey Milk, Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt, The Celluloid Closet) and producer James Keach (Walk the Line, Glen Campbell: I’ll Be Me, David Crosby: Remember My Name) to discuss this deeply moving and joyously entertaining film.

Rob Epstein & Jeffrey Friedman

Danny Miller: Your previous documentaries are legendary. Did you feel this film was a natural progression from the kinds of things you were doing?

Jeffrey Friedman: I think so. This is ultimately a story about a woman’s empowerment, and that’s thematically not very far from other themes that we’ve taken on.

Did it take a while to earn Linda Ronstadt’s trust before she agreed to do the film?

Oh God, yes. It took about a year to convince her to let us do it!

Yeah, she doesn’t seem like someone who would necessarily be down for a film about herself.

Rob Epstein: Fortunately, she had just seen my film The Times of Harvey Milk and really liked it, so the timing of that was fortuitous. But as Jeffrey said, she was very reluctant and it took a long time to get her to come around. She basically told us that she thought we were deluded and that nobody would want to see the film and if they did, they’d be bored to tears.

Oh, Linda, Linda. That’s totally insane!

Jeffrey Friedman: But after a while, a couple of things conspired helped her to change her mind. The people who were still working with her were rooting for us — her longtime assistant and good friend Janet Stark and her manager John Boylan were encouraging us behind the scenes to keep going. We told Linda that we wanted to use her wonderful book as source material but we wanted to amplify it by having an audience actually experience the music that’s only described in the book. She finally started to allow herself to imagine that.

Did she have any ground rules about what she didn’t want you to put in the film?

Rob Epstein: Linda is a very private person and she didn’t want us to get into her personal relationships which we totally understood.

With the exception of Jerry Brown?

Jeffrey Friedman: Yes, well, that’s in her book and anything she talked about in the book was fair game. Linda and Governor Brown are still friends.

Rob Epstein: We really just wanted to help make her musical journey come alive in the film. But she also said she wouldn’t be interviewed for the film.

Are you saying that all of her voiceovers in the film are taken from other interviews?

We did use dozens of different sources but in the end she finally agreed to sit down for an interview.

Jeffrey Friedman: But that one was only an audio interview, we didn’t film it.

And yet she does appear on camera at the end of the film, and it’s such a beautiful, poignant scene. Was it always the plan that we wouldn’t see her until the end?

Rob Epstein: It was always our intention to somehow bring it to the present tense. We were very frank with her about that, we told her that the audience would want to see her today. We talked about the possibility of having her come into a recording studio and read passages from her book but she thought that was just too artificial. And then all of a sudden, she had this trip planned to Mexico with her family and she invited us. But that happened way at the end.

Jeffrey Friedman: By that time we had interviewed so many people that she was very close to and they were like her spies telling her everything that happened — they all assured her that we were doing a very respectful portrait.

I found the entire film so incredibly moving. I could tell you that I cried at points but it’s more like tears were pouring down my face during every single song. I can’t even fully understand why it affected me so much. Something about the purity of her voice and the purityof her relationship to her music and the way she navigated through her superstardom without ever getting sucked into the negative aspects of that.

Rob Epstein: I think it was surprising to all of us how humble she is and self-deprecating. She never had much interest in being a celebrity and she managed to maintain her authentic personhood throughout all of the different iterations of her fame and career. She certainly never tried to create any persona around “Linda Ronstadt,” she was always just herself, the same person that she is to this day.

Jeffrey Friedman: Yeah, she’s very real, no bullshit. I think that’s part of what makes watching her sing so touching, because it’s really just her and the music coming through her. It was never about showmanship or flash and dazzle, just an authentic artistic expression. I think that’s why audiences have responded to her with such enthusiasm and emotion throughout her career.

James Keach

James Keach: But I’m not sure she was never “sucked into” the fame part, I think she was sucked into it many times. The difference was that she always pushed back. She would get pulled into things like those big arena concerts and then come realize that it wasn’t what she wanted to do. But I would speculate that your emotional reaction to the film might also be because those were better days for a lot of us in many ways. I feel like they were better days in my life, a lot more simple and fun! They were certainly the best days of my life in terms of music. I also tear up now when I hear Linda sing and some of the other performers from back then because it brings back that different part of my life even though so much time has gone by. I find it very touching.

Right. And yet Linda herself was going through a lot of insecurities at the time and trying to figure out what she wanted. I remember going to see her in The Pirates of Penzance on Broadway in the 1980s and wondering how they “let” one of the most famous singers in the country do that. I so admired her determination to branch out in areas that were hardly as lucrative as what she could’ve kept doing for the rest of her life.

Rob Epstein: There was an article I read about her from that time where she was speculating on whether she would ever be happy. The truth is she just wanted to sing. For her it wasn’t about being a huge rock star or the girlfriend of George Lucas or Jerry Brown, she just wanted to be in the living room with her friends singing. But she also knew there were dues she had to pay in order to be Linda Ronstadt.

I love all the interviews in the film. Was it challenging to get all of those amazing, busy people to be in the film?

Jeffrey Friedman: Well, Linda is very loved so it wasn’t that hard to get people to say yes. And James was a great producer along with his partner Michele Farinola, and they just never gave up until we got all the people we wanted.

I was especially glad to see Emmylou Harris and Dolly Parton in the film, their collaborations with Linda were pure magic.

Did you consider getting Jerry Brown to appear in the film?

James Keach: I think he would have done it but Linda resisted, she didn’t want him to be interviewed even though they are very close friends today. She was a little nervous about all of the people, to be honest, because she didn’t want people to feel obligated to do it and say nice things about her. She’s so humble she didn’t think anyone would be interested in a film about her life and career.

Jeffrey Friedman: She knows that there are young people who have never heard of her, which is kind of astonishing. That was one of the reasons we wanted to make the film, to make sure that her legacy wasn’t lost. But she’s not someone who lives in the past and just thinks about her own career. She listens to all types of music.

Rob Epstein: Yeah, she was just telling us the other day about some Korean pop group that she wanted us to check out, that’s what she’s interested in right now.

Was it hard to figure out how to navigate through the topic of her Parkinson’s disease?

Jeffrey Friedman: She definitely didn’t want to be seen only through that lens, but on the other hand, she’s been very upfront and open about her current condition.

I think the loss of her voice is one of the great tragedies of our lifetime. I felt the same way when Julie Andrews lost hers. Do you think it’s painful for Linda to listen to her own old songs from when her voice was so powerful?

Rob Epstein: No, I don’t think so, she does listen to herself when she needs to, certainly in the context of putting this film together. She has always been very careful about making sure that the sound was just right. One of her big concerns with the film was that somehow we might include a bad performance but honestly, we never found one in all of our research!

Getting to hear her sing at the end was so exquisite even though she says that wasn’t really singing. How did that come about?

James Keach: That was when we went with her to Mexico. We wanted to go to her grandfather’s hometown and at one point we were having lunch at this little mom and pop place on the way down there. Some of her family members started playing music for everybody. Jackson Browne was there and he started singing and then I could hear Linda humming and she started singing along with the rest of them. I was sitting next to her and I thought, wow, that’s really good and I said, “Linda, I thought you said you couldn’t sing, I think it sounds great!” The next day at lunch she said that when we interviewed her that night she would try it again but nobody else could be in the room in case she screwed up. So she did it, and talk about tears! Everyone was crying and we couldn’t believe she was doing it because she had stopped singing years ago. We all just choked up.

It is so inspiring to see how she is dealing with the challenges of her disease without a shred of self-pity. It’s really made me look at certain things in my own life in new ways.

Rob Epstein: She sees it as just a circumstance of her life and she’s adjusted accordingly. She’s still completely engaged with the world.

Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice is currently playing in various cities around the country.