Issue No. 003: Missed American Dreams: A No Newsletter
- Lucy Shelby
- Aug 4
- 5 min read
Lucy Shelby
MISSED AMERICAN DREAMS
A NO NEWSLETTER SERIES
ISSUE NO. 003 | Yikes it's AUGUST 2026
PHOTO CREDIT: ME
San Pedro, La Laguna, Guatemala
Tzʼutujil Maya
Wayeb Ceremony, 2019
...and friends, colleagues, past audience members who forgot they subscribed,
Welcome to #003 of Missed American Dreams:NO Newsletter
I don’t know if you know. But subscribing is a choice. And whether intentional or not, I am so happy you are here!
Also, I took that picture above in 2019, it relates to what's written below.
Currently I am in Vail Colorado watching my 12 year old nephew, so basically I am on vacation. He is big and prefers to be an honorary crew member for my sister's company filming the dance festival. Yesterday he trained an intern.
So...I have a lot of time, and can't seem to form a thought. I have seen 3 dance shows in the last 5 days, and as I write this I hear the river and the rumble and roar of applause as I play hooky to tonight's show. The roar of applause is so load, I am having some FOMO. I am quite possible the most entitled Vail Dance viewer, every night I am like, "hmm what famous Ballerina or dancer is performing tonight, I may or may not go..."
Also, Possibly I froze my brain from constant river dips. Or my nervous system feels so relaxed I have no will or need to process or participate or lament on my Missed American Dreams.
So, I give you something I wrote in 2023 about something that happened in 2019. It is not my current reality...the rain has come and he has a name that is not in this piece. If you read, you'll understand.
And, I've decided this week that courier font feels appropriate and mystical, like I am writing to you from a typewriter inside a cabin that exists on the rainbow crystal core at the center of the earth. A space between time and logic, where mystery was born.
Let's begin...
I sat there as she slowly puffed on the giant Pudo cigar. Carefully analyzing how the tobacco burned. Tata Pedro the old, wise elder sat on a chair with his colorful ancient woven scarf and weathered hat. He also slowly puffed praying to the Gods, the elements, the great beyond. My feet dusty from the dirt floor. The fire gently burning in front of me. There was something so ancient and deep transgressing I could barely comprehend. Nana Marina put down her cigar and came over to me. She put her hands on my head then her fingers stretched into the curve above my eyelids. She pulled up with a strong pull. I started to cry. I was not sad. I was overwhelmed by the presence of these Mayan elders circling my body. She told me there were two men that I knew. I immediately started racking my brain who could these men be.
I am an artist and yoga teacher and have sisters. My world is chock full of women and gay men. Not a lot of heterosexual men to choose from. It has always felt like a great drought. The earth dry and cracked praying the rain will come. That’s how I feel about men in my life. They are few and far between. The eternal rain dance to no avail.
So here I sit in san pedro, la laguna, at the home of the Tzʼutujil tribe, surrounded by generations of mayans puffing on tobacco praying for me and I am left with a choice.
The sun sets and the stairs start to shine. I hear dogs barking, children laughing. The constant reminder of life. A healing session in the states is very private. Very quiet. Usually in a room with spa music on repeat. It’s not like that hear. Life continues around me as I share the depths of me with this Mayan Elder. I am crying and a little boy comes bursting in the space. Nana, I have a present for you. He holds a giant lump covered in cloth. He proceeds to unwrap the lump and it is a giant stone with two holes dug out like ancient eyes. Nana is delighted she takes the stone and places it on the edge of the fire, peering at me. This is an ancient stone carved by her Mayan ancestors. She says its no coincidence he brought this now. This is your guardian.
It's hard to describe moments like these. What? A rock? Your guardian? You mean there was no privacy? You paid for that? She smoked tobacco and she read the ash? Is it all bull shit? There is a part of me that is the skeptic who wants to ignore. Wants to avoid the obvious ancient wisdom handed to me.
Immediately two men come to mind. It feels stupid. I am grasping. What I didn’t know is very soon these men would appear and everything would change.
The session ends and I take a picture of my new guardian. I have learned so much, but it is already slowly fading. Magical moments are like lighting. It’s the most beautiful majestic thing to see but it is gone in an instant or if you look the wrong way you miss it.
Now for the men. They appeared! Or did I paste my version of what Nana Marina had told me and make them appear?
Back in New York, 1 month later, I walk in the door to my two week intensive clown workshop, I see my teacher and about 15 men. So many men. What is happening this is very unusual. It'a usually all women. Next I see two men I know. My heart jumps.
One I have had a brief encounter on facebook…I met him once, he is a professional clown and teacher. The second, I did an Olympia Dukakis workshop with, he is very New York guy. Actor. Real estate agent. He has the energy of action.
Ironically the first exercise my teacher always does is an exercise where we go around and say our name, age, relationship status, and something we love. It sounds insane. Yet is quite funny and surprisingly breaks down barriers. I also get to discover the relationship status of all these men. I feel like I am dreaming.
First we come to one man I know, let's call him Bob, the clown. He says he is in a relationship with his new puppy, weird, kind of endearing, but weird. Then we get to, let's call him Stew, he says he is single and looking for love. Of course, action.
Who did I choose? Obviously the clown. Not that it was a choice, but it sounds more dramatic that way.
But! Nana was right, everything did change.
I dated the clown and made a lot of fun work with the real estate agent. And then the clown shattered my heart and the real estate agent started a pod cast.
What is the point. There isn't one.
Though! That's the thing about mystical experiences the moment we insert our will into it, it is not longer mystical or maybe it is. But! I must continue to let go and trust the mystery and unfoldment. I got super attached to these two men specifiaclly and them changing my life. And one could argue I gave over everything.
Hopefully one day Stew will invite me onto his podcast and we can process.
And there you have it another Missed American Dream.
Now, go forth into the UNKNOWN!!
And pay attention to the grandfather stones, they have wisdom. Are you listening???
Xo,
The Patron Saint of Missed American Dreams
My Ancient Stone Guardian
PHOTO CREDIT: Christopher Duggan. (I forgot last time)
MISSED AMERICAN DREAMS: A No Newsletter dispatches every OTHER Sunday evening, just as the city starts to hum again. Let's explore the missed dreams together.
AI, suggested that above, sounded cool. May not happen.
If you want to follow me on Instagram @the_clownwitch
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