Let Your ___ Be ___

Riverside Park, the Hudson, and Jersey in the distance

I've had a shifting relationship with Yes and No over the past couple years.  

There have been alternating seasons where each word took a turn being my word, my theme, my motto.

In 2010, I learned the importance of saying 'No' to things that weren't working for me.  The next year, I decided that 'Yes' would be my guiding assent to adventure.  In early 2012 (I can say that because it is now the middle of the year, though I have no idea how that could be possible), I felt the effects of too much "Yes, And-ing" and I scaled back; I culled; I said 'no' again.

Maybe it will always be this way - pendulum swings in either direction, seeking elusive balance.

Lately I've found myself wanting to say 'No' in advance to make room for 'Yes' in the moment.  Specifically when it comes around to the weekend - resisting the urge to commit to things ahead of time, carving out blocks (maybe even a full day) of white space on the calendar.  Leading an over-scheduled life (as mine has been, of late) lacks space for spontaneity.  I miss spontaneity.

So, oddly, I'm trying to plan for it.

The other week I tested it out; kept plans minimal for the weekend.  And it was lovely - I was able to say "yes!" to helping Sonz and Mr. Sonz move.  I said "yes!" to sitting on the Highline with a writing partner, brainstorming sketch ideas in the late-afternoon sun.  When I got a text from a neighbor, asking if I was up for vino at a local sidewalk cafe, I said, "Sure am!"  The next day there was plenty of "yes!" time for post-church sandwiches with Sach in the park.  Then I asked myself if I felt like taking a nap, and the answer was a most-decided "yes!"

It was great.  I dig this No-for-the-sake-of-Yes scheme.  Think I'm gonna stick with it. 

For a season, at least.

Memphis As Metaphor

Ceiling of the Shubert Theater

My parents were in town last weekend - a fun visit involving the requisite city activities: dinners out, a trip to a museum, a walk in Central Park, and a Broadway show.

We caught a matinee of Memphis, which was good and made me want to sign up for a dance class and buy dresses with crinolines, ASAP.  Memphis tells the story of a 1950's DJ - a white man living in the segregated South - who works to get "race music" it's due play-time on mainstream radio stations.  There are some great blues, rock and gospel tunes throughout the show and, as the plot progresses, we see this very music build a bridge between the divided races while simultaneously tearing down the walls that stood between them.  A little romance and a few group dance scenes also do their part to ease racial tension.

Over-simplified and a little hokey?  Sure.  But it's Broadway.  Don't tell me you don't love it.

And I'll admit to getting a little emotional at certain points during the show - like when those crazy teenagers met on common ground to sing the same song.  It may have been overly sentimental, but the underlying sentiment was still beautiful enough to bring a few tears to my eyes.  (Just a few - you know - in a classy, restrained sort of way.)

* * *

A few days later, after my parents headed home and I headed back to my beige cubicle, I came across these words somewhere's on the internet:

"Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go to next."

-Frederick Buechner

What do you think about that?

I think (if you wanna know) that ol' Buech might have something there.  And I wonder if those tears I fought in the Shubert Theater weren't just a natural product of a mushy musical, but maybe also pointed to a more innate, deep-seated interest.  Reconciliation - even a fictionalized version played out on stage - is a beautiful thing.  The promise and realization of it makes me cry, and maybe that's something to remember, something to take as a summons, as I sort through the mystery of lech lecha and search out what's next.

To Yourself, Again

Looking down W. 44th Street

Back in December, a friend and I went to see the Dead Sea Scrolls at Discovery - Times Square.  "More than a museum" is their tag-line, and the first part of the exhibit was definitely more of an experience than your typical museum set-up.

We arrived at the time appointed on our tickets and were ushered into a small black room.  The door closed behind us; the lights dimmed.  Written on the surrounding black walls in white lettering was a quote from the Book of Genesis - in Hebrew on one wall and in English on another.  The quotes were alternatively lit by a spotlight as a recording of a woman's voice read first the Hebrew and then the English translation.  The verse was Genesis 12:1:

"The Lord had said to Abram, 'Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you.'"

That word "go" in the Hebrew is "lech lecha" which I've talked about before.  "Lech" is the command - go!  And "lecha" means "to yourself."  Go to yourself.  It's a funny construction, and not used very often in the Bible.  I know of only two occasions - here, when Abraham is called to leave behind the known for the unknown.  And later in the book of Genesis, when Abraham is called to - essentially - sacrifice his earthly hope for the future and trust in God instead.

Go to yourself.  What does that mean?  I've been wondering ever since I learned the Hebrew.  Go to yourself.  And why does this phrase keep cropping up in my life?  I've been wondering that, too.

After a few minutes in the small black room, a different set of doors opened and we were herded into a space that was supposed to invoke Qumran and the Dead Sea: stones on the floor, large clay pots on pedestals, screens showing video footage of Israel, and an actor (dressed like every archaeologist I've ever seen in the movies) posed upon a big rock, ready to tell us more.

From there we moved into a third space, a long gallery filled with objects on loan from the Israel Antiquities Authority.  Beyond that lay the star of the show - small shards of the Dead Sea Scrolls, displayed under magnifying glass.

As we wandered through the exhibit, we got farther and farther from the small black room where we started.  But for a long time, over the muffled conversations of my fellow exhibit-goers, I could still hear that recorded voice reading the Genesis quote.  "Lech lecha"...."lech lecha"..."lech lecha."

And I thought, "I hear you.  I promise I hear you."

* * *

Except I then promptly forgot about it, until recently.  Until Tuesday evening, actually, when - after our regularly-scheduled Hebrew class - my teacher asked her semi-regular questions: "When are you going back to school?  And when are you going to Israel?"

This time, though, it wasn't a passing comment, it wasn't idly or teasingly spoken.  "No seriously, when are you going?"  She followed it up with kind words about what she see's in me, offered to reach out to her contacts in Israel, wanted to press me on the issue.  "Think about it."

So I'm thinking about it.  I'm thinking about how it felt to leave an inter-faith service a few weeks ago - walking slowly out into the drizzly evening, knowing (deep in my knower) that there was something there, something about engaging in that subject, in that dialogue, that runs my motor.  I'm thinking about grad school - it didn't seem "right" five years ago, but maybe something's changed?  I'm thinking about how this dialogue - Jews & Christians learning together, studying shared texts together, drawing parallels and finding commonalities while not glossing over differences - always strikes me as the most beautiful sort of poetry.  I'm thinking about how often I've thought about this, how I can't seem to escape it (and I have tried).

I'm thinking about all that, and the driving conundrum behind it: lech lecha - what it means to go to myself and how then shall I do it?

The Going Gets

Somewhere in Chinatown/Lower East Side

Real talk?  April has been rough.  

I thought it might a sweet-relief, breath-of-fresh-air sort of month (especially after the worry-fest that was March).  And to be fair - nothing particularly terrible or badly out-of-the-ordinary has happened to me.  Really - it's just been more of the same.  And we've talked the same-old, same-old to death, haven't we?  Nothing new there.  (But somehow it still has the power to break my heart on a daily basis.)

April has been the sort of month where I find myself hiding from the simple question, "How are you?"  I don't know how to answer.  Because truthfully, I am fine.  But also, I am really not fine.  Fine and not fine.  Both, at the same time.

Partly, I think I'm recovering, still overwhelmed by what's behind me.  March was no picnic; I scraped and scrambled my way through, aided by the wings of other's prayers.  And partly, I'm just overwhelmed by what's before me - the future: a giant question mark.  Certain things are in my control, but I feel direction-less.  And certain things are out of my control, and that powerless-ness is maddening, frightening.

I was reading a blog today - interesting thoughts on a drastically different topic than this one at hand - and a quote stood out to me (and not just because it was in all caps) (ok, maybe because it was in all caps):

"HOPE HAPPENS WHEN PEOPLE CAN SEE A PATH FORWARD."

I sat with that for awhile, and it seemed true.

A little while later I was reading an interview with Anne Lamott, in which she referenced an E.L. Doctorow quote on writing:

"It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

I sat with that for awhile, too, and it also seemed true.  And related.

So here is my wish, my prayer for the rest of rough-going April:  just enough light to see the next step on the path.  I'll let go of the desire to know how the story ends, if You'll shed just a little light on the next plot point.  Show me just the next foothold, just a headlight's beam worth of vision, just the next step forward that ushers in just a little hope.  And we'll take it from there.

The Haps

Looking up on 34th Street

Bullet points:

• My week-days are bananas for the next 6 weeks.  Despite best intentions to pare down my schedule, things imploded a bit - especially with Improv. I'm committed (no way out!) and it's unavoidable (for the interim) so I'm just going to have to get through it. 
  
  But I'm looking forward to February, when I can take a little break and re-evaluate how I'm spending my time.

• All that to say - I'm super jazzed when each weekend rolls around. Mini-breaks!

• This past weekend was especially fun: I had good friends visiting from Boston.  (MadDawg, Slayer, Kujo and The Pulse: Has it really been ten years since we all met?  Crazy talk.)
  
  So fun to see these girls, fun to have them at my Improv show, fun to hang out, eat food, drink coffee, reminisce.  Sad to see them go. :(  Come back soon!!

• I invented a new word: hilarifying (= hilarious + terrifying). A lexiconical addition deemed necessary by this article/video.  Totes hilarifying.

• I can't seem to sleep past 6:45am anymore.  I've been waking up every morning at that time, for no good reason.  Or...maybe there is a good reason?  Maybe I just need to figure out what that good reason is?  Hmmm.

• Lately I can't get enough of the old song "These Foolish Things."  Mostly been listening to the Billy Holiday and Dave Brubeck arrangements, but just discovered an Etta James version that knocks my striped socks off.  I think I played it at least 20 times yesterday.
  
  Sadly, I can't find this particular version on Youtube to share with y'all. (Begging the question - does something even really exist if it's not on Youtube?)  There's an earlier Etta rendition out there - perfectly good, but not as soulful as this later version I'm loving.  Etta's voice is lower, slower and full of life-lived in the latter recording.  It sounds like she just feels it more.  Love that.  Sigh.

• Lastly, if you have many, many hours to kill, may I direct you to this site?  Full House Reviewed is chronologically re-capping every episode of Full House, and it's pretty funny (if a little NSFW).  You're welcome!

Making Space

Grand Central Station

I quit one of my Improv groups on Friday.

It wasn't an easy decision. The guys in the group have become like brothers to me: encouraging, loyal, and protective.  And lately our practices have been going so well - things have really been gel-ing and coming together and we've been laughing a lot.

But I've been re-evaluating things recently.  My schedule in particular.

I was expecting a certain piece of heart-ache to come along (which it did) and I knew my knee-jerk reaction would be to fill up my schedule.  To supplant this loss with a million new distractions.

It occurred to me, though, that being busy would not be a new thing.  Being extremely busy has become my status quo over the past few years.  I know from busy. 

What would be new - what would be a radical departure - would be to not be busy.

* * *

I've also been recently mulling over a chapter in the book of Isaiah.  Verse 43:19 in particular.

That's where God says, "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

I think this verse got stuck in my head initially because it sounds hopeful.  God does new things?  Yes, great.  I love new things.

But then I began to wonder, "If God were to do a new thing in my life right now, would I be able to see it?" If God were to want to shake things up and move me in a different direction, would I have space in my life - in my schedule - to recognize this? 

Now. I know God can speak as easily in loud thunder as he can in quiet whispers.  So the question isn't really whether God could get my attention, given my current schedule.  Sure, he could.  But the question is: would I have space in my life to respond?

I sensed the answer was "no."  I barely have time to respond to emails. I rarely have time to go to the grocery store.  I definitely don't have time for silence, stillness, responsiveness.

And so I'm starting to make time, to make space.  We'll see what happens.

Weekended

Friday night, after Improv practice, a bunch of us convened at a dive bar in Hells Kitchen for $7 pitchers and free hot dogs.  (We're a classy folk.)

I had only intended to stay for a little while, but the conversation was engaging and the pitchers kept coming.  And then it was late - and I sat talking to a teammate about hard stuff, life stuff, REAL talk.  This person doesn't share my religious beliefs, but still I heard them say, "That's where faith comes in, Kristy.  You have to have faith that God is leading you on a journey."  Thankful that truth is truth, and thankful I have friends who speak it to me.

Then this happened.  Snow in October?  Apparently.  Pajama-clad, I sat at my kitchen table for most of the Saturday morning/afternoon, being productive and drinking coffee with my roommate.  Then I took a nap, just because I could.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?  Practice.  OR -  find a friend whose dad has a french horn recital there and go with them.

I chose the latter route. My friend JJ's dad played great and the whole evening was lovely.  After the concert, JJ and I journeyed back uptown through the snow, to our favorite diner with the Ecuadorian / Australian waiter and the awesomely-bad 'lite FM' hits playing on the stereo.  Soup, sandwiches, hot chocolate, and more REAL talk.  Good stuff.

I have no pictorial evidence of Sunday, so you'll just have to take my word that there was church, Scrabble, Improv, and yes - even more REAL talk.

Love when the weekend feels like a series of play-days.  Makes facing the beige cubicle on Monday morning a little more manageable, ya know?

Meanwhile...

Hey.  Listen.  I have every intention of showing you how beautiful Spain was.  But when I downloaded the pictures from my camera this week and discovered I had taken 584...I got a little overwhelmed.  It's going to take some t-i-m-e to sort through all of them. 

So, in the interim, how about I just show you some shots from this past weekend? Because 3 is much more manageable than 584.*  And a New York Saturday - while it's no Spain - is no slouch either.

Mariachi bands are my FAVORITE form of subway in-flight entertainment.  I was happy to take a break from my iPod and listen to their version of Guantanamera on the way to Union Square. 

(Some of the mariachi groups riding the rails have matching spangled outfits, accordions and upright basses!  They are my most favorite.  But these three weren't bad.)

I met up with Tiff and AP and we browsed for ironic table-ware at Fishs Eddy, over-priced ornaments at ABC Home, and greens at the Greenmarket.  Then we headed west to the Village for brunch (the most important meal of the day), where Good let me swap out eggs (yick) for lemon-ricotta pancakes (hallelujah).  And thus, brunch was saved.

Later I got to sit, surrounded by some of my favorite peoples, on CJ's backyard patio.  Sonz brought the pulled-pork sandwiches, and CJ's sister made us banana-bread s'mores.  Plus, there was a pug in attendance!  So yeah, pretty much perfect.

And thus endeth my Saturday.  Spain pics forthcoming (fingers crossed)!


*Upon quick review of the 584 photos, it seems they can be divided into three main categories: Cathedrals, Cows, and Other.  Why did I take so many pictures of cows!?!  We may never know.

Whatever I Feel Like I Wanna Do
(Gosh)

Central Park, near Bethesda Terrace

Although my Saturdays & Sundays are still regrettably over-scheduled, all my weekday "after school" activities/classes are on break for the rest of the summer. It's a calendar miracle!

With such scheduling freedom, I hardly know what to do with myself after work each day.  Here's what fun stuff I got up to this past week:

-performed in an Improv show in Murray Hill

-saw an Improv show and ate Thai food in Chelsea

-had a convicting (in the best possible way) convo with my roommate

-took a walk with a neighbor (Hi C! :)

-celebrated another roommate's birthday at the Boat Basin

-played with babies in Brooklyn; ate din-din in 'billyburg.

This post feels a little self-indulgent (as if all blog posts aren't?) but I wanted to put all the fun stuff in print to put the rest of my week in perspective.  

Because work this week was...not the best.  It was hair-pulling, under-my-breath-muttering, crazy-making.  My internal dialogue between the hours of 8:30am-5:30pm each day featured a barrage of f-bombs and idle threats of "I quit I quit I quit."

BUT.  But.  Reminder to self: those kind of work weeks are the exception, not my norm.  And at the end of the day, I'm thankful to have a job that affords all my fun end-of-the-day activities.

Yes. Amen to that.

Nevertheless...Monday morning better take it's sweet a** time in getting here.  

Happy Weekending!

Spin On My World*

I knew I needed a break.  After a rough few weeks and a really rough weekend, I needed a break from routine and the ol' beige cubicle.

So I cashed in some vacation time, took a Tuesday off, and went to the beach.

(I don't like much about summer, but day-trips to Brooklyn's beaches are one thing I could file in the "Pro" column of the season. Another "Pro" would be flip-flops...and extended daylight...and iced coffee...That's pretty much the extent of my summer "Pro" list.)

The subway ride out there takes about an hour.  By the time I stepped off the train onto Brighton Beach Ave, the blue skies I left behind on the Upper West Side had turned dark and menacing; it was starting to rain.

"Not on my day off!" I said to the stormy skies. (I said it silently, so as not to appear crazy.)  Anyways, the skies took heed of my scowling threats and cleared up.

I picked up Russian pastry and coffee at La Brioche and then sat on the beach for awhile.  Watched a man do push-ups on the boardwalk, watched a bikini'd woman take a quick dip in the cold water, watched high schools kids work on a photography project, watched life guards watching all of us. 

I read my New Yorker, I read a poster about rip tides.  I saw a horseshoe crab (deceased). I walked down the beach towards Coney Island, where I observed a yeshiva class riding roller coasters and I ate a hot dog.

But mostly I just spent the day sitting, being.  I didn't even think much (though there's much I could/should be thinking through) - just sat. And be'd.

Madeleine L'Engle, in her book Walking on Water, talks about the importance of taking being time.  Why is this so hard!?  Maybe because I'm so easily distracted and dissuaded from being by the golden idol of doing. 

Productivity has a powerful call that is hard to ignore.  But being - just being - is so sweet if we allow space for it.

I'd like to find a way to do a lot less and be a lot more.

*Check it.

How My Weekend Went

Friday morning, I started reading Tina Fey’s BossyPants on the way to work. This was a mistake: my commute is not that long, and once I started reading I did NOT want to stop. So I was grumpier than usual when I had to get off the subway, put the book away, and go to work. (Thumbs down to the beige cubicle; thumbs up to BossyPants.)

Friday evening, my friend JJ was celebrating her birthday at Marie’s Crisis, a piano bar in the West Village. I arrived just as the piano-man started playing “What I Did For Love,” from Chorus Line. The place wasn’t so packed yet (it was just after 9pm), but everyone in the room sang LOUD. With EMOTION. I think we were all working some stuff OUT, there, with that song. Our voices filled the place, from the low-hanging ceiling beams to the wood floors, from the front window overlooking Grove Street to the bar in the back, where the bartender “refuses to make margaritas or martinis” (we were told). A fun night singing show tunes with feeling.

On both Saturday and Sunday evenings I had shows at an Improv festival out in Long Island City. Good times with good people. In between the shows, however, I had a killer, disgusting, debilitating, stupid-pants migraine.

I consider myself a fairly tough cookie when it comes to sickness – I’ll get myself to the grocery store for soup, I’ll pick up my own medicine, I’ll keep-on-keepin’-on like the strong, independent gal that I am. Heck, I walked on a fractured foot for two weeks before finally taking myself to the doctor.* But when it comes to migraines – and specifically the fun-times repetitive up-chucking that comes along with them – I’m felled. I want my mommy. I slump on the bathroom floor and whimper like a puppy.

No bueno.

So there was that.  And there was work that got in the way of my reading, and there was too little outdoors time, and not enough alone time.  But there was also show tunes, and laughter with friends, and MTA-miracles that got me from home to Long Island City in 20 minutes, and Improv team bonding, and fake-ninja-fighting in a parking lot (part of our warm-ups for one Improv show).

So, all in all: a mixed-bag of a weekend.  But not totally terrible.


*Wait, is that toughness, or stupidity?

Found: Adventure

Wanted to share with you's another cool project by a local improviser.  Have you read about this yet?

BrooklynFoundFilm began on December 30th, when improviser/ writer/ comedian Todd Bieber took his cross-country skiis to Prospect Park.  New York was covered in snow that week, and while skiing through the park, Todd found a film canister.

(Part 1)

He developed the film and decided to try to return the pictures to their as-yet-unknown owner.  He took to the internet to see if anyone could help him determine who are the people in the pictures, and thus who is the person who took the pictures.

(Part 2)

The internet responded to Todd's video.  "We're in.  Game on.  We'll help!" said the internet.  Todd received advice and offers from help from all over the world.  (Love how far-reaching connections can be forged online.  The internet in it's best light.)

It took awhile.  Two months, about.  But Todd got a lead in the case, and it led him all the way to Europe.

(Part 3)

I just really love this story.  I like how he starts with an acknowledgement that, this year, he wanted more "adventure" in his life.  So when the opportunity for adventure presented itself - though to some it may have looked like just a dinky film cannister in the snow - Todd recognized it as a ticket to ride.

I also love how his story pulled people in.  He couldn't have gone it alone, it wouldn't have been the same story.  The people he encountered along the way - who offered both funny/helpful advice, who offered places to stay, who offered prayers - these people gave the story breadth and depth.  They made it bigger.  They made it less about the end goal and more about the journey.  As Todd says at the end of the second video: "...it's pretty cool to know I'm surrounded by nice strangers.  And we're all in this adventure together."

You know?

(You can read more about Todd's quest here.)

Me: In Motion

I've been searching for a metaphor to describe what life feels like this week, but I've not come up with the right words. I considered the image of a juggler, trying to keep numerous balls in the air. But I don't actually know how to juggle (and they say you should write what you know), plus I don't like talking about balls.

Moving on.

Actually - "moving" or "motion" might best describe what life feels like right now.  Everything feels fluid and changing and shifting.

Some of the change has been bad or difficult or worrisome.  Some of it has been good.  Think: difficult conversations with uncertain outcomes, and fun performance opportunities, and scary new endeavors, and serious family issues, and getting adjusted to a new living situation, and wrapping up loose ends at the old address, and a changing schedule, and friends in transition.

In other words: Life.  It's just life.  But lately it feels like it's moving faster than it normally does.

* * *

Once - in a stationary store in Amsterdam - I found a postcard of Edith Piaf with the caption "Tu me fais tourner la tete!"  (Translation: You make my head spin)  I bought it and glued it to the cover of my journal, because I like Edith Piaf, and because I rather like having my head spun.  I like newness.  I like plot twists.  I like when the impossible happens.

I'll try to remember that - that chosen postcard, that preferred head-spinning sentiment - while navigating these fast-moving days.  Being in motion can be scary or uncertain, but I guess it's better than being stagnant or stuck.

Move It

Liz Lemon's Home

I moved this weekend, as previously mentioned.

Moving is a weird thing.  Or, at least, it can be.  Or, at least, I've personally found it to be.

This is my sixth apartment in NYC.  I had two addresses during my time in Boston.  Before that, I lived in an attic in Amsterdam.  And before that: college (four addresses in four years).¹

Sounds exhausting, to spell it all out, to think back on all the moving I've done since the age of 18.  All the boxes.  All the change of address forms.

But I like it, moving.  Usually.  I love having new environments to explore, new walls on which to hang my old pictures of Frank Sinatra.  New windows to gaze out.  New corner bodegas to frequent.  Moving can feel like a do-over, a fresh start, a chance for things to be different.  Maybe.

But hand-in-hand with that sort of change comes a mini-identity crisis (at least, it can; at least, for me).  With all my stuff packed in boxes - all that stuff that (for better or worse) can often define me - I'm left asking questions like:

Who am I? Where am I? Where do I belong?

The urgency of these questions fades with each box that gets unpacked, with each change-of-address form I complete, with each day I spend in the new place, and with each passing evening that I don't go to sleep in the old place.  I get settled in; I get things figured out.

But in the interim, I like asking these questions of myself, checking in with me, seeing if anything has changed lately besides my address.


¹ "I graduated from Anger Management the same way I graduated from Cornell: on time." Andy Bernard quote, apropos of nothing, 'cept it came to my mind.

Moving On Up

West 110th Street

This weekend is the big move.  I am

excited

ready

not quite packed

       anxious

married to my To-Do list      

                                                      exhausted!!

I've confirmed my movers, lined up some friendly helpers, and prepared a pretty sweet iTunes playlist of Moving mood music.  (Starting with this 'un)

Pack up.  Lift with your knees.  Let's go.  Happy Weekend.

In Review

This weekend was...not awesome.  But I got by with a little help from friends' encouraging messages, and improvisers who made me laugh, and Shake Shack, and an elderly Scrabble opponent who never ceases to amaze/surprise me.  All bright spots.  I'm so thankful.  And that's all I want to say about this weekend.

Wanna know what was awesome, though?  The Spidey Project.  I wasn't sure I felt up for it, but those tickets were not easy to come by.  So I went.  And was glad. Because it was an awesome experience.  Because the crowd had such a positive, supportive vibe.  Because the story was funny and because the songs were well-written. Because someone had a vision and he made it happen, and I got to watch it succeed on stage.  Awesome.

Phew. February.

Jackie O. Reservoir @ twilight

At the outset, I thought this month might be on the quieter side. My class schedule was scaled back and my calendar seemed (relatively) empty.

So I dreamed big for February: free time, nap time, time to read, time to (finally) edit pictures from Europe, time for new experiences (like Latin dance classes).  But - looking back - there was little space for any of that.  Life has a way of keeping you busy, and calendars have a way of filling up.

The past two weeks have been especially full – full of details and decisions and errands and general life-management stuff. Big reveal: I’m moving to a new apartment and super excited about it. But any move (even one that’s less than a mile up the street) involves a whole lot of logistics and planning and prep. All fine, and all good, and it will all get done.

But I’ve noticed that while my head is swamped with the minutiae of my To-Do lists, my heart has been a bit untended. There’s no room on my neatly-outlined color-coded Excel Spreadsheet of Life Management for big questions and deep thoughts. Interesting ideas enter one ear and are sifted out the other, with no time for reflection. While walking to/from the subway, instead of taking inventory on my emotions, I take inventory of my possessions – what stays, what goes to storage, what gets put in a bag for Goodwill. I’ve been sorting through books instead of scribbling in my journal. My MO lately has been “go go go!” instead of “be still! still! still!”

In other words – I’m feeling very surface-level. Slightly disconnected.  A little bit scattered.

That’s just how it is right now, in this interim, in this season. I’m not panicking, just being aware. I’m sure the fury of the To-Do lists will eventually fade and I’ll find my way back to quieter times and deeper things.

And I'm a'lookin forward to that.

Saying Yes, Sí, Oui, Tak, Ja and Da
Part 1

Somewhere on the Lower East Side

Back in early January, when I was doing my old year/new year reflecting, I decided one accomplishment I achieved during 2010 was getting a whole lot better at saying “no.”

“No” used to be difficult for me, because it came attached to a lot of guilt. Often I felt I couldn’t possibly say “no,” couldn’t deny a request for help, couldn’t turn down an invitation. Somehow I got it in my head that the good thing, the unselfish thing, the Christian thing to do was to say “yes,” always.

In 2010, several situations / events / friends helped disabuse me of this notion. I got better at recognizing situations that were unhealthy, or unbalanced, or unfair, and I started saying “no.” I started setting boundaries. I stopped letting guilt motivate my choices (well, mostly).

As good as saying “no” was for me in 2010, I decided I wanted a new word for 2011. And it was going to be “yes.”

But not "yes" in the old, guilt-driven way.  I decided I wanted to say yes to new situations, and yes to daring to imagine a different life, and yes to stepping outside of my comfort zone, yes to new challenges, and yes to surprising myself.

And surprise myself I did, when - a few weeks into 2011 - I found that saying "yes" was more difficult than anticipated.

To be continued...

This Week

Looking in on Gramercy Park

This week I was tired.  Like, all-day tired.  Like, coffee's-not-helping tired.

In the past seven days, I: had two Improv shows, one Improv workshop, one Improv rehearsal, and my last Level 4 Improv class; learned the origin of the phrase "how the mighty have fallen" in Hebrew; attended a football seminar; dared to imagine a different life; discussed the differences between "promise" and "prediction"; shoved my insecurities into the light; dealt with a broken bathroom ceiling; saw the world through Colin Quinn's eyes; ate a gigantic hamburger.

I'll be sleeping in tomorrow, folks.  I'll be sleeping in tomorrow.

Snow: Still, More, Again

Tromping home through the snow

After work last night, I sat in my apartment listening to thunder, sleet, and snow in succession.  I was supposed to go out for an event with my new Improv group, but "out" sounded nasty and I debated staying "in" instead. Living in the city, though, I don't have a real good "need to stay off the roads" excuse. So on came the boots and off I went.

My teammates and I saw a show, then huddled in the corner of a dive bar just south of Penn Station.  Through the window behind us, we watched as 8th Avenue slowly disappeared under a white blanket.  It kept snowing and we kept ordering rounds of $2.50 PBRs, talking about our high-school selves and our families of origin and other facts you could file in the category "Things You Might Not Know About Me."

It was nearly 2am by the time I got home, and it was nearly 6am when I got up, for my Thursday morning group.  Ouch.  But then I saw an email that group was cancelled, and had a voice-mail saying work was delayed, due to the snow.  So I went back to sleep.

Oh man.  I love going back to sleep, don't you?  It's one of my favorite things.

Other favorite things include full snow days, but The Man at The Firm didn't see fit to give us the whole day to play, just a 1.5 hour delay.  Too bad, but I'll take what I can get.  And what I got was a good night, a slow morning, and that blessed opportunity to go back to sleep (at least for a little while).  Nice.