Summing Up

In the midst of an email discussion with my Improv team about meeting up at a food truck rally, one team member mentioned he was writing while on a date at a Park Slope bar.  When pressed for details about said date, he revealed that, "Eh...best of times, worst of times comes to mind."

I don't know how that tension plays out on a date, but I do know how it plays out in life.  Not that I'm living in a Dickensian depiction of the French Revolution, exactly, but nevertheless - the phrase feels somewhat apt, as of late.

* * *

Beks came to midtown and met me for a workday lunch.  Over bowls of Thai curry, she asked, "What's new?" and I gave her the highlights reel, the "best" of my times: some exciting performance opportunities, fun creative projects, weekend getaways, a litany of lectures I've attended recently that are still running my motor, dinners out with friends, trips to the theater, a book I read that captured my thoughts completely, long walks in a park that I'm lucky to live just two blocks away from.

But when she looked at me intently and asked, "Are you doing ok?"  I had to shake my head and answer in tears.  No.  Underneath the busy-ness of those good things, there is hurt, there is longing that is loud; there is that frustrated feeling of being "stuck"; there is isolation, there is bruised faith, there are unanswered questions, there are tiny grievances, there are big fears.

It is the best of times and the worst of times.

* * *

It's that both that I've mentioned before; a good and a bad - existing together - in tension.

I've been thinking about it again, frequently, as I weave through midtown streets before and after work.  And I've been wondering about the math of it: why this good + bad doesn't net zero, exactly.  One might expect them to cancel each other out, leaving you neutral.

But no - the bad doesn't erase the good.  Neither does the good necessarily temper the bad; bad is still bad.  A success in one area of life can't always be a salve for a wound in a different area.

You feel them both - best and worst - together, at the same time.  And you're anything but neutral.

Public Displays 

I had a 5K to do on Saturday - one I had originally intended to run with friends in NYC.  But plans changed (as they do) and I was still in Virginia this past weekend.  So I headed over to Burke Lake to do my remote "race."

Instead of a 5K, though, the trail was 4.7 miles.  And instead of running, I elected to walk.  And instead of joining a group of friends, I did it alone.

That last part sounded good; necessary, even.  After 3 days of being surrounded by family, friends, doctors, people - this introvert needed some alone time.  I was ready to get cozy with my thoughts and sort through the muck of them.

I hit the gravel trail and started winding my way around the lake, which is good for fishing but not swimming.  I know it well: early childhood trips here to feed air-popped popcorn to the ducks. Costumed rides on the park's haunted railroad each Halloween.  Girl Scout camping trips.  Marching band picnics.  High school track practices.  Me and this lake go way back, and I revisited our history at each turn in the path.

And then I got teary, because - you know - life.  It is long and short and sweet and bitter, and sometimes you just need to have a good cry about it.

It was a sunny Saturday so there were other people out and about on the trail.  Still, it wasn't nearly as crowded as a New York street. But I found that - unlike on a crowded city street - I wasn't able to really let go and cry like I needed to.  Wanted to.  Was overdue to.

Each time I passed someone on the lake trail, I would hastily wipe away any tears.  City strangers will barely acknowledge your presence as a fellow human being - you can pass by, crying, unnoticed. But lake strangers all made eye contact, smiled, said "Good morning!"  I felt embarrassed to greet them with a too-weepy expression, I did not want an offer of help or a look of sympathy.  So I stuffed all the tears and emotions back down from whence they came and kept walking.

I'd been enjoying the fresh air, the space, the uninterrupted sleep, and other conveniences of the 'burbs. But this made me miss the city a little.  Here, crying in public is easier, and acceptable, and done.   Weird to miss that?

It's not to say I exactly enjoy crying in public, because I don't.  I mean, I'm crying, for crying out loud.  And there's usually a heartache fueling that which I'd rather skip.  But - in a place where privacy is at a premium - there's a safe comfort in the anonymity of crowded streets, where you can have a good, cathartic cry when the hurting happens.

There was a piece in the Times about a year ago, discussing public displays of sadness (the less-fun cousin of PDA's), which was a good read.  The following quote got me thinking:

"For me, it’s not that I want apathy, just privacy. To be noticed, but not interrupted. It’s comforting to be seen in our grief, there is a confirmation in it — however awkward it makes us feel. Is that part of why we live here? New Yorkers do tend to be the kind of people with both a need to be seen, and a deep fear of it. Somehow, this place satisfies both."

-Melissa Febos, Look At Me, I'm Crying 

I'm not sure this tendency is actually unique to just New Yorkers (the only tendency that seems to be really unique to New Yorkers is our tendency to think that everything is unique to us) but I did resonate with that need to be seen and the corresponding/conflicting deep fear of it.  I wonder if that isn't a basic facet of the human condition; I wonder if that isn't a driving force in most relational conflict.

I'm going to keep wondering these things as I walk home now, and maybe cry a little, if I feel so moved.  Because I'm back home now, and here, it is done.

Feeling of Rain

Astoria, lit up and soggy

As my umbrella and I trudged to work Wednesday morning, I thought (with great sadness and frustration), "It's been raining for WEEKS!"

It felt that way.  It really felt that way.

But as I trudged on, I had a vague recollection of Sunday (sunny) and then Monday (no umbrella), and was forced to conclude that the rain had only started the day before.  It had not been raining for weeks; it had been raining for less than 24 hours.

Maybe there's a life lesson in there for me.  Something about recognizing my feelings and acknowledging that while they are REAL, they are not always TRUE.  (See the distinction?)

Reminding myself of that, I'll get through this rainy season.

Strengths

At the Reservoir

I was complaining to KT, en route from Zumba class to the smoothie shop, about how lately I was awfully tired of feeling.  Regret, fear, anger, just plain sadness.  I wanted to turn off the feelings for a freakin' hour or two, compartmentalize them, take a break from feeling all that I was feeling.

"It's why we're the stronger sex," KT suggested, as we dodged tourists to cross 42nd Street.  "It's because we feel everything."  (Cue Feist)

"We can't turn our minds or hearts off.  We just have to feel it."

The strength of such feeling may indeed be one of the downsides to being a girl. But as I've reflected on these past couple weeks, I've also been overwhelmed by one of the upsides: the strength of my female friendships.

KT helped me make hair cut decisions and then made me not one but two mix-cd's.  MadDawg sent a care package.  CJ let me crash on her couch.  BJ brought me gin & tonics. Others let me talk or not talk, cry or not cry.  Sweet friends sent emails, texts, left voice mails, gave hugs and good words.  They let me speak aloud the ugly fears.  They said "I know," and "I understand," and "I've felt that, too."

Being able to share so openly, being able to give one another permission to feel whatever the heck we're feeling, being able to encourage with hugs & compliments - stuff like that (at times like this) makes me thankful to be a girl.  And SO thankful for my friends.

Love you, lovies.

Giving January What For

In recent conversations with various people, a general theme has emerged: this month kind of sucks.

Can you relate?  Does everything just seem a little bit worse right now?  Is your mood inside as gray as the skies outside?  Do minor setbacks feel like calamities?  Have you been listening to too much Gordon Lightfoot, drinking too much red wine (alone), spending too much time whining, wasting too much energy shaking your fist at weather.com?

If "yes" - then take heart: it's not your fault.  You may be suffering from a medical condition known as January.

I woke up with a BIG case of the Januaries on Saturday. One of those "Everything is terrible!" and "Nothing is going right!" kind of moods that are no fun to experience nor be around.  So I exiled myself to Riverside Park for a long walk.

I wore my running shoes, not realizing that the park was still snow-covered.  Everything is terrible!  Despite my inappropriate footwear, I walked on.  And on.  And on.  I was determined to walk away the mood, so I continued walking up to 123rd Street, to check out a private grave I recently read about...because nothing cures a bad mood like a visit to a grave?? Everything is terrible!

En route to that site, however, I passed a more familiar one: the dog-run at West 105th Street.  I love all dog-runs (watching cute pups play gives a sort of vicarious happiness) but this run is a particular fave: it's where I first fell in love with the city, years and years ago, while visiting a friend before moving here myself.  So on Saturday I stopped, stood in the snow despite my dampening feet, and watched happy dogs run and jump and bark and chase.  It was adorable.

And I felt a little better.  Everything got a little less terrible.  My case of the Januaries went into temporary remission.

It wasn't an ultimate cure, of course.  My Januaries will continue to return, and I will continue to try to beat them back with moments of found-joy, like visits to a dog-run, or movies with friends, or listening to upbeat 80's dance songs instead of melancholy 70's folk songs.

And I encourage you to do the same, because

January: Together We Can Beat This Sucker

Do-Over

Central Park, near Bethesda Terrace

Improv class started up again last week.

I decided to repeat Level Three, for several reasons.  One of them being fear - I was feeling too much fear throughout the class the first time around. Thinking thoughts like, "I can't do this." and "I don't get this." and "They're all going to laugh at me (but not in a good way)."

I felt fear before each class, I felt fear before our show.  And this Improv endeavor was supposed to be fun, not scary.  So I decided to hang back in Level Three until things felt fun again.

Another factor was wanting to work with the theater's founder, who would be co-teaching the class this time.  He is a cool guy, very laid back, I appreciate his teaching style, AND he occasionally throws in anecdotes about doing Improv with Adam McKay back in the day in Chicago.  Sweet.

And yet another factor was my classmates.  Some are fellow Level Three repeaters.  Some I know through other classes.  And some I just know from seeing around the theater - we were on a casual "Hey, how are you?" kind of level, but I wanted to get to know them better.

And so far it's been great. A "dream team," one classmate wrote in a facebook status.  "EPIC!" as someone else declared.  Yeah, we are pretty enamored of ourselves, as a class.  But that feels good.  I think we are collectively excited about our group's chemistry, ready to see how far we can take this, ready to have fun being funny together.

Here's to fun trumping fear, this time around.

Round & Round

The Wonder Wheel at Coney Island

I can't quite handle paragraphs on a Monday.  So instead of a well-crafted post, here's just a list of things I've been mulling over lately (which may or may not get fuller treatment on a future day that is not a Monday):

1) Anger – when/how to appropriately express it. And also - why this "expressing anger" thing is so hard for me.

2) Fear. And failure. And fear of failure.

3) Autumn. My seasonal crush. Once last week - as I was walking up Broadway - I thought I smelled it. Kind of like the way you sometimes smell an ex-boyfriend in a stranger’s cologne – but different, because when Autumn arrives back in my life, it will be welcome.

4) Improv:

a) How to be me (and not someone else).

b) Learning what I need to learn, re: pop culture references, historical facts, and…Star Wars? (ick).

5) Time Management. (Always.) Doing stuff v. Not doing stuff.

6) Health. Taking care of a semi-broken foot and a headache-prone head, and everything in between.

7) Inception. Because – did you see that movie? DID YOU!? There’s a lot to mull.