August 5th 2013
Let your faith be bigger than your fear.
Waking up on my kitchen floor after a weekend of intense, beautiful, scary, moving and unplanned dances. The sun streaming in through the open kitchen window and bringing with it the sounds of Brooklyn.
My bed was filled with two of my beautiful friends in it, so the floor, in the kitchen, was the obvious choice.
I wrote my own monologue this past week and today I performed it in class. Standing in front of 15 odd students, tears pouring down my face as I recited the words I had written -taken straight from one of the most intense and vulnerability ridden moments in my life. And instead of calling it a part of my story. I just called it theater.
Sweeping the floor in my apartment and falling asleep on rumpled dance -sweat soaked sheets.
Sweet phone calls and plans. <3
Meeting my old friends from Perry Mansfield in a Union Square tea shop. Laughing, supporting, reconnecting. Swapping stories of our lives from the past three years, since the last time we sat around a table and shared a meal all together.
Excited voices speaking of apartments and jobs and good theater schools. Anticipation and hope burn brightly in my chest. Trust.
Dancing barefoot in Washington Square park with strangers, and with friends, while the sun sunk behind the buildings and the sky turned pink and melted. The sweet sounds of the busker's stand up base, trumpet and guitar, floating over the wash of voices, sounds of traffic and the hush and whoosh of the mighty fountain.
Walking the warm, full, summer streets of New York. Along dark tree lined avenues. Looking up at third story windows, glowing with life, the glass windows swung open to invite in the cool evening air.
Pizza parlors filled with the smell of cheese and oregano, laughter drifting in through the open windows off the street as Cassie and I devoir our thick slices. Smiles, plans and stories about our boys, filling the spaces in between our paper plates and our half eaten pizza pie.
Subway stations, lit with a hundred flickering florescent bulbs, illuminating against the hurried heels of all the people rushing home.
Standing on the platform, my exuberant laugh echoing off of the curved cement ceiling as Cassie and I share our last good byes, through the open door of her L train. Our overbought smiles and big waves, making all the other strangers look, before her doors closed and she began to move swiftly away. We kept waving until she was gone.
Dark pavement and the smell of Williamsburg. Clean keys fitting smoothly into my door, unlocking me to home.
Two hand addressed envelopes. Waiting patiently for me. Joy from home.
Swimming down the telephone line from Alaska, came the wonderfully familiar voice of one of my good friends. Our voices speaking news and plans and the happy recognition of joy. Plans that make me smile. Anticipation for the splash and quiet of lake water and the cool of dark earth beneath my dark, bare heels. Of dancing again under a million stars with my recess family on a floating dance floor. And the happy, incredibly overwhelming feeling of a life that is overflowing.
Thank you.
