Whisky and black winter boots.
Whisky and black winter boots.
A solitary star and the bright cold smell of snow.
Traffic lights change from red to green, proclaiming Christmas out into the streets, filled with faces and taxi cabs, the smells of coffee and half burned cigarettes.
I rush and rush, lost in a swimming sea of humanity. New York City. "The rat race" as my plaid wrapped papa would call it, as he pauses, hammer raised, before bringing it down to drive home a steel nail in a single swing.
It is true, easy to forget that this is something we all have chosen for one reason or another. But how we each choose to traverse this city is about the journey, not just a race to cross some imaginary finish line. I always try and remember that.
This city is something I love, but also something I know to fear, even if just a little. I don't want to lose myself to the hubbub, simply for the sake of hubbub. I would rather dance with the city than fight it.
This past week has been busy, last weekend I attended an incredible Shakespeare workshop in Midtown, it was the first Shakespeare I've ever done, and I must admit I was a little terrified when I went to stand up and recite Joan of Arc's last speech with spit in my words and fire in my eyes.
But I came out of it feeling empassioned and inspired to learn more, and delve deeper into the depths of moment to moment inspired Shakespeare. I also came away incredibly inspired by the other students in my class who all gave riveting and unforgettable performances with such heart, and willingness to give and to learn. Humbled to be one of their number even if just for a few shared hours.
Investable learning. That's what I like to call it. Education you can invest yourself in because it lights you, inspires you and is for, you.
I've been working pretty steadily at the comedy club, it's still part time, but I'm finally getting the hang of it I think and am feeling more as if I fit, which is buckets of relief.
I am writing this from the living room of the family I baby sit for in Brooklyn. My other job, at the moment. The kids are doing homework with their tutors upstairs and the soft tick of the clock in the hall and the warm steam rising off of my tea cup are the only things keeping me company this dark evening in November. I've been doing dishes and straightening, but most of it is done, now. So I sit at the table with my tea and the sides I'm memorizing for my very first audition, which is on Monday. My characters name highlighted in yellow.
The days seem to be flying past, like the tumble weeds from home; caught in a western facing mountain wind. The seasons are changing, and the subway is becoming filled with down coats and scarves and french hats topping expensive looking hairstyles. I don my old snowboard coat, it's bright pink with fur around the hood, one that I bought new, at a second hand store outside of Seattle, when I was living there four years ago. Feels like forever ago. But my coat still smells faintly like mountains and winter.
My words feel dull tonight, but in honesty my heart is not. I am content, taking on the sea of changes and trying to surf it with as much elegance and grace as possible.
Snapshots From this past week:
Sitting in a warm bar somewhere in Brooklyn as the wind batters against the double doors. A warm glass rests in my hand. Cassandra sits beside me, her voice warm but with a hint of alarm.
"You call me, if you need something, you hear? I may not have much, but I'm happy to share."
Our eyes meet. I feel warm. Gratitude.
"Thank you. "
It's a deep well of kindness I find in Cassandra's blue eyes that spill me over with the realization that I don't always have to do it all, alone.
Walking away. Into the snow. Pulling my coat around me, against the chill. Sitting on the subway battling the ache. Someone wore his cologne.
Trying to delve deep enough to ground to bedrock. And knowing that each step I take is a step forward, towards a woman who does not ache, all of the time. One small, step at a time.
In the autumn branches of New Jersey, burning with the colors of autumn. The Hudson calm and blue-gray steel as a chilly wind dips her fingers along its surface. Searching for peace, but finding God, and man, instead.
By extreme events of grace, I have my very first audition, since I moved to New York, on Monday. I've been Staying up nights reading everything I can get my hands on about the show and it's origin. Reading sides on the crowded subways. Feeling moved. Thanking the writer in person for letting me read it and know his work.
Sleeping with excitement. Praying down nerves.
And feeling the sweet sensation of belonging when I come home after a long day and as I fumble to take off my coat, quietly in the dark, I hear the soft sleepy voice of my roommate speaking sweetly from her darkened bed, "I'm glad you're home."
New York. Thank you.
