Musings, ramblings...Or what you will.

It's a perfect Saturday morning in the city. Quiet. Cool. Slightly overcast. My laundry is tucked away in one of the many washing machines two doors down and a hint of breeze is slipping in through the top of my window. 

When I was little I played make-believe more than most children do. I carried out the humble manifestations of my dreams and idyllic ideas long after most girls had become boy-obsessed. When I was tiny I played wedding make-believe. And god bless my mother as she was always in search of the perfect underslip that would easily turn into the perfect wedding dress (I guess I envisioned separates?). I played house, most especially whenever my father brought home flowers, for they brought out any domestic goddess tendencies that now lay dormant. I had my own little Fischer Price kitchen in the pantry and I would piddle away the time answering the yellow telephone and taking things in and out of the stove. God, I still remember the curve of the plastic and glamor of it all. The first two jobs I ever aspired to were those of cheerleader and flight attendant. Think about it, a young girl's first two job choices: flight attendant, chearleader...yes, clearly feminism was alive and well. Not to worry, in time I dreamt of becoming a pediatrician or the first female President of the United States. But when I really think about it, from a very young age, I wanted nothing more than to live in Manhattan, all by my lonesome, and live the life of  a sophisticated, hard-working, single gal. I didn't dream about marriage or even men. I dreamt about the life I could build by myself, so that when I did meet the man of my dreams I would be ready for him.

At school, for four years, all I ever heard was, if you can get through this, you can get through anything--that our schedule would be harder than anything we'd ever come up against. Well, let me tell you...no one, absolutely no one, prepared me for this. Working a myriad of jobs (while constantly seeking to expand the circle of employment), auditioning, taking class to make you a better artist because really you're working to become a better person, keeping up with friends and family, and oh yeah...trying to keep my head above the rip-roaring currents that constantly threaten--that's hard. It's so hard. Remember, a while back when I said that I wish it could be just a little bit easier? I still hope for that, but now I'm not just hoping--I'm working towards it, on a daily basis. It's so hard...and right now, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I was so taken by CJane's post where she wrote that Christian spoke of literally feeling the prayers working on him. The idea of that humbles me in every possible way--the idea that prayer is not a thought, but an actual action, an energy that moves through the world healing. Well, I'm starting to believe that prayers coupled with the million daily miracles that keep life moving forward can actually change us--heal us, alter our physical make-up. My day requires alot of travel time. Busses, subways, foot traffic. And well, I can feel those hour long subway rides working on me. Those cross town bus trips shaping something new and different. The very ebb and flow of the city is moving over and through me, carving a new outlook, eroding doubts, dislodging fear. Something much greater than me is healing me, making me whole again. Two days ago, walking in Brooklyn before class, I realized that right now, at this very moment, I am living the life I envisioned for myself as a child. I am beholden to no one but myself. I am working as hard as I can, but as of yet, my life is completely anonymous. My life is my own. The other day, when I claimed those words as my new working mantra, I had not a clue as to how truly fitting and potent they could be, because there is a freedom in that anonymity like nothing I've ever before experienced. And yet, even that statement my life is my own, is somehow false. My life belongs to something much greater, much larger than me. I don't know where my religion stands right now (I'm working on it) but I do know that a higher power is working on me. So my life in many ways, is not my own at all. And I'm so glad it's this hard. Because I'm not alone. And I know that five years from now, I'm going to look back on this period as pure, unadulterated bliss. And in those five years as success gradually takes on new forms and different names, each period will be just as miraculous as the last. Now that I am aware of the joy inherent to any present moment, it will just keep coming, so that each new period of my life will be just as important and joyous as the last. Different in form, but similar in spirit. 

And thank God for that.

Couldn't it be just a little bit easier?

You know how I've been yearning for that good cry? How I could feel it just below the surface? How I tried to induce it by ridiculous means (aka the One Tree Hill episode about death this past week)? It came today. In the middle of the street. Surrounded by people. As my feet awkwardly clomped against the sidewalk to prevent the formation of blisters. The tears began their steady and solemn march down the terrain of my face and I was helpless to stop them. There in the midst of a gorgeous "autumn is so close to full bloom that I can feel it"  kind of day, I quietly lost it. I didn't sob, wail, or beat my breast, but rather stood there silently, tears streaming, mascara running as the people of New York milled and seethed around me. And it was then that the softest, little voice said "see, you do wanna be an actor." It was so quiet I almost missed it. A few weeks from now I'll probably wonder if I heard it at all. But it was there, carving out my future persistently and passionately in its oh so unassuming way. 

What brought it on you ask? Well, I had this audition. And I was hoping it might go well to balance out the audition the day before where I left thinking the director was the only person with more doubt about my ability than myself. Not to mention, as I sat in yesterday's waiting room I felt like a beached whale. Now, I've made great strides in the acceptance of my body. In fact I kinda like it. It's normal and beautiful. In the real world. In the acting world, sometimes I still feel like...well I already said it, no point in repeating the image. And by the way please someone shoot me if I spend five whole minutes in front of a mirror adjusting every possible strand of my gleaming, panteine pro-v, wouldn't you just kill for these locks because I did hair while everyone else looks on. Do it in private. But in public? By the way, it was fine, my audition today. But it was far from good. I have a strength on stage that is deceiving. Because in person, lets face it, I'm a bit of a flake. I'm kooky and bumbly (not really a word but if Shakespeare made them up, so can I) and all of the place. And the parts I'm sent out for (which are actually perfect for me) are not really any of these things--they're in there but overshadowed by a poise that I'm all together lacking in any kind of audition situation. And thus I'm left standing there saying "confidence, oh confidence why have you forsaken me?" So today I realized, its gonna take me a year. A whole year before I can expect to get any callbacks, any jobs, any real positive feedback. A year to translate what I know I can do on the stage to what I know I have to do in an audition room. And that's okay. It's my path. I've always been a late bloomer and this is just par for the course. I have so much to look forward to. Because today was the day that I decided (or maybe realized) oh yeah, see that...I do want to be an actor. 

But is it okay to say this? I wish it could be just a little bit easier. Not much. Just a little.

Rob took me to the park and let me lean on him, literally and metaphorically. He's the Harry to my Sally and proof that with hard work, determination, and a little thing called talent good things can and do happen. He started rehearsal yesterday for his first role as a leading man on Broadway. At Lincoln Center. And lets be honest, anybody who's anybody got their start at Lincoln Center (cough, cough, Billy Crudup). 

The face of the America's next great leading man. I guess the theatre really is in trouble.

This is for Vic, Naomi, Carolyn, and Sarah...

photos stolen from your very own facebook accounts...oh facebook...good for so many things

....because we need to hang onto this as we start off on that path which fate has us assigned...

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and  fabulous? Actually who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. 

Not much to say today, so how bout this...

You know when you wake up and go to get dressed and end up trying on everything in your closet only to end up feeling as though you should just crawl back into bed?

That's how I felt this morning.

After settling on a basic skirt and blouse and leaving a heap of clean laundry on my bed I headed to the bus for my second audition in two days. I'll be an actor yet! Well, it turns out it didn't matter what I put on because I got soaked to the bone in a lovely little New York monsoon. And that's when I decided that for the moment I'm going to choose not to hate this lovely, little city of mine. Instead, I'm going to look at it as a fantastic challenge--a game I get to play day in and day out. And I'm ready for the ride. 

Today. 

We'll see how I feel tomorrow. 

Early afternoon I took my rain-soaked behind to my audition and guess what...I didn't want to die (this was a big deal for me--since yesterday I left hoping I'd never see another casting director/actor/theatre/tall building/tree again). 

Then this evening I got my sweaty (not to worry, it was post-gym) butt off to my second day of work.  For those of you who don't know, I'm now officially a member of the Metropolitan Opera fundraising team (shout out to Erica for suggesting this even if she's already abandoned me). It's oh so very exciting and guess what...it pays money--which right now, I need.

And then just now, after a few Chinese veggie rolls, I took in a little tube in the form of "How to Look Good Naked" with Carson Kressley. And I was skeptical, but my friends...it was good. 

And moving. 

Maybe I cried.

And then I ate almond butter and jam out of the jars. And you know what, I'd do it again.

Tonight, I'm happy. Life is good.

And by the way...Ned's been gone for three days now. And life is so much better without him.