i often struggle when asked to write a piece for someone or something else. whether it is an online magazine, another blog, or an essay for an application, i flounder. i don't know if there is more ease writing here, in my own space, because i know that no matter what there will always be another blog post, should i choose.

well, when katie asked me to contribute to volume two of the off switch i was nervous. her publication, which she produces almost entirely by herself (from what i can tell) is stunning. i mean, the first one was absolutely stunning. and i wanted to live up to that.

she asked me to expand on an idea that i've often touched on here: this last year and the profound effect that music had on me.

now i must tell you, i actually quite like the article i wrote. and so i would be deeply honored if you all would hop over and check out the publication.

my article is right near the front.



i can't wait to really dive into the publication--the photography, the ideas and the words--all stunning. refreshing, really.

so without further ado: off switch

and please do let me know what you think!

xo
meg

showing my heart

a few weeks ago, the lovely blogger micaela of dolce vita, wrote to ask me if i might consider participating in a series in which ladies show their heart through a picture, a poem, a song, a quote, a piece of clothing, and a place. i'm often not a fan of the typical "blog series"--i find them to be tedious and a little boring. but not this one. i so loved looking at what the others before me had done. so little said and so much revealed.

in fact, i liked it so much that i thought i'd share it here.

the other heart posts are so wonderful i must suggest you hop over to micaela's blog and scroll down--you'll be introduced to a whole new group of wonderful bloggers.




a picture: 





this picture was taken this last summer by one of my oldest friends and good lord was he making me laugh!
i've struggled a lot over the years with having my photo taken, but this has to be one of my favorites. because it's so not about vanity. i look at that photo and think, yeah, i'm happy there. and because i look at it and see that i'm happy, i then look and fall in love with my veiny forehead, my mole-peppered arms, and the way my nose crinkles when i snort.


a poem:

a song:

(so hard to choose, but this go round, let's go with this one)

a quote:

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once. 

John Green

an item of clothing:

i got this rain coat when i was fifteen and about to head out on a two week tour of munich, salzburg, and then lucerne. over the years it has weathered quite a bit with me. i almost threw it out just a few years ago-- it was looking a little worn, but i couldn't bring myself to do it. there's too much history there. and thing is, end of the day, when it's raining, it still does the job.

a place: 

i don't have a picture for this one, so bear with me. a place? well, i'm in park city, utah right now. slowly, over time this place has begun to feel like home. it is a respite. a haven. the place i came as a child with my family and fell in love with the mountains. where i learned to ski and learned the power of the sport. now as my parents toy with idea of one day settling here, i find myself rooting for this, because it already feels like home. there are roots to this place. but really, the end of the day, home--a place--is with people. and family, well, that's all there is.

but when all else fails and i'm feeling a little blue...i'll take a bathtub any day of the week!

tub image

You, Me & Charlie

remember when i wrote this? 

well today it was featured on dianna agron's lovely and brilliant site, You, Me & Charlie. 

needless to say, i'm deeply honored. it's always interesting to see your words somewhere else and know they no longer belong to you--you start to see them through different eyes (usually kinder) and that in itself is an experience worth chasing. 

gadchick: issue 2

i was beyond humbled when asked to contribute to issue two of gadchick. 

to be included among such stellar women, oh-boy-i-tell-ya. 

i wrote about the important issue of self-portraiture in my usual tongue-in-cheek irreverent style (thats the hope, at least). but i do think there is a lot that can be gained by standing in front of a mirror and taking your own photo. want to know what it is? 

...

well read the magazine won't you?

read gadchick here. 

written for SCHOOL PUBLICATION

when first asked to write this piece i was…hesitant. of the little i remember of my time at school, i regret much. my story is is certainly not one of juilliard's great successes. and yet. it is mine. for all its faults and flaws and that's worth sharing, no?

the white blank page before me disagrees. i've been unable to piece together...anything--about any of it. how does one sum up school or the subsequent three years in a nice and tidy pile of words? if the story is fragmented and messy how does one do it justice on the page? 

i lost myself at school. that's the long and the short of it. i came to new york at the tender age of eighteen and while others marveled at skyscrapers and central park i acquainted myself with an unnamable sadness. in fact, sadness became my sole companion. perhaps i was too young. perhaps i should have attended a basic liberal arts college. perhaps, perhaps....truth be told it's remarkable i survived at all. but when graduation day finally came it was not a marker of success but a desperate gasp for air. i had failed. deeply, i had failed. and i had lost that little kernel of faith in my ability to act, and as it turns out, myself. 

so i stopped. acting, that is. four years studying the thing and i couldn't stomach it. i know, i know, just what anyone wants to hear as they prepare to leave school or continue on in their education.

but here's the thing failure, as it turns out, proves fertile ground. and in the absence of acting i began to write.  i simply meant to document. to put pen to paper to help me remember or preserve a period of my life for the future. but those words became a solace that slowly unfurled me--revealed me to myself. the great roadmap of the journey inward. and i found that all that i had learned at school in terms of sounds and shapes of vowels and the discrepancy between what is thought and what is known leant itself beautifully towards writing. 

and writing, as it turns out, gave me back my life. does that sound terribly dramatic? well, it is. and it was.  

there are moments i wish i could go back and do school all over again. as the person i am now. perhaps this time i'd be ready. perhaps this time i'd get it right. perhaps, perhaps. but i have to remind myself that few stories are truly linear. we twist around, circle back on ourselves, and when we're lucky, move forward. and that's okay. my story is not done. i left acting but whether or not i will return  is a part of the story i've yet to write. 

what i mean to say is this. if things don't go as planned, that's okay. (i know, i know, everyone says that.) how to tell you--to make you understand.

how about this: failure is essential. fail as much and as gloriously as you can. fail in little, seemingly inconsequential ways when no one is looking. or fail on a stage under the lights. the thing is, others might not see it as such. and given enough time, it might actually reveal itself as something else. because when the failure fades or passes or wears another mask it gives way to a joy so profound, it lies beyond imagination--even that special brand of imagination that juilliard encourages.

and joy, more than anything else i've ever known,  is essential to art. (yes, joy).

sometimes i wonder how i'll look back on this period in my life--as a pause in the story? as a precursor to the next great plot twist? a time when i was tied to nothing, living anonymously in a small, sunlit apartment, way high north on the island of manhattan next to the train tracks and nestled against the river--and i think i'll be a better actor because of these days, a better person, if nothing else. 

written for STORY OF MY LIFE

i've been wracking my brain all week for a good story to tell.

i could write about that time in canada i found myself seated next to a half-naked man in a theatre (and not a theatre of ill-repute, mind you). he arrived fully clothed, then there was a lot of movement, and suddenly--voila--a bare chest. let's just say, i didn't see much of that first half of arms and the man.

or perhaps i should speak of those lazy spring nights in texas when i'd escape to the soccer fields with the boys and smoke cigars as dew formed on the grass. i was not a rebellious teen. i didn't drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes or kiss anyone under any bleachers. i worked hard in school. but as senior year came to an end i found myself staying out just a little bit later, falling for a boy who would go on to follow phish around the country, and puffing on cigars by the elementary school soccer fields.

but both those stories are slivers, small bits. and i want to tell the story of my life, right? or, at least, try. perhaps, though, that's all it is right now, slivers of a story. scattered pieces waiting to come together. after all, i'm just beginning (or so i hope).

and yet, i keep coming back to this: new york.

new york is my story.

beginning on 66th in a white, stone, fortress-like building and an open-air plaza filled with boys who threw frisbees, made bets, and smoked too much pot. moving on to 72nd and a pub named malachy's where many a baseball game was taken in and the man behind the counter knew all of our names. there was my first apartment at 104th and a cat we called flaubert. i dated a guy at 190th who gave me a key to his house and promised to show me the cloisters (among other things). i ended that relationship at a diner on 70th. there's central park and riverside park and fort tryon park and the countless times i've traversed each one pounding something more than pavement.

the city is a zig-zagging-connect-the-dots of my history--of my sadness and its eventual passing. of the joy that follows, the sweet bliss that sweeps in after utter destruction.

and then there's here: 181st street. in a small corner apartment--my own little castle in the sky--a corner apartment abutting the hudson and nestled against the train tracks. and i can feel this corner apartment-- this corner of manhattan working on me, pushing me past this cesura in the story. this moment between, this hanging breath in which all is possible and all is unknown. i write this now in the cafe down the street and i, more than anyone, wonder what's next--when the plot twist will arise, when new characters will be introduced, when there will be some sort of resolution.

and the thing is, i don't know. i just don't know. but i do know i'm better for all this. better for the unknown. better for the sadness. better for the bliss. better, for new york.

better, yes, but poised for the next.

so should jenny ever have be back here again, years from now, my great hope is i'll have more to tell you. more of the story to share. more space filled in and out.

on beauty.

i am so honored to be over here today. talking about beauty. and how it has almost nothing what to do with what i look like and definitely nothing to do with what the scale says or how my thighs do or do not jiggle when i attempt a morning jog (or walk).

i think reachel is glorious. all you have to do is read her about section to know why. and this series? well, if only we could all put down the pages of glossy magazines, cease the comparisons, and hook into what makes us--each, individually--really gorgeous.

i'm a little giddy...

to be here today:

talking about my fairytale (kind of).

and swooning over this lady:

i mean... stripes? camera bag? easy, breezy smile?

done.

juilliard.

do you all know molly yeh?

you should. she's marvelous. a marvelous foodie and percussionist (i imagine--i've not seen her, but, you know, word on the street...). and i'd very much like to know her in real life.

she started a student-run newspaper at juilliard (my alma mater) and asked if i'd contribute a retrospective piece. 

i hardly ever talk about school and i hardly ever talk about acting (mostly because both are tricky, unclear topics), but i thought i'd take the time to share what i wrote for the ragtimes...

when first asked to write this piece i was…hesitant. of the little i remember of my time at school, i regret much. my story is is certainly not one of juilliard's great successes. and yet, it is mine. and for all its faults and flaws that's worth sharing, no? 

the white, blank page before me disagrees. i've been unable to piece together...anything--about any of it. how does one sum up school or the subsequent three years in a nice and tidy plot of words? if the story is fragmented and messy how does one do it justice on the page? 

i lost myself at school. that's the long and the short of it. i came to new york at the tender age of eighteen and as others marveled at skyscrapers and central park, i acquainted myself with an unnamable, insurmountable sadness--a sadness that permeated those formidable four years. when graduation finally came, it did not feel like a marker of success but a desperate gasp for air. i felt as though i had failed. deeply. and as though i had lost that little kernel of faith in not only my ability to act, but myself. 

this is not to say the school failed me. it did not. i had remarkable teachers and even more remarkable opportunities. i was allowed to dive into some of the most enriching roles within the acting cannon. hard as it was, i am who i am because of those four years. the failings in my story are of me and therefore mine alone. 

following graduation and too many auditions walking into a room as a shadow of myself, i made the decision to pause. to step away from theatre.

and for a long time i struggled with the necessity of that action. because was it really a necessity or yet another misstep? 

well, here's what i'm learning: misstep or not, it doesn't really matter. there is value in missteps and failings. wrong turns reap great rewards. 

in the absence of acting i began to write.  i simply meant to document. to put pen to paper to help me remember or preserve a period of my life for the future. but those words became a solace that slowly unfurled me--revealed me to myself. the great roadmap of the journey inward. and i found that all that i had learned at school in terms of sounds and shapes of vowels and the discrepancy between what is thought and what is known leant itself beautifully towards writing. 

and writing, gave me back my life. does that sound terribly dramatic? well, it is. and it was.  

there are moments i wish i could go back and do it all over again--school, that is. do it as the person i am now. and in doing so, do justice to the teachers and the knowledge they so graciously and freely impart. perhaps this time i'd be ready? perhaps this time i'd get it right? perhaps, perhaps. but i have to remind myself that few stories are truly linear. we twist around, circle back on ourselves, and when we're lucky, move forward. and that's okay. my story is not done. i left acting, yes, but whether or not i will return is simply a part of the story i've yet to write. and that's the exciting bit.

what i mean to say is this: if things don't go as planned, so be it. 

 everyone says that, you say? okay. okay, how to tell you and make you understand?

how about this: failure is essential. fail as much and as gloriously as you can. fail in little, seemingly inconsequential ways when no one is looking. or fail on stage, under the lights, with thousands watching. it doesn't matter where or how so long as you allow yourself the chance. because, the thing is, others might not see it as such. and given enough time, it might reveal itself as something else. and when the failure fades or passes or wears another mask it gives way to a joy so profound, it lies beyond imagination (even that special brand of imagination that only a school like juilliard can encourage). 

and joy, more than anything else i've ever known,  is essential to art. 

there are times when i wonder how i'll look back on this period of my life--as a pause in the story? a precursor to the next, great plot twist? as a time in which i was tied to nothing--living anonymously in a small, sunlit apartment way high north on the island of manhattan between train tracks and river?  whatever it is--whatever it turns out to be--however it works to drive the narrative this much i know: that i am a better person because of both my time at school and the time right now. and a better person makes for one damn, fine (better) actor. 

half-naked men, cigars, and new york city: a teaser, if you will.

today, you can find me here...

talking about the story of my life. to-date. sort of. kind of.

i'm such a fan of jenni and her gorgeous corner of the internet

 and was so honored when she asked me to be one of seven bloggers

 to guest post while she's away in south america.

check it out, if you like. and let me know what you think...