I parted my hair down the middle today

Two days ago, walking past Lululemon (a very expensive, but very chic workout wear store), I saw these words...

Do something today that scares you.

 

In the spirit of October's hallmark holiday, Halloween, that was the thrust of the window display. So this got me thinking. First, that not only should I do something each day that scares me, but secondly, that each month should have a focus.

So, November.... Let's think...Well, Thanksgiving of course. And what's that about again? I'm having visions of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and a pre-school field trip that involved dressing up as a pilgrim one day, and Indian the next (Native American rather, but at that point political correctness hadn't quite taken hold) and visiting the local grocery store (we were even on the news--I do remember that).

Back to the point. Oh yes, so Thanksgiving has something to do with sharing, right? Or maybe it's as easy as this...giving thanks.

Perfect, no problem. Giving thanks. But on top of that I need a challenge, I need to scare myself (even if I am a month too late), and so this is my proposition....

For this one month, challenge your idea of yourself.

Example: I believe myself to be a tremendously bad cook. So, one day I might put on my Eiffel tower apron, channel my 1950's housewife, and dare to create a kitchen masterpiece that far exceeds my expectations.

We all hang on to these images of ourselves that then limit who we are. Who we might be.  I'm fat. I'm thin. I'm wealthy. I'm old. I'm immature. I'm an actor. I'm a banker. I only wear black. I never take the subway. I can't take photos. But we're so much more than a label that we, or anyone else can assign to us. I'm a democrat. I'm republican. Liberal, right-wing, black, white, conservative, tall, short, modest, moderate, hip, dowdy, southern, christian, catholic, jewish. Right. Wrong. We will never be able to know the full depths of who we are, or what we are capable of. We just need to go in search, to try new things, to attempt what others would never expect of us.

So today, I parted my hair down the center. Sounds simple, right? Silly, even. But after 17 years of parting it to the right or to the left, this simple action created a crack and, like Alice, down the rabbit-hole I fell. Well, jumped. And it felt good, falling--liberating and exciting. And I'm hoping (and betting on the fact) that one crack yields another and another and another--until this surface that we all hide behind falls away to reveal images we never dreamt possible.

Because the thing is, as different as we all are, I imagine we have more connecting us than we care to admit. And as our nation embarks on an historic election, I think it's important that we remember that at the end of the day we all want the same thing. Peace and love and hope for a better future. And isn't that what the first Thanksgiving was all about? The Pilgrim's and Indian's realization that they had more in common than they first believed.

One of the first civilians into space said that all politicians should be forced to a trip to the moon so that they could turn around and see that the only borders that exist are the ones that man has created.

It's one world we live in and it's about time we started giving it the kind of thanks it deserves.

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.

9 ways I know I'm growing up

1. I've given up soda. Not entirely, but almost. Benefits: I'm not filling my body with chemicals (well, not in this form anyway) and think of all the money saved! Now when I get the hankering for that soda rush, I reach for the water bottle.

2. I've put my beloved Prada bag up for sale on ebay. It's a matter of cash flow. I needmoney flowing in. And when I prance around Manhattan, so uber chic, with my Prada bag swinging in the wind, money tends to flow out...and out...and out.

3. I have three jobs. One involves going to birthday parties and teaching kids to assemble robots. Ahhh,  the things we do when we're just starting out.

4. I'm replacing my self imposed egoic image of fearful, with fearless. Fearless. A good word. A good way to live. I wear the word like a tramp stamp on my lower back (metaphorically, of course).

5. I've given up Starbucks. I know, I know...I didn't think I'd ever see the day either, but it's now.  No more mint mocha chip frappucino lights. And I'll never go back. Not ever. Because just one sip and the addiction will begin again. For the first time, all over again.

6. I dealt with the insurance today.

7. Today I assuaged my long suffering throat with orange juice (dietary concerns be gone!) and assorted berries (including blueberries, which I loathe) instead of the much preferred, cool, transiently soothing, but oh-so-good Tasti-Delite. That's the next addiction to go. I can feel my wallet growing already from all the money saved.

8. I ran errand, after errand, after errand. And wrote email, after email, after email.

9. And at the end of the day I thought, my life is my own. And I don't know that I've ever fully possessed a more beautiful phrase in all my life.

Tomorrow I will be 23 years and one week old and I am happy.

Because I bought the most gorgeous pair of black boots today. Meaning, my tattered and well-worn brown boots that I once loved so much are hidden away in the back of a closet in Montclair, because I finally came to agree with my mom: they're not so cute on. Style trumps comfort? I'm growing up indeed.

Because my room is blue. And mine. And I've done it all myself. Okay...so maybe Rob put the Ikea furniture together...but I've done it all by myself almost.

Because I'm learning that the any emotion that lives within us at any one given moment never has a problem being there. It's our unwillingness to coexist with it and explore it that creates the tension. So when I'm sad...the sadness within is not anything other than just exactly what it is. And its okay to let it chill there for a little while. Because while it is in me, it is not of me. Confusing? I know...I gotta get better at explaining it. And accepting it. And living it.

Because I'm figuring everything out. Which means it will all change in no time.

Because after reading Naomi's post about spooking herself, my bag of hangers fell over (of their own volition) and I near jumped out my skin. Imagine that last phrase said in a deep twang of a Texas accent.

Because my bangs are finally growing! Which means the rest of it must too, right? Even if it's still red?

Because I saw the cutest guy on the subway today. Wearing white converse tennies. And he smiled at me and I smiled back. And then got embarrassed because I couldn't stop smiling. And I think I fell a little bit in love right there in that moment. Resolution Fall In Love a Hundred Times a Day...well on its way, thank you very much. Sometimes (and that's a very qualified sometimes) the one train is worth it.

Because I live in the epicenter of one of NYC's many great singles' meccas. And I love it. Turns out I really do love NY. Alot. I'd just been living in the wrong place the last four years. So now I'm falling in love with NY for the very first time, all over again.

Mmmmm...yes, this is right.

Today I fell madly and deeply and desperately in love.

 

With the color blue.

I trekked up to my old neighborhood this afternoon and purchased a gallon of Blue Wave. I just marched right in there, picked it out, and got it. There was no time for indecision or worry. I went with the gut and the gut told me this was it. So I came home and decided to test out a patch. Before I knew it. My sweater was off, plastic was on the floor, and I was rolling away. The spirit had moved me. And as I rolled and painted and sweated it happened. I fell in love with this color that no on in my family would ever choose. It's bright and bold and playful. And not pale. All my life I've lived in rooms painted in pale colors. Not this time. Maybe it's too bright and too bold, but for the moment, it's perfect. And it belongs to me. I'm doing it all by myself. It's about time I stopped coloring myself pale. Beauty lies in the unapologetic imperfections that comprise us.

Blue skies...smilin' at me...nothin' but blue skies...do I see...

 

Side note: Naomi I didn't forget you...there's so much to paint...and along with my blue I purchased a small can of chalkboard paint that's got your name all over it!