Freedom is a hot dog.

I wanted to call this posting I Am An Adult! because I have had *a lot* of adult situations recently that I wanted to recount.
Or not so recently - because sometimes I lose track of time, but either way, they've happened.
But these groundbreaking words came from one of my undereducated, excessively wise adult students when asked to provide an example of what freedom might be like in America and he comes up with "Freedom is a hot dog."
At the time, it was an under appreciated hyperbolic comment, not amusing whatsoever to my end of the day hungry/headachy/why don't we still understand the differences between similes and metaphors and the fact that we are talking about an IDEA, that has absolutely no concrete, overprocessed meat-like qualities at all, self.
But over a candle lit, dinner for two it became so outrageously funny, and amazing, and true.
It's an appropriate title for this post, because once you see it clearly enough, you too will understand that Freedom is a hot dog.

I bought a bison skull recently.
A friend sent me a Craigslist ad - he knew I was in the market.
Luckily the owner lived in my neighborhood. Agreeing to meet, I found him with a giant IKEA bag, my soon-to-be bison skull stuffed inside it, unceremoniously waiting in front of the Starbucks down the street.
A brief discussion ("yea... my girlfriend didn't like it... what?! this thing is amazing. you should be getting rid of her!") and brief awkward silence ("...") and I handed over $60 happily - I've been wanting this amazing conversational centerpiece for so long - I'm gonna be SO HIP.
My brain processes the easy math --> Allyn = quadruple win (close to home+cheapish+amazing hip skull that definitely looks like it came from Arizona...or Mexico+new IKEA/laundry bag) vs. boy from Craigslist = zero (squeamish girlfriend+loss of cool skull+carrying a bison skull in an IKEA bag waiting awkwardly in front of Starbucks) and what a steal! So easy!
My friend drilled the hole in the brick fireplace in the wall for my new skull (which I very ceremoniously call Beatrice and she is a strident feminist with no desire for gender restraints in her proud horns) as I tried to vacuum the brick dust straight out of the air (I can be very efficient, you see) and a few attempts in, Beatrice has a new home on my wall. Over my bed. Protruding into the center of my room.

I promptly took a picture and proudly sent the picture out, to like, everyone - look at my adult decorating skills! And I did it on the cheap! Who said Craigslist is for creeps?

My father's response: If I had known this was your current taste in home decorating, I would have shipped the dead deer carcass that Futar caught last week.
Mine: ...
Best man friend's response: That thing is going to scare the shit out of you.
Mine every single time I wake up at 3 am to use the bathroom: OMG what the!?

I am, clearly, an adult.

To be fair, I think the same thing when I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror at 3am. But that's just because we have poor lighting. That said, guess who doesn't bother turning on the bathroom light anymore? And in case you were wondering (unless you share the same 3am sentiment), yes.
3am guessing games are difficult.

It's kinda springish here... sometimes. And on a particularly spring-like day, I bought a pair of lovely, neutral, open-toed, extremely stylish boutique flats for my ugly dancer/runner feet for $60 so I could tromp around in sudden spring-time downpours, and tread carefully around the dirt and trash lining the subway tracks on my morning commute to my new adult job down on Wall St.

In my head, I look glamorous.
There I am, in my expensive adult wear (neutrals, classy peep toes, red blazer that screams grandma/hip Brooklynite) emerging, bright eyed and bushy tailed, coffee in hand, onto Wall St., the sun bouncing off of the ever-growing Freedom Towers into my eyes, highlighting the yellow brick road to my meaningful adult job in the non-profit human rights sector...
I can look glamorous in your eyes, too, if you imagine me as the urban version of Fraulein Maria in The Sound of the Music, running up the subway stairs singing "Thank goddddd I'm aliiiive, I hate all those peeeeeeople." because once again, I've barely survived my morning commute to the Financial District as I've tried to drink my coffee, read a book on feminism, listen to music, and wield an unruly umbrella like a crazy woman fighting off invisible bats.

And honestly, when someone figures out how the modern woman is supposed to gracefully hold her coffee, while digging in her oversized bag that contains her lunch, her yoga pants, and seven tubes of chapstick for her wallet that holds her metrocard without holding up an impatient line of New Yorkers - ya let me know, ok?
And if you don't have the answer, do not judge me for slurping the spilled locally brewed coffee like an anteater from the fine ridges of my 15,000x recycled, organic coffee cup.
I can see your eyes giving me the once-over in the reflection of the subway car windows and I do not like the judgement that I see.
I paid for it. I'm gonna drink it.

See? I am an Adult.

I think it's this fiestyness that has deemed me fit for bed rest for a few days.
Between the never ending lament for life clarity while working 2 jobs, attempts at successfully attending advanced modern dance classes, yoga certification training, hill repeats and long runs for 1/2 and marathon training, teaching ESL, this bizarre sinus drainage that results in a smoker-like hacking cough when I start laughing, and the kidney stone that tried to kill me a few nights ago - I'm still living the dream... of obtaining my grad degree, taking off a few years for the Peace Corps, starting a dance company, becoming a successful ethnographer with no qualms about never coming back from research, and having a night out with the roommates that always ends in the good kind of sleepover where you definitely get brunch the next day, with both bagels and home fries. 
Adulthood - you wear me out!

All in all, I'm still dealing with a bunch of nouns.
All the Persons.
All the Places.
All the Things.
All the Unexplainable/Unattainable Ideas.

Sometimes I think - Ain't Nobody Got Time For That.
Partly because it's fun.
Like exclaiming Ha! when your roommate says something absolutely mindblowingly ridiculous regarding... her lunch for the day, as she tries to squeeze it into a baggie.
Ha! She told that sandwich.
And partly because it's true.
Ain't Nobody Got Time For All That.

Ain't Nobody Even Like Over-Processed, Meat-Like Substances. 

I've had a full house. It has been a tight squeeze in my Brooklyn apartment, between all of the happy faces that were moving back and forth between the kitchen and living room, spilling into the backyard for a few deep breaths of crisp winter air, knees touching on the couch.

And after the voices and the glitter and the slow mornings followed by fast evenings, we're back in a routine that somewhat resembles the daily life of a bunch of... girls... living in Brooklyn in their 20s. So really, not much has changed - we still have the occasional full house, exchanging exhausted "heys" and flustered "see you tonight" comments in the hallway, copious amounts of glitter on the floor that WILL NOT GO AWAY and the fridge is suspiciously empty of food, but the sink is always full of dishes which is just confusing. I'm convinced someone is playing a joke on me.

The new year came quickly, unbelievable quickly. So much can happen, did happen, in a year.
The resolves aren't the same as last year, but my life isn't what it was a year ago.
(And if you are looking for an amusing, insightful, touching article on new year resolutions, click here).

Either way, 365 days make remembering everything that happened in the past year really difficult.

I'll tell you what I do know (which is all I can do anyways):

Last year was many things. It was a dance, and it was a story made of many. There were many characters (so many, I lose track). There were blinding lights and foggy thoughts, rampant emotions and lots of cheese. Last year was loss, and tears and some obviously inexplicable faith. Last year was phone calls and letters that stopped me in my tracks, and made me shake uncontrollably. Implosion seemed likely and just because it didn't happen doesn't mean it isn't possible.
Last year was the relentless effort to pay attention, to respect, to love.

Last year was many hands, for high fives and handshakes and support.

Last year had chapters of seemingly convoluted pages, and there are recounts of long runs with shoelaces coming undone, last year gasped for air. Last year had waiting rooms and coffee houses, hospital rooms and youtube videos. And there were coloring pencils and hair fascinators, too. Last year was full of goodness, of keeping the laughter, keeping the strength, keeping the lights on.
Last year was the accumulation of things, of all the things. Last year was about letting go, too.
Last year was a story that left me with lingering concerns about lasting impressions.
Because last year made me think about the world beneath our feet, about giving and taking, lines drawn and lines crossed.
Last year's storyline was a process of taking two steps forward, one (or two or three or four steps) back and I often doubted the story but mostly, I doubted the storyteller.
But last year's story includes thankfulness for the process, and the meaningful practicality of a book of stamps my mother sent in the mail. Last year sought and found some sort of forgiveness among its painful character development, interconnected underlying themes, and thick plot line.

Here's to the New Year.

It's been the kind of summer that I only thought existed in well written nostalgia novels and that blog my friend Olivia keeps.
The kind of summer where I was constantly marveling at the things I was doing - had the chance to do, to experience.

There has just been something special about this summer.

It was the summer of being completely without obligation except to the present moment, and to personal happiness.

The spontaneity of rooftop sunset wine tasting sessions, to shirking chores to haul upstate for some good early trail runs. A weekly (daily?) meeting of the musicians in my life led to great friendships, great music, and more than a few deceivingly fun, great soundin' all-nighters. And the dancing never stopped: waltzes written just for my pleasure, and blues dancing in the middle of a street in Bushwick, to impromptu dance gatherings in Central Park, and modern classes with some of the best companies and independent dance artists around. Summer Friday was everyday, apparent in the presence of watermelon, sun drenched naps in the park, and good books finished over the past few months. Brunch became the most important day of the week, because with it entailed laughter, copious amounts of food, trips to the farmer's market just for local flowers and a very hipster bike ride to the water, just to feel the breeze, see the sun glimmer on the water. The backyard became a fixture in my life again, with new roommates and housemates gathered around a party light lit community table, with a genius outdoor movie screen for movie marathon nights with the boys upstairs who happen to be CofC alumni as well, and reminiscing over candles and Star Wars felt good. I was introduced to real cocktails and the art of hailing a cab at 5am, to making it work on 3 hours of sleep.

It was a summer worthy of documentation, of snapping pictures and creating keepsake boxes and filling up page after page in notebooks.

It was the summer of being completely in the moment.

And now the thick, long days are shortening, the sun lingers less and less. Meanwhile my sleeves and hemlines lengthen out and watermelon is replaced by warm soup and sun drenched naps by afternoons browsing in bookshops. The evenings are content again, windows glow while bodies wind down, and a schedule is settling in. Fulfillment can be found at the library, where I have discovered a whole new world, where I have been spending a good deal of time lately.
 
I have been given the opportunity to share my love of knowledge and people.
And I'm thrilled it found me.

I am teaching reading and writing to adult immigrants twice a week, the most humbling of experiences full of struggle and triumph, of laughter and constant confusion. Misunderstandings lead to frustration, but perseverance produces the most beautiful smiles and dreams of possibility.

The daughter of a middle-class, well educated family, full of journalists and writers, teachers and thinkers, of explorers and scientists, sharing my love and knowledge of the English language and knowledge - this is what I have to share.

The stories I've heard are amazing. Inspiring, committed, brave individuals. There are goals of citizenship, helping with homework, writing letters to sons in Afghanistan. Mostly though, of employment and independence, confidence and a sense of accomplishment.

And there are so many times I don't understand. I am far removed from that life, a life with a loss for words, a compromised life. It's a new adventure, and we all know all I want is one good adventure after another, and I just hope that I can open their eyes and provide as much for these awe-inspiring human beings as they do for me.

I hope they look forward to Monday's and Wednesdays as much as I do - these intelligent, capable individuals willing to do what it takes to make it work. It's amazing the thought of spending 4 hours a week with them - the thought of what might be accomplished is daunting, and full of unrelenting respect. It demands discipline from all us and this is my responsibility I have taken on.

I'm scared.
I'm so scared of Mondays and Wednesdays.
I'm constantly scared of not being prepared, or focused, or relate-able.
And I'm scared that they will walk out, feeling like they have wasted their time, their efforts futile.

But in a few months we will have a series of celebrations - celebrating reading, writing, knowledge, and learning. And I'm already looking forward to it. Because everyone has a story to tell, one word at a time.

And I'm privileged to hear these stories unfold.


And here is a song, because sometimes when things (anythings) get rough (frustrating, humiliating, tiresome, etc. etc. right?) sometimes you just have to learn to shake it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7azjmmd3YyI

Shake it out, shake it off.
 

As things go, I met up with a long lost friend recently. The kind of friend where it never feels like you missed years of their life, and among dances and drinks, pictures and hours of straight up talking, we happened upon the idea of reinventing oneself.
Not an easy task but often times a necessary one.
At once liberating and extremely stressful.

So one has to ask, after all the bridges have been burned, what's the first thing to be done?

As you can maybe see, I’m attempting to revamp my blog into something more than just  a collection of random ramblings. And although I’m not sure how far I’ll get with that concept, I’m trying to consider this my new personal website - not just a way of communicating through writing and pictures what I cannot say out loud or through movement, but to develop and establish myself as both an artist and a scholar... A more professional way of presenting myself and the things that affect me personally and in turn, the topics I choose to pursue and the work I produce. But as I make changes and sadly, change my blog title, I wanted to give to you the poem that really changed the way I looked at life and the catalyst for how I now live my life.

It was because of this poem that I decided to no longer “measure out my life with coffee spoons,” and to truly understand that yes, there will is time.
There is time for you and time for me, time to make a hundred indecisions, a hundred visions and revisions - but that for me to live the life I want to live, I do not have the time.
I do not have the time to continue asking,
“And should I then presume? And how should I begin?”
Because in short, I do not want my fears of what I do not know, what I cannot presume to know, to stop me from discovering all that is out there.
Because what I do know, what I absolutely know, is that it is definitely worth it.
It is always worth it.

A Love Song for J. Alfred Prufrock
    a poem by T.S. Eliot

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question….
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.  

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.  

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes.
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.  

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
    So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
    And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.  
    And should I then presume?
    And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
    Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;  
    That is not it, at all.”  

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
    “That is not it at all,  
    That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.  

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.  

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
 
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

A few words on change

It's that time of year again: a sneeze accompanies you on the walk through the backyard to the blooming cherry trees, the house is really starting to look like it could for sure, definitely, absolutely needs another coat of paint, puppies are born and flowers turn their colorful faces towards the sky. Desk jockeys push aside their Ion Light Therapy lamps in favor of open windows and students take to doing their homework on the lawn, ankles and shoulders peeking, and thanks to Franklin (Ben Franklin & Franklin D. Roosevelt) we have that extra magic hour where the sun lingers behind the buildings, over the water, beyond the mountains.

All of these changes heralding the arrival of the new season, a time of change.
A change of clothes, a change in sustenance, a change in mood - the change of seasons.


So significant is the change in seasons, and in turn, the change in our natural patterns that it has long been documented across cultures and mediums. Vivaldi's Four Seasons... the Greeks on Demeter, Hades and Persephone...The Chinese on Pangu... multiple Native Americans creation myths.

And despite the varied explanations on the patterns of the seasons, one thing is inevitable - change will come, and it is often for the better. Our very cyclical existence is predictable, for we know the sun will rise and set again tomorrow, but it's everything in between the rise and fall of the sun that makes the day, that makes us who we are, whether we welcome the change of the seasons and of crops and of afternoon activities or continue on as if life as we know it is the same as it has always been, and always should be.


As an advocate for creation myths, personal therapy, and living a constantly turmoil-filled life, I accept change. And certainly not one to resist such exciting things as mood swings, uncertainty, and constant personal fulfillment searches, I'm allowing changes, seeing as they were bound to happen anyways.

It seems strangely lucky then, that I work in an eclectic restaurant where we give fortune cookies with our ice cream desserts that provide me with oddly reassuring words of wisdom, such as this one, encouraging life as it presents itself, sunshine or not.

Ohhhh Arvo.
How?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8qg_0P9L6c


Here's to you, young violinist under Union Square off of the L train.

Thank you, young man, for putting feeling back into my life.
For reminding me how to feel joyous and heartbroken at the same time, protective yet vulnerable. If I could tell you of the world's past, present, future, of my past, present, and future in that moment, that moment you were playing for me because nobody else existed for all else had disappeared, and I wish, I wish I hadn't gotten on the train and left you behind because I'll never find you again and you, You were beautiful, You are beautiful, everything was, everything is.
Thank you.

the unbearable lightness of being

"Is this your first time in India?"

"Yes. Do you think we'll be alright?"

"It's going to be extraordinary."


It's times like this, as I test and buy beds from Ikea and put down payments on an apartment and search for a solid, long lasting bookcase, all items that one day will hold considerable weight in my life, that clearly are already extremely meaningful in a way that I can't quite understand, that the unbearable lightness of being is simply unbearable and I can't help but lament that I have put money down on an apartment and a bed and a bookcase.
And not a ticket back to India or some other wonderfully indescribable and exciting place.

"In India, we have a saying. Everything will be alright in the end. If it's not alright, it's not the end."

Life in a Day

What's your story?
What's in your pockets?
What do you fear the most?

3 questions, 4,500 hours of video footage, 192 nations, 1 day - July 24, 2010
An insightful, moving compilation of Youtube videos and footage obtained through cameras given to those in developing countries to "represent the whole world," Life in a Day revealed the world in all her many colors - concepts of war and of beauty, of fear and pure joy, of sadness and light, of greed and humility, of strength.
In short, 94 short minutes documenting this wonderful world through the eyes of her amazing people.

That said, it prompted me to figure out what I was doing on July 24th, 2010.
It was the first Saturday after the World Cup, and I was participating in field school in Gozo. It was nearing the end of the program and to remember the time spent in Gozo, my friend got this memento:

One year later, July 24th, 2011, I took this picture in Durham, NC where I was participating in the American Dance Festival. It had been a sad summer, and I was packing to go home - it was the only picture of the day:

With a day being the building blocks of our lives, its important to take each day seriously, but not too seriously, and recently a friend, who leads a notoriously non-stop lifestyle, said  "Seize the day my friends, because time only leaves dry bones and tombstones."

It's amazing what can happen in just one day.

I gave my 2 weeks notice today.

While I'll miss getting paychecks (but only over Christmas), I will not miss my current miserable working condition of being in a stupid place with an incredibly rude and self-important GM.

Meanwhile, Life Goes On.
I have come to realize that I am not the aimless type, wandering around doing odd jobs just to get by. Despite my fondness for this type of lifestyle (thanks, Kerouac) and maybe even once entertaining the idea that I liked the idea of wandering around in search of whatever it is that people search for while wandering around, that I could be that person, I am not, in fact, that person.
And... I haven't ever been.
Romantic? Yes, I am. In theory. Kinda. In books and all.

Anyways.

What I have come to realize is that I do not want a "job."
I am actually searching for a "career."
While I am not looking for complete security and comfort and a home and stability, etc. I want to know that I am in a mutually beneficial relationship, both giving and receiving. I appreciate seeing the fruits of my labor, not in monetary terms, although it is nice, but I like knowing that I am doing something worthwhile and something I like.
Which consequently, means I have an awesome degree that I will actually be using, because I DO NOT BELIEVE AT ALL that you have to work just to get by - I do think that I can be doing what I like and want to be doing, while also maintaining the flexibility of being able to pick up and go, because that is what my career lets me do - asks me to do - wants me to do.

I recently got a degree in a subject that lets me philosophize, wander around foreign countries and museums alike, read endlessly both classic literature with important academic yet everyday insights and the books that are always on discount at Barnes and Nobles because nobody else cares about the Religions of the World and their Famous Places or the methodology behind cultural assimilation, attend dance classes and performances alike, and have a solid understanding of the human body, mind and human rights issues across the globe, and write papers on the stuff I spent hours on the internet, in the library/lab/field/abroad or wherever I want to be, researching.

yayy anthropology!



On another note, I actually spent some time outside of work and interning yesterday to see a sunset from my rooftop, and to document the work I have been doing with my internship (meaning, I work for an amazing dance company with a beautiful vision and the interdisciplinary and multifaceted works of art produced make me a very proud intern.)

Thanksgiving 2011

It's Thanksgiving night and I'm watching a special on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which I watched earlier this morning from my couch in Brooklyn.
This year's parade was the 85th year of the parade.
It's a special featuring all of the hosts, since its first broadcast in 1932(?), a history of the special day, and all of the memories that come with the Macy's Day Parade - all of the marching bands, all of the Rockettes performances, all of the rockstars and Broadway stints, the balloons and the floats and the movies and tv shows that have mentioned or given a cameo to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, all of the times it has been cancelled because of using the balloon rubber during WWII, or almost about to be cancelled due to Sept.11, and of course, the weather.
And somewhere along the way, someone stated that the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is one of those things that you always have important memories attached to - something you always remember.

And I love that. Because I don't think I thought about it until every single one of those hosts tonight mentioned it. I mean, I know that I always associate the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and post dog show with Thanksgiving, and turkey and family and picking up pecans in Bishopville and trampoline jumping when I was smaller and the day after Christmas tree buying with my family and
strangely enough, Susan's house at the kid's table and after dinner walk around Converse Heights, but I never really thought about it - I never really put it all together.
Now I do have a new, and very distinct and meaningful memory associated with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade... I will forever remember Thanksgiving 2011 as the Thanksgiving I lived in NYC by myself, and made tomato soup and an apple cranberry crisp at 2 in the morning and slept late enough to have to watch the Macy's Day Parade on television and ran to my roof to see if I could hear the parade from Brooklyn and read China Boy in the coat check closet while hearing people outside my banishment closet eating and enjoying their time with their loved ones.

Luckily, it didn't kill me, and now I'm stronger.
Thanks to all of my family and loved ones, whose support and advice and love and strength truly got me through this holiday without being physically by my side.
I know it was hard being together, and hard for us to be apart.
You are in my heart and thoughts each and every day, but especially... especially today.

I hope you had a great Thanksgiving and I absolutely cannot wait to see you all at Christmas.

A wise woman told me once, "Wherever you go, there you are."



I'm feeling quiet as I try to stomach this idea, and get my bearings together on my life, figure out some sense of routine, of normalcy, and as I gear up for my first holiday by myself here in NYC. I'm not looking forward to it, but I do believe I'll get through it. I bought potatoes, and smothered in cheese and butter, and paired with some asparagus, they should keep me content for a bit.
I also bought some spaghetti, so that's an option, should I decide that is what I would rather have.

I am fully aware that Sister Schuberts will be eaten in my name at the kids table, and I hope that someone keeps up my stealthy tradition of stealing turkey while nobody is looking. That would just be delightful.

I'm thankful for the time that my family gets to spend together, and I'm thankful that even if we can't all be together, we are in each others hearts and minds, and that we will always have each other, no matter what. I'm thankful, most of all, for the strength that I see in each and every family member, and I'm thankful for the love that we all share, for the love that I constantly feel.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Glee.
Glee makes me happy.
It makes me laugh, and dance around my room in my underwear. It makes folding clothes, and cleaning up a cheerful event. It is one of those little things that while fake and unrealistic, is charming and hopeful and lifts my spirits by transporting me to a happy place.

On that note, my friend Lisa from Elon just got the part of Sandy in the national tour of Grease.
Yay Lisa!! So excited for big (and slick) hair, leather jackets, dance numbers in poodle skirts (and high heels!) and songs that I know every single word of.
I'm so proud of my talented and amazing friends.

Tuesday

Free days turn into busy days in light of the upcoming Gala and 10th anniversary performances of Shen Wei Dance Arts.
Luckily, I feel useful, and like I have friends there. Not best buds, but I trust them, and we have fun together.
Today, I was given 2 gifts - one physical, the other verbal.

"If the motherland is not united, I have no will to go to work."
A replica of a popular old notebook from early Communist China, I love my new empty little notebook, with the image of a family on the front, and old musty brown pages, with the communist star at the corner of each page, it was a gift from Shen Wei and his assistant Stephen, who have recently returned from China.
Somewhere along the way I guess they heard I liked to write, and that I take notes obsessively, and that I carry 2 notebooks around already - one for thoughts and quotes and choreography and music, the other for random stuff, like grocery lists and directions and things to do.

The other gift was a comment made by one of the Shen Wei staff, as we were talking about what comes after December... of course, I am welcome to stay and continue to work with them. But I would easily be able to find a paying arts admin job, and that I had a whole office of references should I need them to vouch for me.

As I am in a strange transitioning area in my life (does it ever stop?), knowing that I have support from people I have freely pledged my time to, despite some mishaps along the way, is a positive thing that makes me extremely happy for the chance I have been given to work with this company.

Monday

Monday. Today was a decent day.
I completed and sent off a job application.
I did useful things at SWDA.
And work was slow.

Sunday was also a decent day, for which I am glad, because I think the explorative Sunday run after depressing lonely morning pancakes around my new neighborhood made me feel better about my past week-long tunnel vision to the subway to SWDA to work to home late to sleep and up early to do it all again without any personal/academic/mental/physical/workforce/intellectual/friendship gain and merely in the daily grind of making it all work living life just to get by resentfulness and the tiny bit of fresh air, dance class and reading in the banishment closet at work helped me breathe a little bit. A very tiny bit. I can't explain why, yet.

I've been back in NYC for a week and a day now, and tomorrow is my 1st day off. Think of it as my Saturday. Friday will be my Sunday.
Thank God.

I think I will spend the day at the Museum of Natural History. Which I think is a magnificent way to spend a Tueserday. A day spent in an amazing museum, next to Central Park, and I can maybe do a little Christmas shopping too, because all of that superhappyholidayinNYC stuff is popping up everywhere and I think I can probably find something cool on a Tueserday, no?

A nice family from Florida (I mean, they asked me, what are you? Gamecock or Clemson fan?... nostalgia) gave me their 4 unused CityPass booklets, and I now have free access to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Museum of Natural History, MOMA, and a few other awesome places that I have always wanted to visit, for the next 9 days.

Yay, for Tueserdays.

Sunday

Despite my deep hatred for my new job and everything that it stands for, as well as an extreme dislike for some of the individuals that I have to work with, there are good aspects of it.

As in - Today I needed a break. Like, a breather from this last week of getting back to NYC and goingogingoingoingoingnewjobinternshipdanceworkworkwork but I was still called in to SWDA, I still took a dance class and I still had to go into work and I got there and was banished to the coatcheck room, which might just be my new heaven, because banishment to the coatcheck room equals hourly pay + tips + reading. I was told that I can't lean on the door, but I can sit and read a book.
So I did.
I got some Allyn time, where I did something I wanted to do, as in sit down and read an awesome book.
Be friendly and give patrons corresponding tickets for their NYC shopping spree crap.
And I got paid for it.
And I had very little interaction with the people I extremely dislike.

So, yea... Despite my deep hatred for my new job and everything that it entails... I'm glad coat check exists...?

Friday

It's late Friday night and I'm sitting all alone in my empty apartment. I've had quite the day, emotionally, mentally. Lots of questions, inner debates.

There is this song that I listen to sometimes... ok, a lot... it's the kind of song that makes me both extremely happy and can bring me to tears at the next second.

I don't know if it is my love of the fiddle, or the way it reminds me of how much I love contra dancing and the swing of being in a wonderful, giving, supportive community that shares many of my ideals and way of thinking and living, or maybe it is because it reminds me in its nuances, the collaboration, and conversation between the different instruments of everyday life of what it means to make it through a day, of the various things that occur, or because it can simultaneously bring everything I can even possibly feel to the surface, happiness and the thought of hearing such good music and being thoroughly impressed and in awe at the musicians' different talents and voices, and sadness at reminding of all the things that I love, but can't always have. 

it's just that kind of song for me.

The first time I heard it I stood in the living room, staring in amazement, full of happiness yet close to tears, just swaying because it somehow reminded me of why I love to move, why I love to wake up everyday - I feel hopeful when I hear this song. Things will be alright.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-31e8Nlujw

Thurdays

This morning, on my way to my internship, I watched a Buddhist monk try, failing, to swipe his metro card at Union Square.
The machines are down, and have been for several days.


This afternoon, after both my internship and my dance class, and before going to work (did I mention I got a job!? yay for $$$... even if I am just a hostess with an icky GM), I was sitting on the R train on the way back to Union Square scarfing down my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and grapes that I had packed for my lunch/dinner when a woman jumped on the train, claiming she had multiple sclerosis, and a 12 yr. she was raising alone in a shelter. I listened as I ate, until she said she accepted anything - money, food, or drink. I looked down at my half-empty Tupperware dish and after a minute of debate, held out the other half of my sandwich, and the remaining bunch of grapes.
But she never came my way.

Should I have chased her down?

Some Fall Reflections

It's a weather confused Friday in Inman, SC as I prepare to return to NYC for the 3rd time in 2 months, (I tell ya, this place seems incredibly resistant to my presence in the city!) and on the fridge are two postcards, side by side.
One says, "Portland, Oregon," held up by a SHIFT computer key magnet. The other says, "New York," held up by a dancing monkey in a hat magnet.

It's funny the decisions we make in our lifetime, the paths we choose, the things we decide to pursue and the reasons why. Of course there will always be the times where we wonder to ourselves, did I choose correctly? Is it worth it? Am I doing the right thing? And the times when we think about all the things we aren't doing because of the path we chose (I am very guilty of this, it seems I will never be completely satisfied with where I am at any chosen moment, always wanting to be everywhere at once, doing everything I possibly can... I suppose you can say that I'm an experience junkie...) and it all comes down to what we decide to do with what we have given, with how we have set ourselves up, with what we give ourselves.

When I left NYC the last time, I was confused about being able to come back, which at the moment, was the only thing I could think about - When and How do I get back here as soon as possible?
And my wise friend Marianna said, "You just have to hold what you want in front of your face like a carrot."

And I thought... I have a bunch of carrots. Like, a lot of carrots.





Thankfully, I'm 22.
It's weird to have to remind yourself of your age, but really. Everything happens for a reason, and I have to remember that just because I am not doing absolutely everything right at this moment, like I want to be doing, I have a bunch of carrots in front of my face that represent both things to do and the amount of time to get them done.
The other thing I have to remember is, "Do not put off until tomorrow that which you are willing to die without having done," and I should have no problem achieving everything I have set myself to do.
No worrying necessary.

Here are some things my friends are doing, things that help keep me motivated to keep chasing all the things I want, and to not settle, to never settle.

Olivia Rae James' blog - she is traveling and having a blast in Europe.
http://www.olivia-rae.com/

Jesse and Natalie's blog, as they travel around Sri Lanka as US Ambassador's with Training for Trusteeship:
http://storiesfromthedustyroad.wordpress.com/


That said, I had a wonderful restful time at home.
I love home, and I am most thankful that I can always come back.

Some scenes from SC:

My sunny happy home

My Tree

My Bottles

 My curious and then tuckered out kitty baby

My favorite Charlestonians, Brooklyn and Kyle

My Charleston

My Suz

"Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone"