ON this very moment.

I think it's sort of hilarious that I sneak over to this blog to write things down that are sitting in my heart. I understand branding and the business of being a business just a little too well and so I never want to cross those lines on the mustard seed co blog. I like to keep that shiny and polished and brand-centric (you know, that is, when I actually write over there).

But this little space is so safe. Anyone who still reads it knows that I pour out my heart here, that I'm honest almost to a fault. And may I also say I think it's hilarious how many readers I still have? I can see those stats, you guys, and it blows my mind that people continue to come here to read. Thus furthering my point about authenticity - when we just are who we are, people want more. When we present something that makes sense and flows really well and we look great on, it can be give or take. I've always thought that this blog would be the one to "take off", if you will, if I ever actually was consistent. Because being our true selves is, like, the freaking jam. It's where success lives. (Hey can someone remind me of this sometime? When I'm forgetting it? Great, thanks in advance.)

Every time I get back to my apartment from being home in NJ, I have to take a couple of days to shake back into my routine and life here. And every time I get back, I try to remind myself to be gentle with the transition. "Try" being the keyword. Coming back to the city means being slammed with the reminders that I have no idea where I will be living in a couple of months, and I mean that in regards to city, state, and apartment, including my current one. I'm slammed with the reminder of what I want and how far I often feel I'm from it (and how close). I'm slammed with the reminder of the people and animals who need help, who need others, with so many sitting on the ground around me. I'm slammed directly in all of my senses with all of the awesome and scary and loud and exciting things that make New York City what it is. I'm hit dead on with where I want to be, where I am, what I'm working toward, what I'm running from. And, of course, I'm kicked in the gut and in my heart with the missing human in my life. Still. Daily. Every blessed moment.

Re-reading all of that now it's easy for me to think "well of course all of that at once can make a girl a little wonky for a day or two". But in the moments of living it, I just want to be past it. I want to know the future, I want a clear freaking answer on if I should move and if that's down the street or across the country. I want guidance and a big giant sign that says I'll be fine financially, emotionally, physically, and in so many other ways.

But that giant sign is faith, right? That's what we do, right? We keep taking these steps forward despite the fact that we are wobbling around in darkness, completely unsure of what's in front of us, with feet and legs that can't seem to remember how to move, and a pounding heart. We keep going. And the difference here is that many just stop. They feel the power of fear and they just stop. Even if they are urged to move for the rest of their life, they won't. They stay frozen and cave to fear. But we get to choose faith. We get to say that it is bigger than that paralyzing fear. And so there I am again, on my knees, face pointed upward, sobbing and talking and asking and praying and wanting and trusting.

And while it doesn't sound so fun, or feel so good in the moment, it is the only thing keeping me moving forward. And that is some powerful shit. The days I cross my arms and stomp my feet and say no to God and no to praying and no to trusting are so much worse than any handful of minutes spent crying on my floor. The times I spend thrusting a hand over my eyes and refusing to look at God and demanding that I know best are so much freaking worse than the terrifying moments of taking a tiny step forward when I feel God call me to move. It is so much worse when I pretend that I'm in charge. I'm not in charge, and neither are you. It's all Him. I grant that this sounds insane and ridiculous and terrifying but damn if it isn't true. It's insane how insane it is, because it is TRUE. And terrifying. And glorious.

The other day, I was walking behind a family in central park. People not from New York tend to walk in a straight line so they can, like, actually see and hear each other (what is that about?) and so I literally was forced to walk behind them as I caught my breath from the run I'd just had. In between my wheezing, I heard one of them say something about how he didn't understand why people run. Another cracked a joke about New Yorkers needing to run so they can run away from their crazy lives. And I thought to myself how that's not it at all. How it's the opposite. That we are running, full steam ahead, with everything we've got, toward our lives. We are the brave ones running head on toward it. We are running toward the amazing things that are on their way. We are running with each tiny, terrifying step.

I don't have any answers still. I'm like a one-woman detective team with my quest for "signs" - a certain song will play and I'm convinced it means to move somewhere, I'll see a certain word and I'm convinced it means to make that call, and so on. I honestly have no idea what's coming next and God is drilling that so hard into my brain you'd think I would freaking accept it by now. Sometimes I think He's like "hey Kerry, I'm running out of ideas here on how to get you to see that you cannot control your life or know what's happening next. Can you do me a solid and just surrender to it? Cool, thanks!" But even with absolutely no answers, and even with all this pain and fear and wondering and growth, I have this faith. And He calls me to take a step. And to take another. And if I'm lucky, I do it. Slowly, steadily. Step.

And step. And step. And step. And step.

Kerry At The Moment; Or, Why Blogging Before Bed Is Dangerous

 I picked this photo because after you read this, you'll be looking at me like this ^^

Something is shifting in my life. You know that feeling? When something just doesn't feel right. Not in a bad way, just in an uncomfortable-things-are-shaking way.

This seems to happen a lot in my life, come to think of it.

The best way I can explain it is that my entire being is hitting the 'reset' button but unfortunately everything and everyone around me is still in hyperactive go mode and expects me to stay at the pace I've been keeping. I've found myself opening my computer to delete facebook roughly 17 times in the past two days, until I remember that I run social media accounts as part of my job. But I have zero desire to be on it. I have a constant urge to hide under my blankets until I can navigate this time of growth in a way that doesn't make everything else feel impossible. I'm so removed that I didn't even look at my phone for nearly the last 48 hours and didn't open my laptop once and I was so happy.

The most telling thing is that I have literally zero fucks to give about almost everything. It's like whatever change and growth is going on here with me is so big, so overwhelming that I don't have time for anything petty, drama filled, ridiculous, or minimal. Scratch that - I almost don't have any time or space within me to deal with anything else. At all. The handful of people that matter so much to me are getting my attention, plus my babydogs of course, but that's it. That's all I've got room for. It's making me a bit of a crappy friend but every time I start to want to remedy the situation, my inner voice tells me to hold tight, keep waiting, trust in what I'm doing.

I'm craving a really big change. An overhaul. I'm craving getting back to doing only the things that I love with my whole heart. I've recently had this realization that every single thing I decide to do, I do successfully. If I care about it, I nail it. Ridiculous things that I shouldn't even really be able to do, I'm doing or have done. But here's the other realization that came along with it: just because I'm able to do something well doesn't mean I should be doing it. I'm not 100% sure what that means yet but it was one of those realizations that stopped me in my tracks and those are the kind that come to fruition.

Is any of this making sense?

The most clear way I can think to explain it is that I got very lost somewhere along the way, trying to be everything to everyone and terrified that any further success would be tied to continued pain. In acting, in love, in everything. That if I got the things I wanted, I would suffer for the next few years because of getting them. But many a year later, and so much pain later, I'm now able to see that belief system as what it is: made up. False. A way to keep myself at bay. And now I've made peace with that realization but am still in the middle of the woods, looking around, like "okay, now what?" but in a way that sometimes is like "okay! now what?!" because it's exciting to recognize that I can literally do anything, that I succeed at anything I decide to do, and that I am so exhausted with pleasing others that I'm free in a way I've never known. But all the while, I'm still in the woods, still lost. Or at least, not found quite yet.

What is that horribly annoying saying about when you lose the most important thing in your life, you're able to do anything? It's a cheesy quote scribbled into thousands of teenager's journals and probably also pressed onto some walls with those removable decals. Anyway, you know what I mean. Wait - once you've lost everything, you're free to do anything? Is that it? (Is this the best post you've ever read or what?) That's where I'm at. I feel like the last 6 months were the most painful stripping away of everything that I'd decided mattered the most to me. It's actually still going on but I can feel it slowing down and also there's very little left so, you know. It wiped out people, relationships, situations, opportunities, etc. If you had any idea how many times in the past six months I've spent sobbing on my floor, talking to (yelling at) God, asking Him to please just show me what the hell He wanted me to do, you would send presents and pat me on the head every time you saw me with one of those pitying looks.

But the whole time this has been going on and I've been using up every tissue in the stock of boxes I had under my bed, there has been this calm voice telling me to keep going. Stay steady on this path, that it's good things that are coming. That this is a clearing out so God can work in my life in a new way that I cannot even imagine yet. That this massive amount of pain and uncertainty is exactly perfectly timed and I just need to trust it. When I'm totally calm about it, there is this peace I feel that I've never felt before ever and honestly, that part is maybe the scariest.

I'm not sure this blog post is even going anywhere. No, I know it's not. Part of me hopes that my friends who read it will maybe understand why I'm currently AWOL and that it has nothing to do with them but that it's too hard to explain over and over so I'm just not explaining. Part of me hopes that writing it out is just the next step in clarity. The other day I realized that the main reason I make art is because I desire for everyone to know they are not alone in their experience in this world. The struggles, the pain, the love, the bliss, the joy. The things we keep locked away in our heads or our bedrooms are actually things that everyone else is going through or has gone through or will go through. And if one of you reading this is nodding along, thinking of their own massive tissue causalities recently, feeling the way that I'm feeling, then that's why I felt the need to write this. For you. For us.

This is the part where I make the disclaimer that I am unbelievably blessed in so many ways that so many people will never get the gift of experiencing. That I'm not experiencing "real" problems, because I'm not! I still have most of my core family members, I still have my handful of lifetime best friends who stay steadfast with me while I'm in such a weird place, I have my health and the ability to see and hear and breathe and love. Sure, yes, have there been scary and painful things? Yes. Do I miss my best friend so much I feel insane most days without him to share all of this with and hear his input? Yes. Am I scared out of my mind about this large amount of unknowns? Yes. Have there been other things I'm not writing here because they are not your business? Yes. But still. Even without reading headlines of the latest world tragedies, I know how lucky and blessed I am and that all of this pain is leading to awesome. So don't go thinking I'm in pain and unbelievably self-centered. I may be a hot mess but I'm an aware, empathetic, praying for everyone hot mess.

I've been staying in NJ the past week and I keep falling asleep. Mainly after I meditate but other times, too. I've taken legit naps (something I never, ever do). I know this is my body managing the restart button that's happening. I know it's turning off so it can do what it needs to. Even in this moment, I am so, so tired. It's that deep kind of exhaustion that comes with massive life changes. Like I've got two miles left in my first marathon and I have no idea how I'm going to get to the finish line or how long it's going to take but there's this drive and truth and a voice that tells me to keep going, keep going, keep going. That it's not as far as I think.

So I keep going.

This Is What It's Like: An Eleven Block Walk On A Night In June

This is what it's like.

It's only finishing half of my drink because we're at a restaurant on the corner of your street and I can't risk drinking more than a few sips. It's being proud of myself for siting there and only giving an occasional fuck about it, but mostly none at all.

It's nearly tugging myself up the street when I want to do nothing more than run directly to your apartment.

It's feeling proud of myself with literally each step I take toward my home.

It's less than two blocks in and passing the place we would meet at to grab a lemonade for me and a grilled cheese for you and feeling satisfied and sad in seeing the chairs have changed, like it was done in acknowledgement of our parting. I imagine management holding a meeting about it and laugh.

It's another two blocks up and passing the mexican restaurant where you fidgeted around as you spoke with frustration over this business, your insecurities bright. Where, outside, you wrapped your arm around me, tugging me in to you, still on the phone with your brother, whom I already loved without ever meeting. The place where I passed on seeing you later and wondering if that was The Night.

It's the place right next to that where we ate the last meal we had together. Where I insisted on dining with someone else soon after just so it wouldn't look like you anymore.

If I turn my head away from this place and look to my left, my eyes land directly where we sat and had one of the most important conversations of our time together, and probably the realest. A place I take myself to almost daily because it is my favorite regardless of your existence. Proof that you, nor anyone, can ever take away anything good in my life as long as I claim my joy to be mine.

It is just a few feet away from the spot where I saw you last, the amount of tears on your face only outweighed by the amount of pain and confusion covering it. A place where I walk my dogs up and down and back again and don't think of it as I laugh over their antics and say hello to the people I've grown to know there.

It's hitting my block and remembering you just spent all of last week working right here and not once did you walk the three minutes to my door. It's hating that I don't get to hear about the experience.

It's coming inside and distracting myself with social media and seeing one of your best friend's face pop up on my newsfeed, and another on my instagram, because I'm finally now aware that I'm an artist and our communities are overlapping far too often. Namely because they are the same community.

And this is just one night, one walk home, less than an hour's time.

This is what it's like.

It's choosing myself over you, every day, every minute.
It's talking to God about you every morning, praying that He works in your heart daily.
It's walking on other streets, other blocks, turning left instead of right, purposefully.
It's walking wherever I damn well please.
It's listening to old voicemails from you every time another boy kisses me, your voice coming through my phone like a blanket wrapped around my heart.
It's knowing, absolutely knowing, you think my newly acquired, varied, and consistent success and happiness actually has something to do with you; being self-centered enough to think you can make or break my career or life, confusing loving someone with thinking you know what's best for them, instead of recognizing the truth or asking me about it.
It's the amount of things I'm dying to tell you, share with you, ask about, piling up so much in my head that I would never remember them all.
It's finally learning, in the most awful way, how to undo the belief systems that told me I couldn't have you and my career, that told me I wasn't good enough, that told me what I was supposed to do and be and say with you, that had cluttered and covered me. It's unlearning all of them at the expense of my heart.
It's caring, it's not caring, it's caring, it's not caring.
It's the beautiful recognition that every time I said my happiness is within me is actually the truth. I had only mostly believed it then, repeated it often to soothe you and motivate me, but now basking it it like God has plucked me out of the darkness and threw me into the light. Because He has.
It's every random, crazy, never-thought-this-would-happen thing that is happening now that tells me each day that I do not know the outcome.

It's not knowing the outcome.

This is what it's like.

irreplaceable spark

if you're anything like me -

and when I say "me" I mean an actor, an artist, an entrepreneur, a motherfucking hustler, a self-employed human, or anyone who does not live in a world where paychecks come by the regular and anyone who has not eaten popcorn for dinner once or twice, laughing at the absurdity of it all -

if you are in fact anything like me then tax day is no fun at all. that was this morning for me. just the yuck of all yucks and while the knowledge that it could be massively worse is a comfort, it's the kind of comfort akin to a blanket thrown on a bleeding wound. not exactly going to fix the problem but makes it slightly easier to tolerate.

and I'm on my way back uptown today when that small voice offers some thoughts:

'this is ridiculous'
'enough is enough'
'am I doing everything I possibly can be to get what I want?'
'you should do more. try harder.'
'what are you doing this for anyway?'
'why are you choosing to live like this if you aren't going for it fully?'

(if you are anything like me then you know these voices. this time to qualify to be like me, you need only be breathing.)

so the whole team had showed up for the party: shame (present!), guilt (accounted for!), anger (here and ready to be mad!), frustration (yep), doubt (I think I'm here?), and all their other annoying cousins you definitely did not invite. except you did. sort of. so you need to be a good host and acknowledge them.

instead of falling into a great big pile of these ol' buddy ol' pals, I decided to say hello to them, acknowledge that they had arrived and quickly take my babies on a walk to our favorite place. and we had some good long chats on that walk, me and my babies and the sky and the shame team and God and my heart and all the friendly people who asked if they could say hi to the dogs. a good long chat. before long I was back to coaching and working and la-dee-da-ing and it was okay.

and then I saw this quote. and I thought fuck those shame thoughts, fuck those doubting fears and fuck taxes. taxes are those hopeless swamps. part of them anyway. and swamps are made for mucking through to come out on the other side, shake off like a wet dog, and get back to doing what matters.

so now. if you're anything like me and taxes have caught you in their swampy swampness (or another swamp like creature has caught you in this moment), please scroll back up and re-read this quote over and over until it has made itself a home in your heart.

what you are doing matters. what we are doing matters. keep listening to that steady voice that says you are on your path even if it looks nothing like the path next to you that's lined with roses and hundred-dollar bills. you don't know what actually comes with that path. you are on the right one. stay with it.

it is real, it is possible, it is yours.
it is real, it is possible, it is yours.
it is real, it is possible, it is yours.

on MESSAGES

**I wrote this awhile ago and promptly forgot to post it. Upon finding it, it still feels worthy of sharing. Add on a few weeks when you see the number 3. Add on a few things to my lists. Make them real good in your head, I won't ask.**

We were early on in our walk when Henry froze up. All it takes is a loud truck or a lot of people to stop him in his tracks. I knelt down and he ran directly into my arms, paws using my knee like a launch pad. I pressed my mouth next to his ear and quietly said, "You're safe, I'm right here. I got you, kid."

I looked up and realized I was directly under a large church. The message was not missed.
__

In the last 3 weeks, I have changed my hair color and started to grow out my bangs.
I've begun guitar lessons and begun conversations with musicians and producers.
I've started to work with a doggy behaviorist, finding myself carrying meatballs on each walk.
I've taken on a handful of new clients, more than I expected for the shortest month of the year.
I've gone out with other boys, seen best friends, had visits from people who live across the country.
I've seen three Broadway shows, one reading, and one where men made for gorgeous women.
I've taken myself to the MoMA, to the park, to Lincoln Center, out to eat, to get my nails done.
I've been in auditions, callbacks, on-screen with producers in other states, and recorded endless copy.
I've re-arranged my room, changed out the furniture, planted a vision board next to my bed.
I've purged items and papers and junk and clothing and books, donating to people and garbage cans.
I've had endless dreams where I am going up and down stairs, all types, in all places, always stairs.
__

We were still sitting on the fountain, my favorite place of all, in one of our Conversations. We must have been nearing an hour by then, the summer heat cooling down as evening was settling in. He was continuing on when he said something that struck me:

"I want to know where God is in our relationship."

It quickly became the second best thing he's ever said to me. The first, I realized, had been about God, too.
__

I was antsy tonight. Checking my phone every few seconds. Instagram, texts, facebook, emails, on repeat. I started to work and stopped a million times. I put on a new episode of pretty little liars, my favorite, but my eyes darted around, hands grabbing for the phone again, feet restless. I was mad at God and ignoring the calming voice telling me to pray, to talk it out. I kept picking up my phone instead, clicking back to facebook, when I heard it:

"What are you looking for? You won't find it there. Pray."

This time it didn't feel like a suggestion.
__

In the last 3 weeks, I've looked up apartments in other cities, way too many flights.
I've been given multiple gifts, from people I expected them from and people I do not even know.
I've been to church every Sunday at 12:30, usually running late because of course I am.
I've drunk dialed the safest people I could, the ones across the country, too far to meet up.
I've remembered why I hate drinking and don't do it.
I started on a young artists board with an incredible group of other artists, makers, creatives, thinkers.
I've soulcycled my little heart out, hitting each beat beat beat beat, singing along.
I've reached out to new voice teachers, joined a group to read plays just for the sake of reading them.
I've re-designed my website, re-designed my resume, submitted to endless casting breakdowns.
I've finally finalized plans for my business website and logo with my designer.
I've had amazing opportunities, exciting things that made me jump around with delight.
I've fielded questions about you in a way that has taught me the definition of grace.
I have been busy.
__

I know without a doubt that we are put into situations and frustrations and challenges to learn lessons and grow as humans. I also know none of us have any damn idea what is going to happen next in our lives, despite our desperate and strong beliefs that we definitely-absolutely-totally are planned and ready.

When I talk about following my gut and what I'm called to do, people are excited and on board. When I talk about God, sometimes some of those people are not so sure anymore. To me, it is the same thing. A voice, a calling, guiding me. When I hear "myself" I believe I'm hearing God's will. When I refer to my truth, it's God's truth, too.

For years, I have had this boy on a pedestal but God was not on one. Over the past year, it's started to shift. The pedestal was gone, choosing to stand eye to eye instead, a better view for both of us. I started to talk to God again, started to turn to passages from the bible, started to go back to church and started to really like it. I mean, I named my business after a passage that I love, that I felt called to use. I picked my designer based on a gut instinct that God wanted me to work with her. My life has actually gotten monumentally better in the past year and even better with each step closer back to God. Like, shockingly, surprisingly, mind blowingly better. But still, this boy, my whole heart, my eyes just as wide for him as they are for God. No, even wider. So it's really no wonder to me that I've been flipped up and over and shaken and set back down on the ground without my best friend next to me. It's no wonder that I'm being called back to God even louder now. It's no wonder that I'm being literally forced to replace my fear with my faith. It's also no wonder that I have peace in my heart despite the unknowns and worries coursing through my veins, through my mind. It's no wonder that I am still filled with pure love for him, despite confusion and pain.

And in these past 3-ish weeks, despite the endless list of what I have done, what I had not done yet was hand it on over to God. So tonight I did just that. Take it, lead me, bring me closer to you. Bring him closer to you. If you want us back together, let it be when we're both back with you. Give him the grace he needs to do the work he wants to do in his heart and on his life. Work in him. Work in me. Let him seek out God, that's where he can find me.

We all love a good happy ending. We all nod in agreement as we listen to people talk about how they just needed a month or two apart or a year or two apart in order to realize they didn't want to be apart. We chime in about how important it is to take the time to work on ourselves before being with our partners. But what about while that part is happening? What about the part where we're uncertain, fumbling around like baby deer, just trying to get our footing underneath? What about the middle section of discovering and questioning? The part where the lesson hasn't yet been made fully clear because we're still literally in it? What about the part where we're wildly uncomfortable?
__

I had caved and been talking out loud for a few minutes when Layla started to fuss, moving from my pillow down to the mattress, laying one way before flipping around to the other and kicking her feet into me. I leaned down to her and smoothed her fur, calming her down. "Can't get comfortable, huh? It's okay, I'm right here, you're okay. Shh, you're okay, you're okay."

The message was not missed.

Sunday Nights Are Great For Love Letters.

photos from this week. mainly bc my computer quit and instagram is all I got for ya

Sometimes I just get these clear, calming thoughts. Most likely that's from meditation and the paradox process and, you know, God and the Universe and Nature and all of that. BUT it got me thinking. What if our future selves can reach out to us right now and send us little love messages? So I'm writing myself a love letter from my future, older, wiser self.

Because these are the things I do on a Sunday night and also because I would very much like to have a talk with her soon. Here's what I think she would say.
___

Dear Kerry,

Calm down. It's going to be just fine. All of it. I promise. Calm down.

It's actually a lot more fun to go through life not knowing what's going to happen next. Think about it: haven't all of the best times been things you never saw coming? Yes, they have been. I know that's true because I was there for them, too. I know it feels scary and uncomfortable right now but it won't always feel like this. I know you're worried everything is going to fall to pieces but it won't.

Spoiler alert: we absolutely get everything that is meant for us. All of the meant-for-us things are ours. We win! Yay! I'm not going to tell you what they are because I'd rather you enjoy the experience of your life as it happens but trust me, they are good. Really, really, deliciously, outrageously good. Keeping on that note, we do not get anything that is not meant for us. Another spoiler alert: by now we could give two shits about those things because they were not meant for us. And the things that are meant, that are ours, are so awesome that we can't even remember what those other things were.

You are really, really loved. You are loved so much you can't comprehend it quite yet and that's okay, but it's important you know this. I know you feel kind of crummy right now and I'm sorry. Think about every other time you felt sad, confused, or alone, and remember that each and every time that happens it turns you into a better person. You are not going to feel this way forever. In fact, you already don't feel this way all the time or even most of the time. Don't let the once-in-awhile feeling trick you into believing it's never going to stop.

You've already learned by now that you somehow just know things. You don't understand why or how but there are some clear truths that hit you hard and you simply know them. You know. Stop trying to figure out why you have this gift, stop judging if it's cool or weird and stop messing with your own head and convincing yourself you don't know or you might be wrong. When it comes to these things, you are always right and you do just know. Trust in it. Even, and most especially when it feels scary or hard to trust yourself.

Let him take the time he needs to become the person he wants to be. You can't do it for him, no matter how much you want to. He can't be with you until he figures out who he is and he can't figure out who he is with you by his side. Sometimes the best way to love someone is to let them wade out into the mucky waters by themselves to learn they can figure out how to get back out on their own.. instead of scrambling to build them a canoe and fashion them a life vest and yell like hell from the shore. I know you're scared he won't make it back out and I know you're scared he won't return home to you. But even with all of that fear, you have to let him figure it out on his own. Put down the life vest. He did the same for you.

You're actually doing a lot better than you give yourself credit for. Keep working on giving yourself that credit. Be nice to yourself. You're listening to your calling, and creating the life you want for yourself and that right there is enough to throw a freaking party over. You're living in New York City and you're making it work somehow and that's also worth a celebration. Keep working from the place of serving others and you cannot lose. Remember that gifts are meant to be shared. Quit keeping most of yours to yourself, that's called being selfish. God gave you these gifts for a reason. And sing more, would you? You like to sing.

Just wait until you see how great it gets. Every experience, every pain, every fear was totally worth it to get us to where we are now (something you can already understand, right?). Keep swimming. I love you!

Love,
an older, wiser, incredibly beautiful, still not modest, but happier than a pig in shit,
You

Unapologetic; Or a post on 2014 and a case of the busy-busies.

this photo has nothing to do with this post. except i like it. and it fits my thoughts. credit: Philip Spaeth

Here's the thing: I really miss writing.

I keep wanting to write, thinking I should blog, but then - no, organize the new website for Mustard Seed, take the dogs out on a longer walk, finish that project, reply to the seemingly endless emails, eat-did-you-eat?, do the things, say the words, make the calls, blah blah blah. And then I don't. Mostly it's because I'm over here hoarding posts and post ideas for my soon-to-be new blog for my business website that I swear I am so close to finishing except no not at all but it's a damn good start. And I think about all these things and start to get overwhelmed and then I have to stop and take care of myself because I'm no good to the world if I'm no good to myself.

And I think about how I miss writing. And here we are.

I don't care for the idea that being busy stops you from doing what you love. That is potatoes. But I am a firm believer that we ourselves stop us from doing what we love. I see it in my clients, I see it in my community, I see it in myself. And when I spy something in myself that I don't like, I have to change it. Self-growth, change, working on myself provide me with a high unlike any other.

I've been searching around for my word for 2014. My clients and I have chosen some most excellent ones for themselves and I'm thrilled for them. My 2013 word was Brave. Capital B. And I look back at the past year and I can see how Brave weaved itself into my choices, my struggles, lessons, gains, Love, passion, and career. I can see it. I couldn't always then but that hindsight thing is no joke. 2013 blew my damn mind. I never saw any of it coming. Actually, if you had told me what would happen in 2013 a year earlier, I would have laughed my face off at you. So I'm eager to see what happens this year and am fairly without any expectations. I got that lesson loud and clear last year: you cannot control, you do not know, just show up and trust. But with that mindset, it can be hard to choose a word to encompass the upcoming year.

So I've been working through some: Light, for one. I find myself asking if that's a strong enough choice but I remind myself to be light multiple times a day so it's worth pursuing. Confidence, another. Release. Proclaiming. Balance. Commitment. And then tonight, I had a thought: Unapologetic. There's something about that word that lights up a part of me that I forgot I had and reminds me of who I am. In that deliciously unexpected way, you know? Like when you're wearing your favorite outfit and feel so right, or see a photo of yourself where you're like "oh, there I am". It feels like the piece of me that's been sitting quietly, waiting for the rest of me to come back for it.

Unapologetic. I like it.

Not in a way where I won't be apologizing. Obviously. But unapologetic about my life, my choices, what I feel like wearing, saying no to going out, saying no in general, enjoying the things I enjoy. Unapologetic about my love and ability to love and my words and my ability to speak them. Unapologetic about my success, about receiving compliments, about my commitment to hustling until I get everything I want. And freaking unapologetic about what it is that I want. And need. And crave. And hope for. And don't need. And don't want. Unapologetic about being myself.

I think the reason I love to blog so much is that it forces me to catch these tiny moments within my life that I may have missed otherwise. I don't want to miss those moments in my life. I don't want answering emails or making color palate choices or texting someone back or shoveling breakfast in my mouth to cause me to miss out on those simple, sweet, intoxicating, life-changing, life-awareness moments. I don't want to miss any of the magical life lessons that come from my sweet pups. I don't want to brush away Henry when he taps me on the shoulder with his paw (no but really he does this) because he needs something and I'm too busy working to have noticed. I don't want to miss the moments when the Universe and God are talking to me but I'm too busy updating my google calendar to hear them. I don't want to miss the way the sweetest man in the world looks at me because I'm too busy trying to plan the next time we'll be able to see each other. And I don't want to miss out on remembering these moments later because I was too busy to write them down.

I don't want to miss my life because I'm too busy creating the life I think I want.

I don't actually have a cute way of wrapping this up or tying it all together or even a point in why I'm writing except that I just needed to write. At this point I can't imagine anyone is still reading this thing but in a way that almost makes it better. And either way I don't care. It's for me, right here, right now. And I'm unapologetic about that. (Look at that, I DID have a cute way of tying it together.)

on AN UPDATE FROM HENRY & LAYLA

Hello internets, Henry Elliot here. Thought I'd give you a little catch up since it's been awhile since I posted and--
AND LAYLA JUNE. Layla June here. Layla. Layyyyyla. Did you see my dress? Go see dress. GO! Layla dress. Ruffles. Rufffffles. Ruff-ruff-ruffles.
Yes, ahem, Layla is here, too.
LAYLA. Layyylaa.
Yes, we all know your name, thank you. Now. Moving on. For the past few weeks, something very exciting has happened in our world, as we--
Is it my poop? Layla make poop!
No, Layla, it's not your poop. Seriously? I'm trying to make a blog post here. Anyway, the exciting news is that we have been back with our mommy full time.
MOMMY!
Yes, she's your mommy, too, though lord knows why that is..
WHAT you say? You say hurtful thing to Layla? I poop on you.
Moving right along, we have indeed been back with our mommy and it's been very exciting. Lots of time in the park and visiting the touristy places, taking in the sights, and so on. We've slept in the big bed each night, and mommy doesn't mind that we leave her approxamately two inches of space along the edge of the bed. She likes snuggling with us, so we try to sleep as close as possible.
Layla sleep on her head.
Yes, Layla likes to sleep on her head, while I enjoy just a bit more space. Perhaps a paw placed gently on her face. I'm considerate like that. Aside from the big bed, we enjoy the big park, and we do not enjoy the big trucks. Did you hear that, city? No more big trucks.
Henry scaredy-cat.
What was that?
No, nothing, go on.
Anyway, yes, it's been lovely. Things have been going smoothly, you know, except for the big trucks and when Layla throws up in the bed, and eats things on the street she shouldn't be eating--
CHICKEN. LAYLA LOVE CHICKEN.
Sigh. No but really, does anyone want a little Chihuahua mix? She's tiny, you wouldn't notice--
YOU try to sell Layla?! You try to rid life of a Layla?! Brother. You pay for this. You sleep with one eye open. You never see it coming! Layla NINJA! You insult Chihuahua, you must pay.
Okay, internet, well it looks like we're just about done here. Please do feel free to send treats to me. Er, us. To us. Have a nice day and--
TREATS! I hear TREATS!
Henry Elliot, over and out.

on I KNOW SHOULDN'T BUT I DO

Laying here, in a pile of notebooks (literally a pile of them), with my baby doggies laying in the middle of the bed, as I try to claim a corner for myself, and writing emails to clients at nearly 1 in the morning, I got to thinking.

I know I shouldn't bring my laptop and work into my bed... but I do.

I know I shouldn't let the dogs sleep in my bed... but I do.

I know I shouldn't be working so late at night... but I do.

I know I shouldn't eat dinner at 9 at night... but I do.

I know I shouldn't put my phone on silent so often... but oh my I sure do.

I know I shouldn't resist my own greatness... but sometimes I do.

I know I shouldn't skip brushing my teeth before bed... but once in awhile I do.

I know I shouldn't buy bottled water and use plastic bags... but I (sadly) do.

I know I shouldn't take cabs when I can take the train... but I do.

I know I shouldn't walk a crazy long route to get somewhere when I get take the train... but I do.

I know I shouldn't look at your instagram... but I sometimes still do.

I know I shouldn't worry about you, especially when you send emails like today ahem... but I do.

I know I shouldn't coddle my puppybabies and hand feed Henry... but I sure as heck do.

I know I shouldn't get so nervous to meet the people in your life... but I do.

I know I shouldn't get on a distraction train called the internet... but I do.

I know I shouldn't analyze what to do with my hair next all the time... but I delightfully do.

I know I shouldn't let the tv be on in the background when I'm working... but sometimes I do.

I know I shouldn't be blogging when I should be sleeping... but I do.

And I know I shouldn't believe in shoulds and shouldn'ts... and I don't ;)

This post has been brought to you by the letter P, for Procrastination. and Puppies. and Pie. because who doesn't like pie?

Happy Friday, friends!

on CAESAR MOVES TO THE MIDWEST

It took us a little while at first. We had to learn each other. One of us liked to pull the other one down the street, feet lifting up from underneath, hair flying in face, beagle nose on the move. We had to learn how to talk to each other, give and take, like any relationship. But the love had been there from the start.

Caesar taught me some really important things. Like what happens when we release control and push ourselves to go a little further. And that it's important to be held a lot. And that playing is a 24 hour a day commitment. And that trusting can be scary, but you just have to keep trying.

When C and his mom moved out of town last week, we had just wrapped up our last few days together. Long walks, and toy tosses, and couch time together. And a final "you're a good boy, Caesar, be good, I'll see you soon" and you better believe I started to cry as I left. These dogs that I get to watch, to take care of, they aren't just a job. They're furry bundles of lessons and love, and while the job sounds like an easy out for some quick cash, it's always me who ends up unbearably lucky to have gotten the chance. C was even more special as I'm currently taking a pause from the doggie-sitting world (we'll see how long that lasts) and he could very well have been the last. Plus, I have a soft spot for furry little boys with eyes that tell you they've seen things, and a need to know they're safe. C is lucky, he's got a great mom, who loves him so much, and has kept him through endless moves and changes and years. He is absolutely one of the lucky ones, and one of the sweetest, too.

You're a good boy, Caesar, be good, I'll see you soon.

on Stockpiling & an Elephant

... Do I write songs?  Why yes, yes I do.  Only a gabillion of them.

But here is the thing, if a great song is written, and it sits in a journal, tucked in a pile of blank-page books, scribbled into with purple black pink pens, on airplanes, in hallways, in beds, backstage, in places all over the country, in times of good and bad and inspiration.. does that song exist? Does singing it out loud alone make it more alive? Singing it to others? To a room full of people? What makes it real? What happens when your art is no longer enough being just for you? What happens when it's about serving, sharing, giving? Is that where real art lives? Born in those books, but alive in the world.

I'm working on these questions, but what I know for certain so far, is that it doesn't matter if you write the most amazing songs in the world, if no one ever hears them.

And the refrain of 'someday, someday, someday' keeps playing on.

on FILLING UP

Sometimes I realize I'm running on empty. Oh, I'm sleeping plenty, and I remember to eat more than I used to, and my life is going great, but my soul is hungry. I've been putting others and other things before me, before my dreams, before my being. And try as I might, I just can't care and love and give the way I like to unless my heart and soul and being are full, overflowing, drenched in inspiration. I don't think or know if it's this way for everyone, but I am an artist, for better or worse, and it is this way for me.

I'll notice it in little signs. The way I stretch my feet while on the subway, subconsciously sliding one foot out of my sandal, letting it gently press through a flexed position and slide into pointed. And repeat. My hands start to itch to paint. My thoughts play through my mind like a really great book, or narration of a film. And a dull, low ache, begins to wrap itself around my core. Sing. Dance. Move. Run. Play. Color. Try. Make. Trust. Write. Stretch. This little soundtrack composed by my inner most needs.

So I start to fill up. I watch things like this, and I think about the last time my bare feet touched the floor of a studio. And I marvel in the gifts that others have, and the wonders of what our bodies can do, and the ability to tell a story without speaking:

And I re-watch things like this, and I remember what it feels like to be so fully committed, and on fire with passion, and fearless and terrified all at the same time:

And I re-watch a season of this, to remember why I'm an actor, because ohmygod have you seen the genius that are these actors? The way their ability to do nothing is just everything? The way I become fixated that I must be on this show, I must be on this show. Or at least on the set, just watching, absorbing:

And I turn to words and poems and stories that crawl into the space of my soul that needs it the most:

And I think about how in the past, those words above would have surely sent me into a memory about broken hearts from boys, but seeing those words now, as I am in this very moment, I am aware of how very much it has nothing to do with boys. Quite frankly my heart is very happy in that area, thankyouverymuch. And this delights me. So instead of seeing that, this quote took the shape of me doing, trying, and going toward anything except what I want. For all the human reasons that we humans do that sort of thing. And in a way, that's almost worse than the kind of pain from a broken heart from other people. Breaking your own heart is worse. Except I think something is cracking, and it's either my sanity or my heart. And I think maybe instead of breaking, it's opening. Letting the light back in, or the fire back out, or both at once. And I wonder if I'll let it open all the way, or if I'll get to try again another time. Because eventually it will open to my truth.

And I fill up.

on NOISES, NYC AND LATE NIGHT BLOG POSTS

Let me paint you a little picture, internet. 

It's 1:11 in the morning. I'm just settling into bed after a full day of life and celebrating the birthday of my favorite man. I'm putzing around on facebook, reading some blogs, doing some work, when I hear a scratching type noise. And I freeze. Heart racing, I debate in my mind whether I should look or not look toward where the noise sounds like it's coming from. I decide to not look. My legs are so tense, my heart races even faster, as I try to determine if it sounds like something big and terrifying or tiny and terrifying and I start to debate about which is worse. I pick up my phone but, well, like I said, it's a bit past one in the morning. Who do I call? My mom is asleep for sure, and it would only upset her. That previously mentioned favorite man is totally birthday-ed out and fast asleep, a few blocks away. My roommate is asleep, and my other roommate, the one who would definitely be awake at this hour, is out of town.

The noise is back, louder now, even scarier, except now I'm wondering if it's just the people above me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to place the sound, and am reminded of hearing tests we did each year in elementary school. Did you do that, too? Everyone to the nurses office, one at a time, for sight and sound tests? We had to identify which ear the beep was in, with a range of volume levels. While there's something nice about this memory, I'd happily discard it if it meant not being terrified.

And so mainly because I am now too afraid to A) go to sleep or B) get up and brush my teeth or C) determine if the noise is really coming from in my room, I have taken to my laptop to write.

Thus I present to you Reasons Why I Freaking Hate Living In New York City:

1. Omg all things that crawl. Just tonight, heading home, I walked past a critter that was nearly half the size of my Layla. Just casually chillin on the sidewalk, in a major part of Manhattan. I don't exactly live in the hood, or anything. (And when I say I "walked past", I mean I made a major beeline to my left, nearly taking out two grown men. Move, boys. Mama is not playing when it comes to furry things.)

2. I've been tracking the money I spend each day. I started my month in NJ and every day since then, I spent very little money. $4 here, $15 there. Very little. Today? In ONE day? $126 out the door. We're talking groceries and transportation (and yes, one meal out). Even if you can handle your rent and utilities, just living here takes all the rest of your money plus some you do not have. And then laughs at you.

3. The non-stop comments and harassment. In the short walk home tonight, I had multiple people say things to me, either loudly or under their breath as they pass. I know that I call myself mama but you sir, do not have that right. Nor mami, sexy, honey, cutie, sweet thing, short stuff, or whatever you want to toss my way. Or just the un-namable hissing noise. WHAT is that? You ran out of words? You think I'm maybe attracted to a weird hissing? News flash: ain't nobody attracted to that. While I can ignore the comments, the nasty words or mean sentences are just awful. You can be as tough as nails but you still hear what they say.

4. It's so damn loud. Even now, nearing the middle of the night, an incredibly loud truck just barreled down my street. The honking, shouting, construction, sirens, beeping, booming noises are not necessary and hurt your ears and your future hearing. When my babies are here, I cover their furry little ears while we're out and a really loud thing goes zooming by. When I'm alone, I cover my own. More than this, people have conversations with others or on the phone, so very loudly. I do not need to know those personal details, thanks anyway. Sometimes I want to respond to them.

5. Everything is excusable. You're acting like a jerk? It's okay, you're living in NYC. You're acting entitled? Okie doke, New Yorker. You're obsessed with your career to an unhealthy point? Well great, you're in the best city for it! You can't afford to pay rent but you go out every night? Look at you living your Manhattan life. No. Nuh uh. Living in NYC does not excuse you from being a responsible adult, living a healthy and full life, and treating others with kindness and respect.

And now, because complaining is so not my thing, here are 5 things I really love about living here:

1. Experiences you truly can't have anywhere else. Case in point? I passed New York Fashion Week so many times today that I lost count. I got to watch the runway live on a giant screen. That same screen where I caught Opera a few weeks ago.

2. Finding sacred spaces. That perfect bench in Central Park? The way my fountains make me feel? Running along Riverside? The inside of that museum? The library tucked in the back? A certain coffee shop? They all feel like they were waiting, just for you, and they let you know they'll always be there.

3. Friends everywhere and any time. After having lunch with someone, another person texted me to see where I was, and I realized I was only a couple of blocks from him, so I stopped there to catch up in person. On any given day, if I start to feel lonely, I can meet up with a friend for coffee or a walk or whatever. They are all just a mere train ride or short walk away (that is, until they leave the city for good, which is a constant. Or, you know, go back on tour.).

4. So much theatre. So much art. So many artists. The creating energy is at an all time high.

5. New York City is like someone who practices tough love. You think you can't stand having this person around any more. Can't they just be kind? Can't they just help you? But, eventually, you realize it's for your own good, and that you're getting stronger and smarter and braver and more alive than you knew you could be. It's the biggest relief to get away from this city until that familiar ache hits. Like a lover that you just can't quit, or a best friend that you sometimes hate, she's right there waiting for you, arms wide open, any time you want.

The jury is out on whether or not I'll live here much longer, or for the rest of my life. I don't claim to know the future. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hide in my bed, and if you think I'm getting up to brush my teeth, you would be incorrect. Pray for me.

p.s. I'll be back to my regular blogging soon. Just lots going on in the life department. But hey, one perk of hiding here forever is that I'll have my laptop! things are looking up ;)

on HEARING AND SEEING

I can and I will.

I heard it clear as a whistle, my body sunk into my bed, laptop in front of me, freshly used notebook to my right, piled on top of three larger notebooks, my organizational system of life.

I can and I will.
__

We'd had this conversation before.

"You love to look busy", she said, "it's a great distraction. You're doing so much and yet, you're doing nothing."

"Yeah. I know. So what, then? What do I do? What am I not doing? What am I missing?"
__

I remember the first time I heard one of these phrases. Truths that are placed gently into my mind, incredibly soft and loud at the same time. Little lightening bolts of honesty. Maybe it had happened before, but June 29, 2010, sitting in that airport, was the first time I can remember. Like a rush, woosh, a steady voice, words I didn't know I needed. A gift.

These eight words are still only for me, kept tucked into my soul, running through my mind, motivating and reminding me. Maybe it was the first time I was hearing myself. Maybe, there in the noisy space of an airport, with the culmination of those eighteen months, and the fear of the unknown boiling within, maybe it was the first time my own voice could get through, or maybe it was the first time I was able to hear my guiding source. Maybe they are the same thing. It's hard to be sure. Hearing with your gut, your heart, is so very different than hearing with ears.

I grabbed my journal and wrote the phrase, tucked into the corner of one of the pages, before I could forget, saving it for when I would need to find it again.
__

He was up on his feet now. A sure sign that something important was coming, the kind of words that require his entire body's support underneath them.

"I know what you say you want. But I also see what you're doing. And they don't match up."

Fiery, I am. Passionate, I am. Up on my feet now, too. Was he challenging my dreams? Me? Our conversation continued until it had to be paused and I got to walk my thoughts home with me, watch as they shifted and settled. I reviewed the conversation in my head, let my ego have it's turn to speak before putting it down for the night, and let his words settle into my soul.

I entertained the idea that he didn't believe in me. Ridiculous and dismissed. Something more. I waited until it hit me. This isn't what performers do. I'm not performing. I'm researching, I'm taking meetings, I'm submitting, I'm emailing, I'm at the agency several times a week, I'm auditioning like a motherfucking fiend but in a beautifully safe way, comforted by the walls of the recording booth, or the fun environment of commercials. I'm killing it at "the business" but the "show" part seems to have gone missing. Set aside, waiting until the day I am.. perfectreadybettermore. Enough.
__

I can and I will. I heard it again. The second time through it sounded like the start to a favorite song, the kind that stays with you years later, the one that always gets you up dancing. A more familiar melody.
__

Within minutes, everything started to shift. Within less than a day, I spent hours in a casting session observing auditions, being a reader for those auditioning, wrote a new song, got a new script sent to me, made a list of fifteen ideas for kickstarting my creating, was given an industry magazine, warmed up my voice and sang for no other reason than the fact that I can sing, that I have a mouth and a tongue and teeth and vocal chords that somehow all work and create a sound that is unique and made just for me to have. And now, I am writing.

And just like that, a puzzle that I've been carrying around, something I could not unlock for the life of me, snapped back into place. This beautiful gift from a perfect mirror, in the form of a brave person, pacing around his living room, reflecting back to me what I cannot yet see by myself. We'll see what happens, if I keep moving toward it. There are no declarations, just really glorious lessons.

And tiny, huge truths.

And big, little moments.

And I can and I will.

on NO MORE TO TODAY

trouble since day one // i KNOW you like that matching sweatsuit so i won't even ask

I've just realized that I've been clicking around in circles for a good hour now. Various tabs are open on my screen, many with work to do. But me? I've been clicking. Apartments in LA to the NYC shelter kill-list to instagram accounts of friends to instagram accounts of people I don't know to blogs to facebook to whatever links are on facebook and back around again.

When we were little, and exhausted, crying tired tears for no reason other than the fact that kids do that, or whining about wanting to play one more game, or watch one more episode, or stay up just a little later, my mom would say, "there is no more to today".

My work is staring at me. My perfectionism has got a death stare going, as well. The pieces of me that want to do better, work harder, respond faster, be everything at once, are all loud and present and accounted for. Hello, old friends, I hear you. I see you. But I know one thing to be true: when I'm clicking around like this, getting nothing done, and spending precious time, while harping to myself on what I "should" be doing.. well, I know there is no more to today. I know I need to honor my needs, and go to sleep. I know I need to stop texting and put my phone away. I know I need to turn the TV off and shut the laptop. I know I need to just settle, and be, and rest. So to bed, it is.

There is no more to today, friends.

on AN UNEXPECTED GIFT

I was exhausted. I'm not sure where I was coming from or going to, but my body led me up the stairs and directly to the fountains. My fountains, I call them.

"What are you doing?", she'll ask, through the phone. "Sitting at my fountains."
"Can you hear where I am?", he held the phone out for a moment, "Passing your fountains."
And once, when he was feeling snarky and unkind, his eyes rolled, "they aren't your fountains". The kind of insult that can only be given by someone who knows you so well.

As I felt myself walking toward them, seeking out my break from the day, a moment to refuel, I realized they were empty of people. There, in the dead of summer, with tourist season so high, photographs being taken nonstop at this very spot, were my fountains, empty. Waiting for me. A tiny little gift from the Universe, just for me. I took such delight in this, a smile spreading across my face, a bounce added to my walk. I circled around, pausing to press my hands onto it, closing my eyes, taking it in. This was a moment of magick.

If you want to know the truth, it's the smell. There's something about the mix of chlorine and fresh air and water that gives me every great childhood vacation memory all packed into one, with the extra bonus of countless hotel memories on top. Hotels where there was a water fixture in the center of the lobby, a pool that had a waterfall to hide behind, a water park, the lazy river, the trickling water next to the main entrance. That smell. The sound comes in a close second. All five senses are alive with water. You can't help but smell, hear, feel, see, and lord help us, taste it, when the wind blows it right into your face. When our senses are active, we become more present.

And there, in that moment of exhaustion, the fountain brought me back to being present. It knew what I needed right then. I told you, it is most definitely my fountain.

on MINE MINE MINE MINE (or; hello summer)

When I woke up, groggy, way past when I wanted to be up, she suggested that I go to the beach. I snapped at her, "I have to work, I'm so behind, there's a million things to do, so many emails to send, I can't just go to the beach."

Then it dawned on me: yes I can. Before I could change my mind, a swimsuit was pulled on, sunscreen slathered, hair up in a bun, sunglasses found, keys in my hand, and off.

The day before had been insane. An early trip to the city for an audition, an unexpected message from a friend on her way to save a dog on death row at the city shelter, facebook to text and back to facebook, strangers helping me help her. Barging into his apartment to borrow his computer when my phone gave out, kissing his face before driving back to NJ, with the knowledge that the pup was safe. She had saved him. Upon arrival home, an unknown car parked in my driveway caused quite a scare, until it was discovered it was just my aunt and some of my favorite kids in the world. Distractions, conversations, teaching runway walking techniques on the backyard deck, these things are important. Food was finally shoveled into my mouth, two sweet baby pups at my feet, ready for crumbs. And then.. I saw it. An email. An audition. In 73 minutes, back in the city, and I was at least an hour away. Back into my car and off I went, my second trip into the city (where I freaking technically live, mind you) on the same time, after such an emotional morning and afternoon, and I.. well, I was spent.

I feel like I am missing my summer. Do you know that feeling? Like you're missing your own life, in favor of promises and errands and emails and lists. This is not how I live. This is not what I believe living to be. And if living like this means missing my summer, then to hell with it. I was in NJ for the very purpose of getting to the beach, of being with my babies, of languishing on the couch, and riding my bike. But I hadn't been to the shore, and my bike sat in the garage, and my pups slammed their paws on my laptop as I shooed them away for just-five-more-minutes-mommy-loves-you.

So I went to the beach. And I said hello to the ocean, and I finally saw the beach house after Sandy made her way through it last fall, and I made peace with the fact that my uncle would not be coming around the corner any second as he headed into the garage, telling me there were cold drinks in the fridge. Even if he was still alive, the garage was taped up, waiting for construction. I had to go see things as they are, all with the power of remembering that our life is what we choose it to be. I really like my life right now. I love working so hard, I love the people in it, I love my apartment, and I feel overwhelmingly blessed. But if I can't go to the beach, I don't want it. That might just be my new life philosophy.

Hello Summer, I've missed you. Let's go to the beach.

on LAYLA JUNE IS DEFINITELY MINE

The captions for these photos are too easy. Just too easy. It would go a little something like this:
top photo: Henry: "Hi mommy! Hi mom, hi mom, hi mommy, I love you, hi mommy, pose!"
                 Layla: "You take out camera? You no ask permission? Bug NOT prepared.."
bottom photo: Layla (continuted) "..and now? I judge you."

This little girl just kills me dead. She drives me batshit crazy, I think that's important to note. We still haven't gotten the hang of correct behavior quite yet. For example, I'll hear a little ladybug jingle as she's running around somewhere she shouldn't be, and find her just as she's tearing through yet another garbage can, or pooping somewhere she shouldn't be. My girl loves to poop, plain and simple, and she'd prefer to do so on your wall, thank you very much. The legs of your furniture, the bottom part of your bedspread that's close enough to the ground to reach, those will do, too. When she hears me coming before I catch her, she zips past me, head turned the other way, eyes straight ahead, NOTHING TO SEE HERE, okay mom? She is whip smart. And a tiny devil.

But she is a mush. A lovey. A sweet little girl, who wants nothing but to be held and loved and relax in the knowledge that she is safe. She climbs up into my lap, resting her head against my chest, and looks up at me with so much love that I think I might burst. She gets yelled at all the time. I mean, all. the. time. And I find myself talking to her at night, realizing just how many times she'd been yelled at that day, telling her she's a good girl, as she nuzzles into my arms to fall asleep, laying just so that she's certain I can't leave her.

I wrote before about how similar we are (I mean, except for the pooping everywhere and eating garbage thing) but the longer we've been together, the more and more I see how very true it is. We even make the same little sighs and noises as we go through our day (no, but seriously, we do). We're both firecrackers, troublemakers, wily, free-spirited little girls. We just get that about each other. Determined to a point of recklessness. Seeking fun at all costs. More love than we know what to do with. Empathetic, but quick tempered. Fiery. Tough exterior, soft interior. And we both hop quite a lot. I remember when he looked at me, and then at her, and back to me, before smiling, "you two are so alike". I smiled, but didn't totally get it. No, I thought, it's Henry who is like me. And he is, my boy, my heart. But it seems as though my second kid has got just as many similarities, albeit different ones.

The other day, she bounced off the couch and started to play, as though this was an every day occurrence. She had never once played before (despite endless attempts). She understood fetch and tug-of-war and using her paws. She got in play position, and then...she started to play with Henry. Who has never successfully played with another dog. (You guys know I was crying by this point, right?) And then - her teeth came out, a sharp no! from me, and she was back on the couch, hiding, unsure. But the next day, she tried again, and again the next day, and now she plays. She had been watching Henry and I play all along. She had heard me explain and teach her. She just needed to do things in her own time.

After all, she is her momma's dogter.

on OH HEY INTERNET

Internet. Blog. Blog friends. Actual friends.
Hello.

It has been a minute, no? I haven't posted on this here little blog in what feels like forever, which is serious proof that my life is in crazy mode. So obvs we need a catch up, right? Right. Here's what I've been up to in the past two weeks. First, some photos:

My sweet babies.

Layla is either causing trouble or being unbelievably sweet and cuddly. Nothing in between.

I met Heather! Love this girl. Check out her blog here.

Broadway Barks! The little Chi above, Dotty, is avail through Bidawee. Another pup fancied her to be his tail rest.

Best pizza I've ever had in NYC so far. The company sure didn't hurt either ;)

My little cousin moved to NYC! Now we can have impromptu lunch dates!

This is my favorite place ever.

 So now that you've been caught up in photos, here's what else I've been up to:

Auditions. Just streams of them. Commercials, voiceovers, musicals, magazines.. meetings and setting up meetings and helping others set up meetings. At my agency, at studios, in recording booths. Uptown, downtown, midtown. Even via my iphone recording app and good ol' fashioned email. I feel lucky and grateful and excited and terrified.

Coaching. That's right, I'm officially coaching. After getting trained as a life coach a couple of years ago, and then laughing about that, plus years of intense work on this here life/human, plus x amount of years in the industry plus an obsession with the business side of the business and the realization that all I do is coach every one anyway, especially with biz stuff, and a few brave moves later... annnnd coaching. Life and business coaching for actors/artists and people who want to be actors/artists. I'm kind of obsessed. There will be more on this later. (Also, want to coach with me? Great, send me an email. Not an actor but want to coach anyway? Cool, I got you, email me.)

Life. More like driving back and forth between NJ and NYC. A lot. Summer means a lot of time in NJ and I thought this summer would be like summers past where I have nothing going on in acting land or social life land and could kick it on my couch with my babies and my family and friends and go to the beach. Incorrect! Ha! said the Universe. Ha! said God. You think you run the show? Nah, hop in your car, we've got plans for you. And all I can do is surrender to it and be excited.

Doggies. Mine (eeeeee I love them so much they are my babies hkjsnfkansfal). Other people's whom I watch. Shelter pups who I am working to save on the daily. Like every night until 2 or 3 am with the Urgent group. If you are looking to help save some dogs, please join Urgent (or a group like that near you) and post the dogs on your page. They have about 12 hours between being listed and being killed. The more who post them, the more get saved. More on this soon, too.

Lessons. As in, the ones that are repeatedly given to me to learn and learn and learn until I get it straight and then more lessons. Cause this is how we grow.

Work. I counted yesterday and I now have 6 jobs. 6! What am I, nuts? All freelance, and all remotely, and all things that I seriously love. Which is good because, seriously, 6?

And that is that! You are caught up, internet style. Happy Tuesday, beautiful people.

on MR. & MRS. MONACO TURN TWO

This past week marked the second year of marriage for my sister and brother-in-law. That's a long time, if you ask me. Because when you're married to someone, you're married to them every single day, all day, nonstop. Think about it (non-married people.. you married people can laugh either in understanding or mockery). Sometimes I just say the "M" word and get really uncomfortable. Recently, my favorite male person said it once or twice himself (I did not even know he knew the word), and understandably we didn't speak for a few days after that. I'm pretty sure I replied with  "you've thought about what?". So you can imagine my impressed-ness over anyone being married at all, let alone multiple years.

The second year of marriage calls for a cotton gift. I told my sister that I would give them a blogtton gift instead. It's true, I am incredibly generous. No, I will get them a gift, but first I must scour etsy and the like. In the meantime: blogtton! Both of them are very weird, which seems right when getting married. Find someone as weird as you, who puts up with you even when you are whiny (Amy) or making fun of the other person's little sister (Matt), who will go to Target with you, and other places. But mostly, just someone weird who likes you a whole lot. They have that down.

Love you both very much. And sometimes your cats. Happy Anniversary!
Love, the sister, Henry Elliot, and Layla June. (they helped write this. woof.)