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.

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.

on HEAR YE, HEAR YE, SHE RETURNS.

Oh hey internet. If it seems like I disappeared, that would be because I did. This whole running your own business thing.. was that my idea? Here's what I didn't factor in.. you ready? because this is a big time super amazing piece of advice: running a business centered around dogs and running a business centered around humans are very different.

More on this brilliance after an update on my life via instagram pics:

Tell me that's not some genius shit. No, but really, when I was running my own dog nannying business for the past 2.5 years, it was pretty easy. The dogs were perfect company, didn't mind if I had to take a phone call, were on a pretty solid routine, and were okay with sometimes not talking. People are very different. That being said, I'm pretty obsessed with coaching and am able to do it right alongside acting. Add in my other social media gig with, you know, life, and that should explain the disappearance. But today I realized that I really miss reading blogs and writing my blog so hopefully I'll be able to blog more frequently.

If you want to learn more about my coaching/consulting business, visit here.
The website is being redesigned soon so keep your eyes peeled for a re-launch!
If you're a blogger and want to be a part of a test run for a new part of coaching, write me.

Have a beautiful week, friends.

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 LITTLE CHANGES, BIG IMPACT: The Chair Edition

This is the story of a chair. No, I'm totally kidding. Except, yes it is. Here's the deal: I got that gorgeous desk from craigslist awhile ago, maybe like six months. Twas my dream desk, twas free, and twas perfect. Due to this amazingness, I seemed to have missed one important aspect of having a desk.. using it. So while she became a great holder of books, and collector of important receipts, that was about it.

Enter in many changes made in my apartment as of late. Mama just about got on a nesting kick over here. And by nesting, I mean craigslist. And by craigslist, I mean holy crap I have a problem incredible gift for using craigslist.

It's interesting how a very small change can have a massive impact in your life. The night I got the chair home, and sat in it, well my whole world just about changed. I work at my desk now, in my desk chair, and it still gives me a thrill each time. Stay tuned for other updates on the little big changes around here. I know these are the exciting posts that keep you coming back for more. Oh, I know. I know indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go sit in my chair, after which, I shall look at my chair. Busy night.

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 Counting Them Again Even More

Lincoln Center,

Henry Elliot's little paw reaching out to ask someone (not me or my mom) to play,

lemonade,

Layla June in a ruffled dress,

sending the scary email,

having a couch to sit on,

having a chair to sit on,

oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,

watching an Opera at The Met,

re-usable tote bags,

meditation,

big ideas,

little steps,

callbacks,

making vegan mac-n-cheese,

listening,

the return of the red head,

so you think you can dance,

stretching,

saying yes,

not knowing, 

saturday night high fives at bed bath & beyond,

craigslist,

the woman who carried the chair down five flights,

possibility,

dry shampoo,

lauren graham,

pulling on a cozy sweater,

painting,

stacks of notebooks,

serving with your talents,

asking questions,

feeding them by hand,

my green jacket,

singing,

acting,

writing,

Love.

i am grateful for you.

previously: 4 / 3 / 2 / 1

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 MY PEOPLE, MY PEOPLE

This all started the other day. I was bounding out of my apartment, when I saw a girl across the street, mid-walk with her dogs. She had her face pressed into the furry face of her larger pup, and was talking softly to him, soothing him. And I thought: girl, you are my people.

So, without further adieu:

Girl on the street, with your dog standing on his hind legs, front paws wrapped around your waist, as you lean down to meet him face-to-face: you are my people.

Man bopping down the street, keeping beat with his steps and singing along nearly at full voice: you are my people.

Elderly couple who caught me mid-stretch, waiting for the elevator, and said "you better use it while you got it": you are my people.

Friend that referenced getting her tiara on as a way to celebrate a personal victory: you are my people.

Other friend who texted me a quote about keeping your head tall so your crown won't slip: you are my people.

My clients who tell me extravagant dreams with a look in their eyes that I won't be able to give words to: you are my people.

Older gentleman, carrying your dog on your waist, as though he was a toddler, one leg on each side of you, upper paws around your neck: you know you're my people.

Crazy facebook strangers who add me so we can share even more dogs in need, even though we've never met, have very little in common, and are far apart in distance and age: you are my people.

Girl explaining to her visiting relatives that the bags they have just offered to carry aren't very heavy at all, not in comparison to what she carries around during the week: you are my people.

Those who dive right in, and have no need for small talk when there is passion to discuss: you are my people.

Boy who took me on a date at 8:45 in the morning because that's the only free time we both have, face lit up with excitement for each piece, listening intently to me: you are so my people.

Girl that yells out each order as it is set on the counter, cause she does not have time for the loud customers everywhere: you are my people.

Room full of peers who were throwing their hands in the air, responding aloud to certain phrases, and yelling out in pure joy as the singers poured their souls out: you better believe you're my people.

Girl sitting to my left, just a few feet down, a book in your arms, legs crossed indian style, a total look of contentment on your face: you are my people.

Henry Elliot & Layla June: you are mommy's little furry people, yes you are, mommy loves you (you knew I'd sneak them in, right?).

Mr. President, calling out BSL for the bullshit that it is, and being super freaking cool always: you are my people!

Friend who took my hand, pulsating love from your being into mine, as you wrapped up a conversation with someone else: you are my people.

Girls on speaker phone, taking turns telling tales, interrupting each other, calling each other out, laughing: you've been my people since before we were really people.

Who are your people? xo

p.s. do you know what the title is from? I'll give you a hint: Lin-Manuel Miranda: you are my people!

on LATELY, LATELY

Instalife, over here. Lucky, lucky girl, I am.

Brooklyn Lunch / On the Hudson / Meditating / Henry Bear / Favorite Place

Reunited / Color Change / Girl Talk / Layla June / Stolen Toy

Follow along here.

on PRETTY MUCH OBSESSED

I stumbled onto some work by Ashok Sinha the other day and holymy am I obsessed. Go check out some more of her stuff here and tell me if you fall in love with them, too.
For the record, that's LA up top, and NYC underneath. My favorite places, natch.

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.