little house in the big woods

For the last of my whirlwind I-don’t-want-to-be-home-from-vacation-so-I’ll-pretend-I’m-still-on-vacation weekends, I snuck up to Connecticut to spend some quality time with my cousin Colin, his wife, and one of his close friends.  Armed with boxes of donuts, I braved the torrential downpour of rain and made the 3 or so hour drive to their house which to me is out in the middle of the woods (or you know a 15 minute drive from Hartford).  

I didn’t realize until I moved out of my parents’ place but it is rare to have people in your life that you can completely decompress around.  And that it is absolutely necessary to have an outlet for silliness.  At least it is for me (don't worry I am judging your lack of silly ways... I kid).  Colin and I are ten months apart and share a number of what I think are endearing quirks.  Case in point: you want to have an eating contest comprised of slices of pizza and holiday spice pepsi (there’s a reason only 85 people have signed that petition) and follow it up with a foot race?  Of course!  Even better we’ll go barefoot because it’s winter…?  Mind you we had consumed no alcohol.  Nada.  Zip.  This was pure, unadulterated genius.  Pretty much whatever half-brained idea one of us comes up with the other is game.  No questions asked.  

When I signed up for a marathon (against my better judgment), I knew the first person I wanted to share it with was Colin because he would understand.  You see it's not that signing up for a race, even this long of one, is that big of a deal per se, it's that I am by no means a runner.  I get bored easily and I find running to be extremely repetitive.  Also, I lack that part of the brain that works through pain - the moment running becomes even remotely uncomfortable I walk.  I even walked the mile for the Presidential Physical Fitness Test in 4 out of the 5 years I had to do it. (My gym teacher loved me.)  Oh and  I have only run farther than 3 miles (intentionally) once in my life.  Once.  And there I went and signed up to run 26.2 of them.  

But you know what?  He totally got it.  Because he's awesome.  And we're weird.  And maybe, just maybe, I can convince him to run it with me and then go run this a couple of weeks later because that's how we roll.  Minus the eating contests this time around.  Once was enough... or twice.  It was repeated with a mushroom theme several years later.  What can I say - we are slow learners.

Besides running through the still snowy woods (and getting lost and then found and then hills), the rest of the weekend consisted mostly of eating my weight in delicious food while chatting it up and playing games with some of my favorites in front of a roaring fire.  There may have been some 90s inspired dance parties as well (because really what weekend is complete without one?)  

I ended my getaway with a cruise on the Long Island Sound because sometimes the best way to reacquaint oneself with the day-to-day grind is to take the long way home.  For the next couple of weeks, I am keeping my travels limited to the five boroughs and dare I say I am looking forward to it.

notes:

- if you happen to be driving on a Saturday morning (or you’re just looking for a listening activity), tune in to car talk on npr.  these guys made my morning. 

- i made headway on taking pictures this past weekend… i just think my family would consider disowning me if i shared all of them on the interwebs.  besides which trees + snow +brooks are pretty.

- (apparently, i like parentheses.  a lot.)

the dust of snow

Within 48 hours of returning from Southeast Asia, I packed up my car and drove to DC.  I had just returned home yet I wanted to get away and explore some place different.  Despite plans for skiing, mother nature had a different idea which resulted in some forced rest and relaxation that I am sure my jet-lagged body appreciated.  To somewhat make up for last weekend, I'll run away again this afternoon to a new locale and I am attempting to hatch a plan for the end of this month as well.  I’ve already sent out emails to start solidifying some summer excursions - beach, mountains, repeat.  The wanderlust bug is real and not to be ignored but the intensity of it as of late (…and my dwindling travel budget) has led to some introspection.  What is it exactly that I am escaping from?  I mean I live in what some (very biased folk) dub the greatest city on earth.

In a few short months, I will start up school once again and my life will drastically change.  I am in an accelerated program which will require 20 credit hours a semester while maintaining my current full-time job.  I’ve known about this for quite some time but the reality of the situation has begun to sink in.  Add to it that I am another year older in a week or so and the need to be anywhere but here is amplified.  

I don’t want to be that person though who is completely focused on the proverbial next best thing while taking for granted what is right in front of my face.  In an effort to reclaim the present, I took a break from my computer screen and moseyed outdoors into the snowstorm du jour.  Because what better way to regain perspective than to make myself a little uncomfortable and get right in the midst of this place I call home.

With the snow blowing in my face, I made my way down to the waterfront and meandered along the mostly abandoned path.  The slipping and sliding of snow beneath my feet forced me to focus on my surroundings enough to quiet my usual nonstop inner dialogue.

I only encountered a handful of people who also wished to tread in the wintry wonderland: a fellow snow marveler/wannabe hermit who shared which paths have not yet been graced with footsteps or plows, a gentleman who persisted on inquiring where a bus was going despite my best efforts to explain that I had absolutely no idea, and a lady with seven of the same dog in varying shades of brown but all thoroughly wet from an afternoon of play.  Our brief interactions reminded me that we all have some place we're trying to get to, someone we want to become.  

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

--Dust of Snow, Robert Frost

notes:

- brooklyn bridge park is a ghost town during a snowstorm.  there were robins flying and chirping about (see the above picture).  if you're in nyc and need to get a little away from it all during our next bout of never-ending snow, i highly recommend meandering these paths.

- i also recommend warming yourself up with some tea and sweets at one girl cookie. as i type this i am really regretting that i didn't pick up a whoopie pie. 

montreal, qc

Sometimes NYC can feel restrictive.  As though it is closing in on all sides and I am struggling to stay afloat.  The energy of NYC is both a blessing and a curse.  At its best, it is a motivating, creative force that provides constant inspiration.  At its worst, it is a suffocating power where I feel like I can’t keep up.  The things to do and places to be just can’t be conquered.  It’s never-ending and it seems as though I am the only one lagging behind.

When the universe seems to be conspiring against me, I know it is time to escape and stretch my legs in another locale.  So escape I did with the one-and-only Grace Freeman.  Everyone should have a friend they can plan last minute, detail-less escapades with.

We left NYC on Friday with the grand destination of our neighbor up north with no plans of where to stay or what to do.  We weren’t even sure where we were headed in Canada; it was a toss-up between Montreal and Quebec City.  As we neared the border, we had an offer of a bed by a friend’s friend’s sister.  That’s not a typo.  There were three degrees of separation.  Eight hours after leaving NYC, we were sitting at a table of new friends, sharing dumplings and stories across the table. There’s something beautiful about saying yes.  It’s in the way in which it can instantaneously create community, especially when encountering the unfamiliar. 

The weekend continued to be a scavenger hunt of sorts.  Going from one locale to another based solely on the recommendations from folks we met along the way.  An afternoon of playing dress-up in a thrift store led to poutine and hockey which led to hot chocolate and more hockey… because when in Canada, right? 

To finish off the weekend, we headed to Old Montreal early Sunday morning.  After filling our bellies at Le Cartet, we wandered around the cobblestone streets, taking in the last of the city's sights.  By the way, Montreal has some amazing street art.  I could spend a (warmer) weekend traversing the city blocks in search of graffiti. 

While we may have only been in Montreal for less than 48 hours, it was the perfect excursion.  By the time I was back in my apartment Sunday night, I felt rejuvenated from my weekend of new friends, cozy cafes, and thrift shop exploring.   I think weekend trips may need to be a thing in 2015.

notes:

- in the winter, montreal is cold.  it’s no joke.  be prepared with all the warm clothing you own. i spent the weekend in my winter hiking boots.  warmth > fashion. there's a reason why i look like a burly, bearded man in these pictures.  don't be scared off though.  it’s such a fun place to explore, even in the single digits.

- eva b is the just the coolest thrift store. ever.  i mean they gave us shot glasses of hot apple cider and bags of popcorn as we walked in.  also everyone there is just ridiculously friendly and helpful.  to top it all off they have three floors of everything from 18th century costumes to children's books to dining room furniture.

- st. viateur bagels are delicious and their own category of bagel (don't go in expecting the an nyc bagel).  if you find yourself out drinking into the early hours of the following morning, be sure to grab some on your way home. 

- poutine = fries + gravy + cheese curds.  as per recommendation, we ordered take-out from la banquise and ate it at a bar next door.  doing this avoids waiting in line. outside. in the cold.  take-out plus beer always wins.  

winter solstice

I woke up this winter solstice in a brand new place- an apartment all to myself. I signed a new lease Friday, my (amazing) friends helped me move all my stuff Saturday, and we drank champagne out of the bottle Saturday night, giddy with joy, even though I didn’t have lights for half of my apartment, hadn’t unpacked anything, and didn’t even have a couch to sit on. Sunday morning I woke up in my bed, but I was surrounded by foreign white walls- my new clean slate. 

Most of the time, I’m longing for the seasons to change, hoping the next will be better and I can leave my current worries in the rearview mirror. And I know sometimes we want the seasons to shift badly, and they don’t. and that’s disappointing. It’s actually the worst- feeling stuck. You’ve got to sit in an uncomfortable or painful or confusing season for much longer than you feel you’re built for. 

I guess I’m trying to process- that even when seasons seem like they will never change— they will surprise you.

I know moving is not that novel of a thing, but to find a little corner to yourself in Manhattan THAT YOU CAN AFFORD is a huge deal. 

I moved to New York City to be a creative: I came as a dancer and I now pursue that alongside other creative endeavors. However, I know that lifestyle choice is not going to earn me the big bucks. I never saw that as a downfall, though; I almost glamorized the starving artist lifestyle. I love living simply and within my means; it’s given me such freedom. I’ve been living in Washington Heights, and our apartment is cozy, and we've had so many friends from around the world move in and out of that place (their writing is on the wall too!). Living in a 3 bedroom with 4 people sounds crazy to people outside of the city, but to me it was home. I didn’t foresee any houses or luxury apartments in my near future - so why set myself up to be disappointed? I tend to be rather the-glass-is-half-full, so I didn’t want to want what I couldn’t have. 

A few months ago, I got called off a housing lottery list. I’ve been on a soapbox about affordable housing for a few years, strongly referencing THIS ARTICLE by David Byrne, about how NYC was going to change for the worse if all the artists got pushed out because they couldn’t afford to stay here. You get so caught up in surviving in this city and paying your bills, it’s easy to get distracted from pursuing the art that brought you here in the first place. A week before this phone call, I had one of those ugly public cries on the street. I plopped down on a stranger’s stoop and talked to my mom on the phone— I had injured my back and even though I paid a lot of money for health insurance each month, I couldn’t afford to additionally pay to take care of this injury (of course not covered by my insurance). And injuries are even more painful when your art is dance. It broke open a conversation in me that I had never really allowed myself to consider before- maybe it was my time to leave the city. I had put so much time and effort and money into pursuing a performing career- and what was coming out of it? I couldn’t even afford to take care of myself! I sacrificed so many other areas of my life to pursue this career— quality of life, sunshine, better paying job (aka more money for adventures), relationships (have you TRIED dating in the city?) — was it worth it anymore? I think a lot of people in the industry secretly judge people who leave the city, wondering if they gave up. I had decided a long time ago I wouldn’t be one of those…at least not for a while. But I now wondered what was I supposed to do next? Did I really need to start considering a new chapter? I survived here for over 9 years, but it was wearing me down- did i need to waste any more of my years? 

This housing lottery call answered that for me. And I was shocked. I mean I entered this specific lottery a few years ago and forgot about it. It seemed like the stuff urban legends were made of, but for whatever reason I spent a few hours and sent in the application one afternoon in 2012. I was picked out of 30,000 people who applied- and I never win anything! Especially the Wicked lottery. This was an opportunity for a new start, a new neighborhood, a new energy. It is a game changer: long-term affordable housing in midtown NYC? It’s actually better than winning the real lottery in so many ways. Babs (my bike) is not going to know what happened. BYE MTA.

I was careful not to say too much over the past few months, because I actually thought I would jinx it. Seemed too good to be true. (My friend Drew calls it PTSD from auditioning too much - where you could be overqualified for the show and still not book the job, which happens alllll the time. Our logic has been morphed by this crazy business we are in. Thank god audition land does not equal reality in this case.) 

When you’re stuck in a season for so long, you actually start to stop believing it can change. But I woke up yesterday, and the season, despite my disbelief, had changed. It wasn’t a dream. And it also happened to be winter solstice. I love when life is poetic like that.  

I’m embracing a new season heading into 2015 (with pink cupcakes and champagne, like you do). I’m also staring at my new blank slate and trying to figure out what the heck I’m going to do with it. I’ll get back to you on that… 

You may find me down on my knees thanking God for a while before I hop over on Pinterest. 

note:

if you are an artist, or a human, or both (the best kinds!): check out the nyc housing connect site here! apply! what do you have to lose!?