Tears on the Subway

It was another normal day. Rush here, bounce there. Meet this person, make that phonecall. Hurriedly walk to the subway, reach in coat pocket for subway card, jet down the stairs, swipe, enter, wait, walk in, sit. The pace of this city is both thrilling and numbing. I remind myself daily to pay attention to what I see. To live with my eyes wide open and to actually see the people I pass, to hear the sounds of the city and to take in the smells of New York, no matter how varied those aromas might be.

The 'daily grind' is taken to an entirely new level here. Everyone seems on a mission to get to where they're going, to get their next big deal, to close the next sale or to meet their next appointment. The pace is intoxicating to me and it's as if my mental battery pack charges up each time I step out the door. But, it can also be exhausting. You don't have to look far to see tired, downtrodden faces in this city. And sometimes, in the case of last night's subway ride, it can be absolutely heart-breaking.

There are no pictures in this post because I simply don't have pictures. I don't have pictures of the tear drops that filled my eyes, spilling over with reserve. I don't have a picture of the man who I felt absolutely helpless to help.

I sat sandwiched between the squishy winter layers of coats, fleeces, hats and scarves that pinned me in on either side. Yesterday was New York's first snowfall of the season and while truly magical for me and for many, the winter months bring on an entirely different reality for many New York residents who do not have a cozy apartment to return home to. What would it feel like to be homeless during New York's first snow fall? Something so enchanting to me must put a pit of fear and anxiety into the stomachs of so many others.

The subway doors opened, and in hobbled a man on his hands. Tears are filling my eyes even now as I think of him. He had no legs and was scooting along on his nub-wrapped jeans, balancing on one hand as the other grasped a rusted tin coffee container, jingling with its few lonely pieces of change. As he got closer, I could see that he was also blind. How was I so fortunate to have been born in to this world with the life that I have and this sweet man blind with no legs? I was swept away with sadness and an overwhelming wave of humility. The kind of humility that punches you right in the stomach and literally takes your breath away. Troubles that seemed like they had any actual significance disintegrate when you're slapped around by perspective.

My hands went immediately to my wallet and I tossed a few dollar bills in his tarnished can. Because they didn't jingle, I don't know if he even realized they were there. One of the stories that always grabbed my heart about the compassion of Jesus Christ was when he touched the lepers to heal them, and in doing so, didn't just touch their bodies, but touched their souls. What an act of compassion and understanding to know how much we need touch to fee loved. I wonder how long this man has gone without feeling the warmth of another human being on his skin. Does anyone hold him? Hug him? Kiss him on the cheek? All of these thoughts came flooding into my conscious thought, and all I could do was cry. I wanted to reach out, touch my humanity to his shoulder and place my heart full of compassion, sorrow and love on his tattered denim jacket. But I didn't. I froze as he scooted along, paralyzed by not knowing what to do, how to help, what to feel, and wondering how he wasn't somehow in a shelter, laughing with old friends and slurping up a bowl of warm noodle soup.

At times like these my emotions are full. I feel helpless and don't know how to be the difference. I think all of humanity comes close with things like these. Normally, tired, expressionless people on the subway stare blankly as the daily multitude of the homeless come in and out of trains asking for money. As this sweet man jangled down the aisle, hands quickly went into pockets and compassion was felt and shared, like a visible force that radiated through all of the people on the train yesterday. We all seemed to feel the same weight of undeserved privilege, no matter what our exact situation was.

As people, we are called to love. A mentor of mine has told me many times that I am on this earth for two reasons, and for two reasons alone: to learn and to love. I believe yesterday was more of a learning experience for me, but it was a learning experience in how I can love more, and how in a world of common indifference, that we can all have a grateful heart and be reminded to be the difference.

A Cornucopia of Gratitude

Thanksgiving always brings reflection. Or at least, it should. It should be the one day of the 365 where we slow our pace and stop to think about our lives, what we are grateful for and what we too often take for granted in our daily lives.

I was especially pensive this Thanksgiving, as I spent the majority of it alone. I decided to stay in New York City and go to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, something I have dreamed about experiencing since I was a little girl, watching it on t.v. from start to finish each Thanksgiving Day, wide-eyed, for the past 29 years. Standing by Central Park and watching the floats, bands and people go by was a childhood dream realized and totally worthwhile staying. But, spending a Thanksgiving alone does bring more time to really think about things.

I felt strong and independent, and I also felt lonely today without my family. When not surrounded by the comfort of family on a day such as this, their importance in your life is reinforced. I missed my boyfriend, mom and dad, sister and brother-in-law, two precious nephews and grandmothers. Family cannot be replaced, and I am so thankful to have such an amazing one.

I am abundantly grateful for my life. The freedom and the choices that I have. The ability to travel and see the world the way that I have and continue to get to do. For my job and the options its given me. For incredible friends that have walked with me through so many stages of life. For personal growth and that I'm not the same person that I was 5 years ago, and how the journey of life brings beautiful things into the heart and the soul.

I'm thankful that my nephew, Peyton, is now a thriving and healthy little 11 month old boy, after coming into the world unexpectedly early last December at only 23 and 1/2 weeks of growth. I still can't look at a picture of him now and not get teary-eyed.

I'm thankful for the opportunity to live in New York, another dream of mine, and for being 29 years old and healthy and feeling like the world is my oyster to discover.

I'm sitting in an airport bar right now and it's completely deserted. Just me, the bartender and my glass of Pinot Noir. Apparently most people don't travel on Thanksgiving. I'm traveling south to be with loved ones, and I cannot wait to get there. My trip out to the airport on the subway led to some interesting thoughts. Subway rides always give me a time to quiet my soul and think about things, observe other people and think about my life.

Even on a day of thanks such as this, so many people looked tired today. Not just lacking in sleep, but seeming to have a tiredness of soul. It made me sad to see, and it felt strange going from watching Santa bring in Christmas with jubilee and rolling laughter on Central Park West next to chandeliered multi-million dollar mansions, to seeing the tired and despairing faces of so many who share this city with me.

As I traveled further into Queens and soon was surrounded by first generation Americans, I could no longer hear the English language, and it made me wonder if these people knew about Thanksgiving. Of course they know about it, but do they feel a connection to this country yet in the way that so many of us do? Is every day a struggle and the thought of gathering around a dining room table with a feast-like spread a fleeting thought? America is such a dynamic mix of people and stories, and there is a new generation of Americans that are far removed from the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims with tophats and buttoned suspenders. This man was playing the saxophone for quarters and dollar bills in the subway today. He was unbelievably talented and could give Kenny G a run for his money. It made me wonder where his family was, why he was there in that dirty subway station on Thanksgiving Day, and how he ended up playing there instead of playing in high-end venues among the Manhattan socialites.

I hope that every person, no matter their culture, can have some things in their lives that they are grateful for, even if their life is a life of struggle. To all who read this, Happy Thanksgiving. May your heart overflow with love and your year be one of positive change, peace, and abundant blessings.

Living in a Land of Extremes

Coming from Texas, where for the most part life seemed steady and each day was about as normal as the day before.... to New York City, a land of possibilities, where everything changes as quickly as the taxicab drivers race down 6th Avenue, has been(needless to say) quite an adjustment.

I am living in a land of extremes. That is the best way that I can describe it. The seasons, the weather, the moods, the people, the division of the haves and the have nots...every end of the spectrum is covered in New York.

A rainy day, for example. In Texas, people have umbrellas but don't really need them because they drive cars. Let's face it: no one actually walks anywhere unless they're intentionally exercising in Dallas. New York, au contraire. I stepped out from my marble steps this week into the pouring rain sans rain boots. First mistake. Note to self: get rubber boots, and get them quickly. I popped open my stylish umbrella, and within two seconds, it was flipped inside out, my hair was whipping violently across my face and the pelting rain was stinging my squinting eyes. Rainy days are a bit more difficult to manage here, I've found.

I hopped onto the subway and plopped down across the way from none other than... you got it: Mr. and Mrs. Claus. They come up for a few months each year from Florida (oh so cliche) to work in their retirement years. Sitting next to them was a Snoop Dog wannabe with so much gold bling around his neck, he could sell it to a dentist's office. Extremes: Exhibit A.

The extremes are thrilling to me -- they make everyday a new world of exploration. Although each day holds new surprises, I know it will also hold a few constants: interesting, Lady Gaga-like fashion walking the streets, massive amounts of profanity when a rushed New Yorker just misses his subway connection, and the delectable aroma of those roasted nuts sold at stands all across the city in the wintertime.

And, it will hold some little things that I love: a beautiful cup of coffee from Joes on my neighboring Street, Waverly; a precious little girl on the subway with her larger-than-life backpack; and, fabulous clothes that I crave on each and every street corner. Oh New York... I love you.

There is No Place Like New York

Truly, there is no place on earth like New York City. I have completely fallen in love. Initially I thought, "I could live here for a year or two." Today, I felt like I could be here indefinitely. It has officially become home.

A place becomes home when a familiar sight or sound ... or especially in New York, a particular smell... brings about a feeling of warmth in your gut. A feeling that your senses recognize as 'home' before your mind can logically process that thought. I realized this today when I heard the high-pitched and off-tune squeals of the chords on an old guitar, played by a scruffy, middle-aged man with Albert Einstein hair tamed under a baseball cap. He plays every day at the subway stop near my apartment that I frequent. As I was walking briskly down the stairs, the familiar tune drifted to my ears and its tarnished melody wrapped me in a blanket of comfort.

It's the little things about this city that I love. Each day I step outside my door with wonder. Its energy, its excitement, its culture. What will the day hold? I had a conversation at Trader Joes tonight with the young man who bagged my groceries, and I discovered that he's a Nude Break Dancer Figure Model. Meaning, he break dances nude and art students take pictures of him. Nothing surprises me here, and I love that. Everyone has a story.

Walking home with Washington Square park on my left, a place filled with musicians and dreamers, I passed a restaurant tucked below ground level on my right. Nestled inside were people in love, people who had fallen out of love; people facing situations with courage, people feeling hopeless. Mothers, fathers, daughters, friends, all sharing their stories inside by candlelight, away from the chill of the autumn night air.

Some final highlights of the day:

I've always wanted to stop at this little cupcake shop on 14th St. called "Baked by Melissa." They have bite-sized bits of deliciousness, and today was the day to partake. Smores, cookie dough, caramel espresso chocolate... yes please. On the flip side of a sugar high, I came across "Brussel Sprout Stalks" at Trader Joes. Huh. Didn't know they grew on stalks. Certainly didn't think I would learn about sprout stalks in New York. But then again, nothing surprises me. It was a fantastic day in the city of wonder.

T. J. Maxx -- Who Knew?

I had just completed shopping at my absolute favorite New York establishment: Trader Joe's... when the red lights of the T.J. Maxx sign caught my eye walking home on 6th Avenue.

Because I am stubborn, I refuse to take a cab. Ever. In 8 months of living here, I've ridden in one once, and that was because it was pouring outside. My theory is this: if a person has 2 legs, they should be used. Why would you live in a fabulous walking city like New York and not walk? The walk alone is the adventure- hearing 50 different languages on a 10 minute jaunt, the smell of sewage rising with the steam from the gutters, the candy peanut men on each street corner, beckoning me with his roasted, delicious nuts. Correction: cashews.

So, T.J. Maxx looked good. Maybe because it was a taste of familiar in a place that, sometimes, feels unfamiliar. I walked in and up the escalator, my body weighed down with brown bags full of almond milk, broccoli and walnuts (tonight was a night of good choices at the grocery), and into what I soon found to be oh-so-delightful. What did I find? Shoe heaven.

Fendi Boots? Why not? These silver studded beauties are no other than PRADA. All I know is that T.J. Maxx stores in Texas do not sell PRADA boots. They sell brands like MIA and Candies (no offense to shoe-wearers of such brands). Now don't get too excited. You are not getting PRADA boots for $59. They were once $1,500 and now they are going for the easy price of $899.

Can you imagine a woman from Tyler, Texas picking up a pair of boots at her local T.J. Maxx marked at eight hundred and ninety nine dollars? New Yorkers are a special breed, this I know for sure.

A Day of Nesting Lust in New York

Oh I felt like nesting today. I'm not quite sure where this came from, other than being female. I walked into Anthropologie (first mistake) and wandered into a magical world of dishes, shabby chic wallpaper and all kinds of delectable things.

The only problem about having this nesting lust while living in New York is- well, there are two:

1) It costs a good amount to live here, so there isn't just $1,000 laying around for a new coat, a

new pair of boots and all new dishes. And

2) I HAVE NO SPACE. None. This is by no means a complaint. I gladly trade in my 1,500 sq. foot place in Texas for a 500 sq. foot shoebox in the West Village of New York. But believe me--- when I say I have no space, I really mean it:

EVERYTHING has its place here. Meaning, when one thing gets OUT of place, you can tell. Things look messy. So, as much as I rearrange my closet, The principle still remains: I don't need any more clothes. Or shoes. Or certainly, dishes. But OH I want them.

How can you not want them when you see such beautiful porcelain (well, more like pottery) as this? I mean, look at this rolling pin! And these measuring spoons! I wouldn't be able to fit them anywhere, but they had me salivating for them.

Bowls, bowls galore. They certainly suit my fancy.

The nail in the coffin is when I find myself drooling at the window of a high-end children's store. Um... like I don't even have children. Not ready for them yet, love my nephews and I'm good to go. Super Aunt. But how can you resist an outfit like this? A little girl in a black leather biker jacket.... and I already have one that would match? Oh darn you, maternal instincts.

The Single Ladies Shook it up last Halloween! Just feeling a big nostalgic. Halloween is just around the corner, and I can honestly say that last year, Halloween 2009 in Dallas, was the most fun I've had since I was a kid. Halloween stores are ALL OVER New York, especially in the part where I live, and I keep thinking about this fun experience last year and how at this time, we were just starting to learn the dance together. We had a blast and I'm sure a NY Halloween will not disappoint either! Katie and Natalie, you girls are the best! We will always remember this!

I'm in love with street fairs

I woke up and the sun rays were streaming through my window this morning. The air slipping under my cracked windowsill was crisp like the crunch of an autumn leaf beneath my feet, and I knew it was going to be a fantastic fall New York day.

I got dressed in fall attire, excited about the changing of the seasons and the opportunity to already start wearing boots in early October. I zipped up the red zippers on my tan leather boots and headed down the marble stairs of my early 20th century apartment building, opened the glass and iron doors, and was beyond thrilled at what I found: a street fair on my street! I love street fairs- always have. Their energy, the diversity of people strolling through them, and the feeling of being in any kind of outdoor market on a day such as this.

My spirit felt like a cloud drifting through the lazy blue sky this afternoon as I pondered the 'thisses and thats' and the 'whozits and whatsits' at all of the booths, the international cuisine and the curious onlookers, all there to share in the joy of the fair as I was. Chocolate-ananas crepe from a crepe maker? Yes, please.

Jewelry from multi-cultural dolls? Well, maybe.

Biker man in leather and chains with two jovial Boston Terriers? Absolutely. I'm not yet an official New Yorker because I have not joined the Canine Club. It is massive and kind of a required thing here.

In the south, October means college football and B.B.Q's. In NY, fall means boots, street fairs, cool dogs, football (of course), and one ecstatic Ashley.

Welcome to the world of blogging... I have finally arrived.

For years now- well, let's be realistic and say 2 years- I have pondered the idea of joining the online blogging world. Life stays full to the brim and has its distractions- and the bottom line is that I sometimes don't make the time for the things that I really want to do.

I planted myself in New York from the Lone Star State 7 months ago as a late twenty-something female with nothing but freedom, anticipation and a few nerves... and a 14 and 1/2 foot U-haul full of STUFF- way too much stuff for a West Village apartment. Since my arrival, an entirely new realm of inspiration has found me. This city is full of individuals with vision who have taken courage to move in the direction of those dreams. When I meet someone new, my cup of steaming hot green tea and I sit across the table listening, awakened by the passion of the life on the other side of the 24" slab of maple.

This is a fascinating city, but it can be a tough city. I didn't anticipate the loneliness I felt when I got here. Jay Z is telling the truth: if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. So, here I land. In NY and blogging. I hope to share the world as seen through my eyes with those who care to see it. New York is a beautiful place filled with incredible and diverse people and we all have a story. I am grateful to have a space to share mine.

A lovely day soon after moving to NYC, getting acquainted with some of the city's finest things: a savory meal, a fantastic glass of Pinot Noir and the best book on fun happenings in this great city

My precious little West Village apartment. It is cozy, to say the least... but in a truly fantastic Manhattan location.

My office, bedroom and closet in a 14x10' space=NY bliss

Finishing the 28 hour drive up in my 14 and 1/2 foot U-Haul truck. I made the drive all by myself with a stopover in Nashville. My U-haul broke down on me twice, I broke my grandmother's piano in transit to Houston, ran into a friend's roof with the truck and the #1 Award: I left and drove 10 minutes on 3 major Texas highways when leaving Dallas with the back door of the truck wide open... meaning, all of my neatly packed stuff could have fallen out... on the freeway. Real safe, I know. I was so beyond exhausted and distracted from the truck needing a jump to get started that morning that I just forgot to shut it. It's a miracle I made it to NY in one piece. Thanks, 5-Hour Energy.