Knick Knack Nostalgia

A guy from Craig's List is coming tomorrow morning to purchase and cart-off my bookshelves, and I should be happy about it. I'm not. He is paying me for the bookshelves that I decided to sell, yet I feel as if he's taking them from me. Like I'm a debtor handing them over with reluctance to the person who's collecting my debt.

I think this anxiousness comes from my next move coming up in just 2 short weeks. This will be my 8th move in 8 years. Quite a track record. When I moved to New York, I sold about 75% of the stuff that I owned, and that 75% that I did have was exactly 50% of the stuff that I used to own. At one point I had a home that looked like it was straight out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. It actually was. I believe 85% of the possessions in the home were Pottery Barn. And although I believe I am a more interesting, eclectic kind of person than someone who has a house furnished with 85% Pottery Barn, the fact is that at one point in my life, I had a really nice, beautiful place to call 'home.'

I like the idea, and the practice, of living minimally. But, the truth is that I am too nostalgic of a person to do so. I am selling these coffee-colored bookshelves tomorrow, but what about the Harvard books that I bought to decorate them? I remember being in that bookstore, full of excitement as I furnished my first home. What about the canisters that I got in Maui that are hand-etched? The teapot from India that I picked up as I strolled through the dusty, mountain streets of Darjeeling? The gemstone rock that I got on a road trip during a season of my life when I needed to be reminded that sometimes, things don't look like much on the outside, but have jewels of tremendous beauty on the inside. What about that? Although those things are just 'stuff,' that 'stuff' is a part of me. It's been a part of a journey and I can't seem to let it go.

I realize this is totally an impractical emotion, living in a New York apartment. There is no space, and I'm about to decrease my bedroom by 50% with this next move. I rolled up to Washington Pl. last year with a 14 and 1/2 foot U-haul truck that I had driven by myself cross-country. Somehow, very carefully, I managed to pack it all in. But with each move comes a cleansing, and although I believe that simplifying life is an act of cleansing, it sometimes still brings a sadness to me.

In my mind I romanticize the idea of giving it all up and only keeping one suitcase filled with what I need to take off and travel the globe for 2 years with what I can carry on my back. That thought is great in theory, and maybe in the realities of some in this world, but not in mine.

Maybe a girl can have it all. I can de-clutter, simplify, know that there will be a time in the future again when I will truly have a space of my own... a space to breathe, to rest, to furnish... But, until then, climate controlled storage will have to do.

Life's Lessons from Lost Earrings

It's official. I now have enough widowed earrings to constitute an earring graveyard. From the regal collars of winter coats and tightly wrapped scarves, they have fallen to their demise, un-noticed on the slick winter sidewalks.

I got home last night, unlaced my snow boots, my shoes of choice as of late, and headed into my bedroom where I began to slip into something more comfortable. Watch off, necklace off, earrings-- and then just a feeling of, "oh, sh#&. Another one bit the dust." Another lone range earring, separated from its twin and mourning the loss of the camaraderie they once shared.

My point is this: for the 5th time last night, I made the same thoughtless mistake. After I lost my first earring just a few months ago, I thought to myself, "I need to not wear earrings without stoppers on them during the winter months when I wear coats and scarves because I'll lose them like I did this one." And then it happened again. And then for a third time. And then a fourth. And finally, last night, a fifth. How many times does it take to learn a lesson and make an actual change to a behavior pattern?

Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over, but with expecting a different result. I am convinced that in some areas of my life, I am completely insane. This got me pondering other lessons that I should have learned that perhaps I have not learned. What are the blind spots in my life, those places where I should be able to see what's coming around the corner, but I don't? Are the blind spots simply the result of lack of care or attention, or rather, just the process in which life chooses to teach us, sometimes through painful repetition so we truly learn and grow?

I do know for certain that I have made mistakes in my life that I have learned from. Mistakes that are painful enough that I am self aware to not repeat them. But, were there warning signs- the yellow lights- leading up to those mistakes that could have saved me and others so much grief that I simply could not see? Are some things in life only learned and truly absorbed through difficult experiences?

Human nature is sometimes very resistant to change. I do not want to lose another earring in life, metaphorically, so it's time to wake up and really see what lessons I have chosen not to see. I would rather it not take me being slapped in the face each time.

Just some food for thought from my overflowing plate.

How is it possible for 58 days to flash by so quickly? 58 days ago, I was moved to tears by that sweet man struggling on the subway. I wonder what he's doing right now and how he's making it in this New York winter. It is not that I have not been moved or touched to write since that evening. Many things have touched my spirit. It is simply that the days if life sprint by, which is what has been filling my thoughts this evening.

This is my first true experience of winter, and I now understand why bears hibernate during these chilling months. Although experiencing snowstorms and four distinct seasons for the first time in my life is thrilling, 75% of the time I would simply prefer to crawl into yoga pants, fuzzy socks and under a blanket; comfort and warmth have been my top two priorities as of late. I have never lacked so much motivation to do... well, about anything. Go to the gym, go out to dinner, walk downstairs and outside to do my laundry or even make a quick trip to the grocery store. The winter has somehow turned me into a messy bachelor with a heap of laundry and nothing filling my fridge but old, past-expiration boxed tomato soup and a bag of whole grain flour. Springtime, I need you to come and rescue me! Put a little flush in this snowy skin, ignite a bounce in my step and amaze me with the beauty of your splendor. Inspire me as you teach me, once again, that all things in life regenerate themselves with time and become fresh and new.

I have been thinking lately about the wonder and brevity of life. In a flash, ten years pass. I'm approaching my 30th year in 2011. While I recognize how young that is, as well as how thankful I am for all of the life experiences that I have had in my years, my upcoming 30th birthday is already a thoughtful one. It is the first decade I have entered in to with a deeper realization of how precious life is, how quickly it goes, and how I just have one. One life. One chance to make it all I desire it to be.

I'm living in New York City and experiencing new things each and every day. If I had 300 more years to live, I might

be in Sydney two years from now, or Paris, or Argentina... and while all of those are probable trip destinations, there is not enough time to make all of them a home. To form true relationships with those who live there. To learn and become a part of the culture. To plant roots. So, when it comes down to it, a contented soul is the canvas for a breathtaking life masterpiece. To choose well, with thoughtfulness and intention, and to wake each day and choose to be present in my own life, in my own body, in my mind and in my spirit and to make that day memorable for what it is. I work to remind myself that once a day has passed, I will never again behold it.

2 years

9 years

17 years

22 years

28 years

So, with that realization, I am going to leave this toasty apartment tonight and venture into the frigid Manhattan air. I'm going to take in the quaint, magical Village that surrounds me in the lower west side of New York. I'm going to peek in candlelit restaurant windows and watch lovers laughing and talking. I'm going to savor a glass of red wine in the company of dear friends and create a memory on this night. And then I'll sleep, and like a morning glory reaching out at dawn to embrace what the day will give, I will awake, open to the beauty that lies ahead in the day that is tomorrow.

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.