Limbo.

“The city. So many lights you can actually pretend one of ‘em’s shining on you.” *

New York is a city that is beautiful in its wickedness. By living here you are automatically subject to a dysfunctional abusive relationship. It mistreats you, ignores you, beats you up daily. And you keep coming back for more.

In general, New Yorkers are unbelievably resilient. We drink too much, sleep too little, work far too hard and stress about absolutely everything. We get knocked down daily and it doesn’t phase us in the least. In fact it’s expected. We pay too much for our lives and rarely if ever take a break. We have to keep moving- it’s our collective coping mechanism. If we stop, we may have to catch a breath, clear our heads and be in the moment, and nothing terrifies us more. There’s always more, better, and to stop means to lose our chance at attaining the unattainable. So we push and push and push until our bodies or our minds reach their breaking point. When we’re forced to acknowledge and accept the reality of our abusive relationship and consider doing something about it. We see the dark circles under our eyes and recognize that our overstimulated lives are killing us. And it’s time to make a choice. Do I stay or do I go?

“Small town girl she comes to town. Tin of rouge and strapless gown. Dies a lot before she gets to die… but with a smile she’ll say, “that’s the low-down down.”*

We are not unaware of the dysfunction. That’s half the reason many of us came here. It’s hard to focus on the little intimate moments of our silly lives when we’re just focused on survival. And we don’t want to focus on the moments. We answer emails at two in the morning, apply our make-up in rattling subway cars or jolting taxi cabs, eat on the run (if at all) and get the heels of our shoes replaced monthly after beating them down on the city concrete and grates. Just. Keep. Running.

“You swim with sharks in shallow pools. You get bit and them’s the rules. I got bit and almost eaten whole. But I liked it.”*

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. New York didn’t chew me up and spit me out the way it does others. There were many rough times but more beautiful moments. Inspiring, awe-filled moments. And I’m leaving on a high note, and not because I have to. 

I was lucky because I met someone who helped me learn how to slow down. On a cool and rainy December day in California almost two years ago, this someone suggested that we take a nap. It seemed like the perfect thing to do. But I had wi-fi withdrawal anxiety and my head was spinning with a to-do list and thoughts about anything and everything. And I made it clear that I. Don’t. Nap. Ever.

But I laid down with him on the big soft couch and read my book, (my third time through The Great Gatsby). I closed my eyes and woke up an hour later- I had actually relaxed enough to fall asleep, even though I hadn’t worked myself to the point of exhaustion. It was a revelation; I know that something changed then. It’s only once you really experience life outside again that you realize how much your city life is destroying you. 

About a year after that initial moment of self-discovery, I made the decision to leave New York. I didn’t know yet where I would go, but I accepted that it was the best choice for me and my daughter. I had a few options in the works and it all just depended on which way the winds would blow. 

"Passion is not so much an emotion as a destiny. What choice have I in the face of this wind but to put up my sail and rest my oars?" ~ j. winterson

In this entry I’ve been referring to New Yorkers as ‘we’. But this is no longer accurate. Early this morning I packed up the last of my things, turned out the lights of my little Queens apartment and locked the door for the last time. At this moment that I am writing this, I’m in limbo. Most of my things are in a storage unit until the moving company can transport them to my new abode. Right now, at this very moment, I am between homes. But in a few more hours, I will start a new life in a new city.

Maybe I’ll start with a nap.

“People like us… lost… and found…”*

* song lyrics from the Broadway musical “The Wild Party”

Fleeting.

So happiness is and was fleeting. Proof that when you have it you have to soak it up and drown yourself in it as long as possible. I did get there since my last post. For several glorious hours I allowed myself to feel positively joyous. My partner was by my side, my professional situation was promising and fulfilling, dear friends surrounded me in a celebration of a life beginning a new chapter. In a sexy midtown lounge forty floors below my office, I felt pure contentment. For those brief moments, I was truly happy.

And then a phone call. I had to go outside to hear what was being said. I stood on the sidewalk on 48th street trying to understand what it meant. The bouncers asked if I was alright. I said no. It didn't make any sense. Everyone was fine. We made it through what we thought was the worst tragedy we would face for at least another decade. Only two years earlier we'd been hit too closely. Surely another hit would not come so soon?

It did. And it's hard. The tears were immediate. I wanted to collapse under the weight of the news.

So now what? The battle.
His fight. The plan was already decided and the first phase was well underway.
Our fight. All of us who are close to this and who have come so far together and are not going to let this consume us.

We were all doing so well. Beautiful life-altering moments had filled our lives over the last few months. To prepare us for this? Maybe life has set us up to be in peaceful and safe and stable places in our lives so that we could be strong enough to handle this.

I have to believe that.

I am stuck between the cynicism of my recent past and the rediscovered optimism of my distant past when thinking about my future. I want to believe this was all planned in some way and the end result will be more beautiful than we could have ever imagined. Tragedies led to affirmations which led to another tragedy that we are just simply better prepared for now.

I know that amazing and wonderful lives are lost every day. I know this. But this one is simply too gifted, too unique, too rare and beautiful. The odds are good. The support is there. The resources are there. This one will fight and win and bring us more revelations and beauty and precious precious laughter.

And we will have all passed another test, and earned more happiness still. More bliss. Perfect bliss.

And then, then it will be truly appreciated.

Bliss.

 

“When you follow your bliss... doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors; and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else.”


~ Joseph Campbell


Bliss. It is utterly terrifying. Because when you've reached the top, there is nowhere to go but down.

My heart is bursting. I don't remember a time in my life when I was happier or more content. I can't imagine there ever could have been such a time.

There is a bubble of love all around me and I am forcing myself to remember this feeling, to imprint it on my memory. Every tingle of this high and the warmth and glow that come with it.

Suddenly all of the things in my life that seemed for so long to be so big and scary and suffocating seem insignificant. A weight that only weeks ago had felt so heavy has been lifted up off of my shoulders and I'm struck by how manageable it now appears from my new vantage point.

A past that was holding me back has released its death grip and I'm clearly seeing a world that is bright and colorful and loving. There are people with open arms and smiles everywhere I turn and I realize that they were there all along but I was too consumed with my own sadness to see them.

For so long I was hitting walls everywhere that I turned. For so long nothing seemed easy. And then it happened- one right turn followed by another. Some resistance in some directions led me in others and with each turn and new path, the right way was easier to find. My heart felt lighter and I just knew that this was the way. All of the struggles up until now were just leading me to here and now and I want to cry with happiness.

But it's not pure. I wish it was.

There is such a long way to fall. A moment of joy is immediately followed by a moment of panic. How quickly will this be taken away? When will it all go wrong?

Walking down the sidewalk toward my home I watched my daughter running a few meters ahead towards some older neighbor girls that she adores. Her blond curls bounced in the sunlight and her arms reached out on either side of her. She is so trusting, so loving, so full of life. I wanted to run after her, scoop her up and never let go. Stay this happy, honey. Remember this feeling forever and feel nothing else. I walked slowly though, dragging my bag and her lunchbox and various accoutrement, my heels clicking on the sidewalk, a smile spreading across my face as I watched her run. I have love in my life, lists to make, events to plan, people to meet, a new life to start....

Inside I'm screaming: Please just let me enjoy this for a little while.

Remember this feeling... remember what it is like to be this happy.

Blog.

Approximately 25 strangers were united by one brilliant moment on the N coming into Queens tonight. Three intoxicated twenty-something girls boarded the train at Queensboro. Despite their volume, they were not obnoxious but instead were joyous and amusing. We all- trained in this situation after years of city living to pretend we don’t notice anything and instead seem to be increasingly distracted by our ipods, books, iphones, the map on the wall- stayed in our little islands of isolation for the first few stops. (At least those of us not sitting directly across from them, who ended up handing over their snacks at the girls’ insistence.)

And then- the train stopped. And the girls realized they needed to get off. And two did. And then the doors closed. We were all secretly watching and then we stopped hiding it. The third girl stood in vodka-induced shock. The other two, laughing uncontrollably, pounded on the doors and tried to get the conductor’s attention. We've all thought of this- this moment, what would and could happen if we were separated at the will of the train. But how many of us has it actually happened to? And how many of us, if it did happen, would be so drunk as to not be able to find our companions after the fact? I let out an audible burst of laughter. The men and women around me followed and soon we all had a moment that we rarely get- we noticed each other. And we made eye contact. Amazingly, after a moment of doubt, the doors opened again and the girls were reunited on the other side of the glass. But it was too late- the connection happened. The kid to my right actually spoke out loud. “Thank you drunk girls. That made my night.”

Walking down Ditmars I reflected on a decade of highs and lows that come with living in a city of extremes. Surprisingly sober after a Saturday night out, I realized I’d only had three drinks over the course of the entire evening (red with dinner, gin before, whiskey after), but was buzzed enough by either the alcohol or the city to the point of nostalgia.

It was a typical and perfect New York night out. A bus to a train to another train. A band (a saxophone, a bass, and drums) played on the platform as I waited for the L. Delays. A half mile walk in 4-inch wedges and a Nicole Miller. Dinner with an amazing friend and two new friends. An ironic anti-Kosher restaurant with small inventive plates of pork and shellfish. Beautiful people. Gorgeous weather. Intelligent and snarky humor and debate. Shared life tragedies. Exposed kitchen. Laughter.

Invigorated, I bummed a cigarette off of a ponytailed girl who had been on the train. She also gave me a light. I walked a few blocks, realizing the Q69 wouldn’t come anytime soon, and then realized I didn’t like smoking. I discarded it and kept walking. And thinking.

Before dinner I visited my brother at his Williamsburg apartment and was reminded what life was like ten years ago when I first moved to this city. When I, along with all of my friends, was struggling to pay the rent but happy. Found objects made furniture and art. Ramen was a meal. A party was potluck- bring a bottle of wine or a box of crackers or your own demo tape for entertainment. Just come, with your roommate or your recent hookup or with some people you met on the street. Sit on the floor, light the mass of melted candles on the low box you’re pretending is a coffee table, and enjoy the company of the most interesting, creative, and brilliant people you never thought you would know.

Tonight I stood there admiring the creative use of space by him and his roommates in their walk-up apartment on Montrose with the toilet in a closet in the kitchen, suddenly hyper aware of my designer dress and double process hair color and impending reservations down the street. The nostalgia was palpable, a warm feeling and an involuntary smile spreading across my face at the sight of makeshift living that was once so familiar.  But there was more- a comfort, a contentment, a joy that came from realizing how far I’ve come since my first days, pre- 9/11, in a little railroad apartment in Hoboken with two other would-be actresses from Pennsylvania.

I’ve conquered. And I’m suddenly simultaneously satisfied and frustrated by this. Because what’s next? Akin to finishing a really great book; the sadness that comes when you reach the last page, wondering if you’ll ever be able to find another book to read that will bring you the same wonderment and joy, knowing that even going back and reading it again will never bring the same experience.

So what’s next?

The gypsy spirit must be nourished.

I miss my daughter. I wish I could sneak into our shared bedroom and nuzzle my face into her perfect cheek and fill her head with thoughts of amazement and contentment through osmosis. She exhausts me but fills me with joy like no other human being can. She’s been gone a week and will be back in two. The separations are necessary but they keep getting harder.

I miss my partner. I’m used to the distance but increasingly annoyed by it. Five more days until we’re reunited in California, where we both seem to be happiest.

The glow of my laptop is lighting the dining space of my little apartment. This is the first time I’ve written in awhile and it feels good.

I know there are big steps in the near future. Regardless of the decisions of other people, there is a pressure building in my life and at some point soon it will push me in a new and different direction. Nobody will be surprised.

Nights like tonight bring to question two coinciding but opposite thoughts:

1. How could I ever leave this place?
2. How am I still here?

So much of tonight’s conversation centered on how I would (could) adapt to what may become my new world. So much is different. Different has never scared me but as I age I realize how much easier it is when you are in a community of people who are like you. A subject was approached and my dining partner said “in New York it would never be questioned, but where you might move to, it would be shocking.” A moment of silence. He was right. Will I have to explain myself over and over again? Will I want to?

But it’s a challenge, isn’t it? A new adventure. A new path. A new book. The gypsy would be satisfied.

Every now and then I read a wonderful book that makes me think “how could I ever have thought that the last one was the best?”

I am taking a big breath and turning the last page. This has been an amazing time. But what I’ve recently found- my future- is not here. It’s somewhere else.

It's time to start a new book.