Home.

As far back as I can remember, I dreamt of distant cities and countries, places where people talked in different languages and accents, where food and fashion were foreign and nothing was assumed or expected as normal. I dreamt of an adventurous life moving around like a gypsy with a bounty on my head. I dreamt of a string of international lovers, never settling down in one place or at one job or with one person for long. That life, that lack of connection to any place or person, was what I thought I was meant to live, and I sought out to fulfill that destiny.

The place that I was supposed to call home for so many years is a place that, regardless of rights or wrongs or truthfulness or memory, I never felt that connection to. Everyone's memories are clouded by their own experiences and perceptions, but as the Good Prophet Doctor Phil teaches us, the only thing that matters is how you felt, and how those feelings shaped you. And the simple matter is that this home was a place I never felt welcome or comfortable. It was useless to try to explain why, no matter how hard I tried. Obviously, I thought, the reason that I couldn't connect to any places that were supposed to be my home was the common denominator: me. I had to have been the problem so there was no escaping this destiny.

But something remarkable has happened in recent years. I stopped searching. I stopped running. I stopped trying to find where I was supposed to be, and instead I just was. Maybe I was simply ready. Maybe I'd gone through enough and was just too tired to keep trying to be something I wasn't. But I know that when I met the man who is now my husband, I let myself learn for the first time what it was like to not be judged on what I was or what I was supposed to be for other people, but instead to be appreciated for who I am. Instead of a life where nothing I did was right, no matter how hard I tried, I found myself in a life where everything was right because it was truth. It was me. I did what felt right and so it was.

And I found peace.

The life that I have found in the city that became mine exactly two years ago is a life full of amazing people doing incredible things. Supporting their friends, their families, and their community, and allowing themselves to be happy. It was hard to accept for a long time and I still find myself doubting it occasionally, but thankfully at increasingly longer intervals. I know that I have never felt so free to follow my passions and dreams, and I have found others who feel the same way. Maybe it's this specific place that was founded by crazy dreamers who wouldn't take no for an answer. Maybe it's just that I subconsciously choose to find people who are like me. Or maybe I just notice these things now and hadn't before.It doesn't matter why I feel this way, only that I do. And now that I know what it feels like, nobody can take it away from me no matter where I go.

I will always have wanderlust, but I no longer travel in search of that elusive connection or in search of other options. I have finally found what I was always looking for, what I thought I would never have. And although I found it here, it no longer matters where I am, whether it's Dallas or New York, Atlanta or Miami, California or Paris or Cape Town or Shanghai...

With this knowledge, with this peace, I've found my home. And for that, I am truly thankful.

Reflect.

Over the past twelve years, I've avoided the "where were you?" conversations and kept any thought or discussion of the event to a socially appropriate minimum. Perhaps because of the recent dramatic events- both very good and very bad- in my life, I was ready this morning to remember. I hadn't planned on doing anything to commemorate the anniversary of 9/11, but when I woke up today I had an urge to crawl into the attic, into a big blue bin of my past life, and find the scrapbook that I kept twelve years ago. 

I was living in New York, technically in Jersey (Hoboken), with three other would-be performers in a tiny railroad apartment with three windows and no A/C. Thankfully we had a good supply of wine. I slept in that morning and woke to a phone call from my mother making sure I was ok. She knew that I often took the PATH train downtown, like most of us did occasionally. I was 22 years old and worked in a bookstore in Chelsea, but wasn't scheduled to work that morning. 

It wasn't a close call for me, but it was dramatic. Scrapbooking was my way of coping in the weeks that followed, and this morning for the first time in twelve years, I looked through the scrapbook that I'd kept, and I remembered. And I was ok. 

 

 

  

Merely Players.

A long time ago, one could say several lifetimes in fact, I was a part of a rather unconventional family. 

The other members may not have even known it. But a series of traumatic experiences and news had left my soul battered beyond the point of recognition, even though not many people knew or noticed because I was so good at hiding it. I was an actor after all. And given that I spent most of my time around people who hadn't known me previously, nobody knew that I was different than my "old" self. I'm sure I didn't make much of an impression on anyone; I was just happy to be around a group of people so talented and unique, with no false pretenses of proper decorum, encouraging each other to be their true selves and to grow their gifts. 

I was part of an acting troupe that rehearsed throughout the summer and performed weekends through the fall. I was a part-timer, simultaneously working through my junior year of college, but I spent my weeks looking forward to the time I would spend with that fascinating group of individuals. Some were like me, brought up in suburban towns far from the glittering lights of New York and Chicago and working their way up to stardom bit part by bit part. Others were from distant lands, traveling gypsies working their way around the world experience by experience, and still others were simply running away from lives they knew they couldn't stay in. There were consummate professionals and there were philosophical drifters, and there was everything in between. And there was a lot of laughter and even more love, in many many ways. 

It was hot as hell in the summertime, and later in the season they were scraping ice off the stage. The costumes were often heavy and awkward, and yet never heavy enough when the winter air started to settle in. We got paid next to nothing. But every day after rehearsal or show we would all drop our characters and keep the local pubs in business while entertaining and learning about each other. What my "family" didn't realize that summer is how much I needed all of that. It may have been so simple and yet that camaraderie, that joy and those deep talks got me through one of the toughest periods of my life. I'm sure I was not the only one. Most of us were escaping something in our lives, which is often true of artists of any kind and especially true of most New Yorkers, as many of us were or turned out to be down the line. 

The season ended and I had many new experiences and perspectives under my belt, and I tried to go back to a nice normal college life. But between my season in the acting group and the personal dramas I'd been trying to manage, I was past being able to return to "normal." When the opportunity to move to New York with some other actor friends came along, I jumped at it, and continued to move down a path of escapism, to the ultimate Island of Misfit Toys. Quite a few of us stayed in touch for awhile. Some stayed friends, some dated, and some worked on projects together, either in the city or beyond. Some continued to perform and others moved on to successes in other areas of the entertainment world or out of it. I turned my focus to hospitality and later went corporate, realizing that my creative inclinations and experiences were useful in more right-brain-based industries where I seemed to be better suited once I worked through my head. 

But through it all: four cities, a failed marriage, a child, and a whirlwind of jobs and dreams and travels, that world and the people in it were never far out of my mind or heart, and I welcomed any and all interaction over the next decade. First it was just email or over drinks, then via myspace, then Facebook... each time the medium changed we would find each other all over again. It was so long ago and yet when I look over my social media streams, those people still are the ones I care about the most. We have all gone in so many directions both geographically and ideologically, but they have remained the most interesting and warmest people I've known in my lifetime. Which is why, when a piece of news showed up on my screen yesterday, I surprised even myself by reacting the way that I did. 

One of these beautiful people that had been a part of this family for really what amounted to only a few months of my life, passed away yesterday. I sobbed like I hadn't in years. I reached out for the others as they did, and we realized that we were all still there; the family was intact minus one. At first I felt so guilty; I don't even know if she would remember me and I hadn't spent as much time with her as so many others had... what right did I have to grieve this way? But then I saw others expressing the same concern and realized I wasn't alone. It was unbelievably heartbreaking yet beautiful the way that this group came back together even if only virtually and briefly. And I realized how much I missed them, and how grateful I was to know them all even for such a brief time.

I realized over the last few years how much I missed the arts and the theatre in particular. Although I've been a patron and a fan all during this time, and have done much to bring the arts into my new circles, I have missed really being a part of it. With each show that I saw, with each review or press release that I read, I have felt my heart being pulled further and further back. But the final kicker was this news that I received yesterday that made the path before me so crystal clear. This morning I had a conversation that will lead me back home, to my first passion, and to me being a productive contributor to the world that accepted me no matter what else happened in my life. 

I have never forgotten that beautiful sassy woman running over to me, someone she just met, sitting in my lap and wrapping her arms around me in the warmest and funniest embrace. She had no idea how much I needed that unconditional love at that moment. 

Today, at the end of my meeting, a similar spirit who I'd just met said goodbye with a hug, and although I smiled and maintained my professional demeanor as I've learned to do, I got into my car and cried. Thank you Ginny B.