I parted my hair down the middle today

in

Two days ago, walking past Lululemon (a very expensive, but very chic workout wear store), I saw these words...

Do something today that scares you.
 
In the spirit of October's hallmark holiday, Halloween, that was the thrust of the window display. So this got me thinking. First, that not only should I do something each day that scares me, but secondly, that each month should have a focus.
So, November.... Let's think...Well, Thanksgiving of course. And what's that about again? I'm having visions of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and a pre-school field trip that involved dressing up as a pilgrim one day, and Indian the next (Native American rather, but at that point political correctness hadn't quite taken hold) and visiting the local grocery store (we were even on the news--I do remember that).
Back to the point. Oh yes, so Thanksgiving has something to do with sharing, right? Or maybe it's as easy as this...giving thanks.
Perfect, no problem. Giving thanks. But on top of that I need a challenge, I need to scare myself (even if I am a month too late), and so this is my proposition....
For this one month, challenge your idea of yourself.
Example: I believe myself to be a tremendously bad cook. So, one day I might put on my Eiffel tower apron, channel my 1950's housewife, and dare to create a kitchen masterpiece that far exceeds my expectations.
We all hang on to these images of ourselves that then limit who we are. Who we might be.  I'm fat. I'm thin. I'm wealthy. I'm old. I'm immature. I'm an actor. I'm a banker. I only wear black. I never take the subway. I can't take photos. But we're so much more than a label that we, or anyone else can assign to us. I'm a democrat. I'm republican. Liberal, right-wing, black, white, conservative, tall, short, modest, moderate, hip, dowdy, southern, christian, catholic, jewish. Right. Wrong. We will never be able to know the full depths of who we are, or what we are capable of. We just need to go in search, to try new things, to attempt what others would never expect of us.
So today, I parted my hair down the center. Sounds simple, right? Silly, even. But after 17 years of parting it to the right or to the left, this simple action created a crack and, like Alice, down the rabbit-hole I fell. Well, jumped. And it felt good, falling--liberating and exciting. And I'm hoping (and betting on the fact) that one crack yields another and another and another--until this surface that we all hide behind falls away to reveal images we never dreamt possible.
Because the thing is, as different as we all are, I imagine we have more connecting us than we care to admit. And as our nation embarks on an historic election, I think it's important that we remember that at the end of the day we all want the same thing. Peace and love and hope for a better future. And isn't that what the first Thanksgiving was all about? The Pilgrim's and Indian's realization that they had more in common than they first believed.
One of the first civilians into space said that all politicians should be forced to a trip to the moon so that they could turn around and see that the only borders that exist are the ones that man has created.
It's one world we live in and it's about time we started giving it the kind of thanks it deserves.

H-A-LL-O-W-EE-N

in
circa 1987...maybe this is why I dreamt of growing up to be a cheerleader
Today I saw a little girl on the street dressed as Harry Potter, Hedwig under one arm and her quidditch broom in the other, and for one fleeting moment I remembered what it felt like to not be able to sleep the night before out of sheer excitement. Eyes tightly closed, willing morning to come just a wee bit sooner.
Happy Halloween. Here's to many more nights where morning just won't come fast enough.

"You can quote me on that...if you want...on your Blog." Or...10 things you should know about me.

in

1. MJ (the roommate) hints at things he thinks I should put on the blog. All the time. He's becoming the ghostwriter. And annoying...god, I love him.

2. I hate going to the post office. Hate it. The people who work there move at a snail's pace. This makes me violent.
3. I often write letters and never send them (see above for possible explanation).
4. I almost never take the pills I've been prescribed. This gets me in trouble as strep throat tends to require that the first round of antibiotics be completed. Otherwise it comes back. With avengeance. And I end up sitting in a movie theatre silently sobbing because I can hardly breathe or swallow or think.
5. Once upon a time I was in love.
6. I do not understand people who think it's okay to cut into a clearly established line.
7. I often offer up incorrect spellings of words. Waist instead of waste (Freudian slip?). Sense instead of scents. I ask for your patience with this as they're (not their) all over the place.
8. Pictures are my last frontier. I've gotten to a place where I can feel pretty good about my body, but I look at pictures and still get a fright each time. So, this is may way of saying...the pictures will come...give me time and they will come....I'm working on it.
9.  Tomorrow is my first day off in about as long as I cam remember. And thank goodness for that because this pressure cooker is about to pop (break? blow? I'm bad in the kitchen, remember--so even the analogies confuse me).
10. I've been sleeping on an air mattress for about three weeks now. And right now it's got my name all over it. So, goodnight and here's to hoping I find an actual bed sometime before the year's end.

Musings, ramblings...Or what you will.

in

It's a perfect Saturday morning in the city. Quiet. Cool. Slightly overcast. My laundry is tucked away in one of the many washing machines two doors down and a hint of breeze is slipping in through the top of my window.

When I was little I played make-believe more than most children do. I carried out the humble manifestations of my dreams and idyllic ideas long after most girls had become boy-obsessed. When I was tiny I played wedding make-believe. And god bless my mother as she was always in search of the perfect underslip that would easily turn into the perfect wedding dress (I guess I envisioned separates?). I played house, most especially whenever my father brought home flowers, for they brought out any domestic goddess tendencies that now lay dormant. I had my own little Fischer Price kitchen in the pantry and I would piddle away the time answering the yellow telephone and taking things in and out of the stove. God, I still remember the curve of the plastic and glamor of it all. The first two jobs I ever aspired to were those of cheerleader and flight attendant. Think about it, a young girl's first two job choices: flight attendant, chearleader...yes, clearly feminism was alive and well. Not to worry, in time I dreamt of becoming a pediatrician or the first female President of the United States. But when I really think about it, from a very young age, I wanted nothing more than to live in Manhattan, all by my lonesome, and live the life of  a sophisticated, hard-working, single gal. I didn't dream about marriage or even men. I dreamt about the life I could build by myself, so that when I did meet the man of my dreams I would be ready for him.
At school, for four years, all I ever heard was, if you can get through this, you can get through anything--that our schedule would be harder than anything we'd ever come up against. Well, let me tell you...no one, absolutely no one, prepared me for this. Working a myriad of jobs (while constantly seeking to expand the circle of employment), auditioning, taking class to make you a better artist because really you're working to become a better person, keeping up with friends and family, and oh yeah...trying to keep my head above the rip-roaring currents that constantly threaten--that's hard. It's so hard. Remember, a while back when I said that I wish it could be just a little bit easier? I still hope for that, but now I'm not just hoping--I'm working towards it, on a daily basis. It's so hard...and right now, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I was so taken by CJane's post where she wrote that Christian spoke of literally feeling the prayers working on him. The idea of that humbles me in every possible way--the idea that prayer is not a thought, but an actual action, an energy that moves through the world healing. Well, I'm starting to believe that prayers coupled with the million daily miracles that keep life moving forward can actually change us--heal us, alter our physical make-up. My day requires alot of travel time. Busses, subways, foot traffic. And well, I can feel those hour long subway rides working on me. Those cross town bus trips shaping something new and different. The very ebb and flow of the city is moving over and through me, carving a new outlook, eroding doubts, dislodging fear. Something much greater than me is healing me, making me whole again. Two days ago, walking in Brooklyn before class, I realized that right now, at this very moment, I am living the life I envisioned for myself as a child. I am beholden to no one but myself. I am working as hard as I can, but as of yet, my life is completely anonymous. My life is my own. The other day, when I claimed those words as my new working mantra, I had not a clue as to how truly fitting and potent they could be, because there is a freedom in that anonymity like nothing I've ever before experienced. And yet, even that statement my life is my own, is somehow false. My life belongs to something much greater, much larger than me. I don't know where my religion stands right now (I'm working on it) but I do know that a higher power is working on me. So my life in many ways, is not my own at all. And I'm so glad it's this hard. Because I'm not alone. And I know that five years from now, I'm going to look back on this period as pure, unadulterated bliss. And in those five years as success gradually takes on new forms and different names, each period will be just as miraculous as the last. Now that I am aware of the joy inherent to any present moment, it will just keep coming, so that each new period of my life will be just as important and joyous as the last. Different in form, but similar in spirit.
And thank God for that.