perfection.

i remember being young and unable to sleep the night before my birthday. morning just wouldn't come fast enough. it was a physical thing--that tingle of the stomach that spread to the fingertips and the crown of the head. because on that one day--that day of birth--one felt different. special.

i miss that feeling. it's been quite some time since i experienced it.

but yesterday? well, yesterday was perfect. because the day was so normal. i mean, no, not quite normal, but simple and lovely--as close to normal as a birthday can get and still be utter perfection.

it was the cup of coffee i had upon waking. the 7:15 am subway ride in which i ran into a dear friend. the 8:15 fitness class that had my legs throbbing and my stomach muscles doing a little, unsolicited dance. it was the warm shower afterwards. and getting caught in the rain in nolita. it was the french-moroccan bistro and their unbelievably thick latte. it was my new navy blazer that had me feeling beautiful. and lunch with girlfriends. laughter. the ogling of good looking, bearded men as only downtown manhattan (and parts of brooklyn) can produce. it was coming home to a clean room at the end of the day. lit candles against the gray of the sky. a little package from home. my mother's perfect (yes, truly) sugar cookies. the phone call from my bother. an evening spent in our tiny kitchen. lazing about discussing books and clothes and plans. it was the half-glass of prosecco. and the little orange pumpkin that now sits on my dresser. it was all of your kind wishes. lovely wishes. and words of encouragement.

and so when the clock passed from midnight to just-past and i was still awake, i didn't even notice. i didn't regard the passing of another birthday with great sadness as i used to (another year until i feel this way) because it seemed entirely possible that this great feeling, this perfect and simple and bordering on pedestrian (in the most glorious of ways) feeling might last all year long. yes, i'm sure there will be interruptions, ups and downs, but all in all it felt as if yesterday set the tone for all that is to come in this quarter-century-year. and i couldn't be more content.

alright, i'm off to the freezer for one of those sugar cookies. (one can do such things the morning after their birthday).

before the scream.

i have an unbelievably slow reaction time.

i take time to process things. quite a bit of time. maybe too much time?

at one point in utah i came out of a friend's bathroom, rounded the corner, and found myself face-to-face with a very tall man. in the dark. he jumped in my path. i stood there. for a second. processed it (kind of). felt the adrenaline pulse through my body (you know that wave of heat that hits?) and proceeded to let out one of those screams that girls are known for: high, loud, and truly terrifying.

and then i laughed so hard i nearly wet my pants. because i knew the very tall man. i knew him as a friend. a friend trying to give me a fright. and i was aware of just how delayed my reaction was.

in fact he joked that before my departure he'd succeed in terrifying me and then making it out of the room in that bit of space before the scream.

the thing is, my reaction has always been slow. and yes, laughably so. i remember my brother jumping out at me when we were kids. he'd pop from behind a closet door. a bedroom door. a tree. the laundry hamper. and i would stand there. stare for a second. and then let loose a cry of such terror my parents would come running.

i'm slow to react. and i'm a late bloomer. and quite often the uptake takes me just a little-bit-longer than everyone else.

such is my cross. my burden to bear.

someone recently apologized to me. said they were sorry my time in utah wasn't everything i hoped it would be. and i thought, they must have known more about my expectations than even me.

because i didn't know what to expect. that was the beauty of it--i who attempts to control all things (again, my cross) relinquished, gave up, said let's try. what will be, will be (a very unusual moment of courage on my part).

and then another friend recently remarked that for something i dubbed "my adventure in utah" i certainly didn't have much to say about it. to which i replied, because it was precisely that: my adventure. my experience. and at the end of the day it was just for me.

so you want to know why i went? really, want to know?

because after almost five year of struggling to recover from an eating disorder that nearly destroyed me (and no i'm not employing hyperbole) i was happy. and healthy. and i thought, why, the hell not? to go to utah and play juliet and act for the first time in two years because someone sent me an email, because one person happened upon my blog one day and though i might be able to do it? it's too odd, to unusual a twist in my story to say no to.

and so i went.

and the eating disorder resurfaced.

it became clearer, came into focus a bit more, but steamrolled me nonetheless.

and so for the three months there, while yes i learned invaluable things, i floundered. and the eating disorder chipped away at me.

and my parents patiently told me i'd be fine. it was just a hiccup. i wasn't back at the beginning.

but it felt like the beginning.

you see, recovering from this ghastly addiction has been a marvelous progression--varying shades. but the addiction itself has always felt the same. the beginning is the middle is the end.

and so when i slip, it's like moving through a portal of time and space. and suddenly i'm nineteen and a first-year in school. and i'm twenty dealing with unbearable depression. and i'm twenty-one barely getting through the day and twenty-two finding out what it means to have the bottom fall out.

on normal days my body fogs over certain memories--protects me from myself. whole years fade away. but when in the grips of the eating disorder i am at the mercy of a memory all too potent and all too cutting. a memory that colors everything so clearly i can no longer distinguish between past and present. in fact, past becomes present as the preceding five years play out. all at once. inside a body struggling to know... well to know anything. just one thing. to know just one thing with certainty.

so for me, my adventure in utah proved more portal than anything else.

but the miraculous thing--the reason i wouldn't change any of it--the reason i'd do it all over agin--is: i rebounded. and quickly.

the rebound--the great gift of utah. the reason my gut pushed me to go.

my reaction time? hugely diminished. the space between the fright and the scream? nonexistent.

i've always been afraid of those moments of slipping--those moments where my partial recovery is more eating disorder than health. because i know that i tend to stay there for a while. it takes quite a bit of time to recover, to come out of the funk.

but this time. well this time i came out of it. and quickly.

and now i'm not so fearful of those hard days. because i have so much more information and knowledge and experience.

and the funny thing (the counter-intuitive thing) about experience is that, good or bad, it adds value to one's worth.

and suddenly my cross (crosses) don't seem so heavy.

who i am at 25.

i've been thinking a lot about what i would--what i should--write for this.

and the thing is, well, i haven't come up with much.

other than...

i'm okay.

here i am. 25. and i'm okay.

thrilling, right?

well, for me, it is. okay is nothing short of utterly and completely thrilling.

because for so long i was not. okay.

and then i was not quite.

i have moments. all the time. moments where i feel like i should have done more. been more. said more. moments where i feel so far behind. hell, i'm 25 already. this is it? this is all i've accomplished? but then i quietly remind myself that we all have different paths. different life trajectories. our stories vary. and my accomplishments, my multitudinous (yup, i just used that word) victories are mostly private. things that others might never understand. but for me those victories are the difference between not okay. not quite. and just fine.

and just fine, okay, whatever-you-want-to-call-it is the beginning. the beginning of everything. the part of my story where my successes become (i hope) a bit more public.

so who am i at 25?

i'm someone who believes that unsolicited smiles by strangers are one of the most profound acts of kindness possible.

i still use the crabtree and evelyn room spray that my mother gifted me for my 19th birthday. it immediately brings me back to a time of naivete and endless possibility.

i find the music of florence + the machine to solicit more sock-to-wood-floor dancing than is proper or appropriate or even becoming of a lady of my pedigree (and now) age.

the quote that makes the most sense to me right now--right at this very moment: "sometimes i can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives i'm not living" (jonathan safran foer {of course}).

if i could go anywhere tomorrow i'd hop on a boat and sail up the dalmatian coast. or i'd return to rome. and sit in church after church after church. saturating myself in beauty and history. satiating myself with prayer (and a lot, a lot of gelato).

i don't know where life goes from here. but i'm so excited to go boldly into the unknown. to try. and to fail a little, as inevitably i will. but also to start gathering successes. collecting them one by one in the cradle of my arms so i can lay them on the alter of this life as my humble (and multitudinous) thanks.

i am so thankful to be 25. to be 25 and just fine.

see last year's who i am at 24.

image via.

physique.

yesterday morning i took my first physique 57 class.

with natalie teaching.

and my friend victoria by my side.

i thought. i was going. to die.

the only thing i could do was laugh through the entire class.

the first ten minutes consisted of something cleverly-entitled skiing.

let me very clear: there are few things i like more than hitting the slopes--from a very young age this has been true (see below photo as evidence):

but after the first ten minutes of physique skiing my legs were shaking uncontrollably.

in fact, i have no idea how i survived the rest of the class.

but i did.

and the promise of a slimmer waist is just so darn seductive.

yes, yes a healthy, fit body, healthy heart--all that is appealing too. in fact, that is the primary goal.

but let's be honest: new york is small. and ex-boyfriends abound. and one wants to look good when...well... you know how the girl psyche works.

so tomorrow morning i return. for more torture. and i cannot wait.

i went to school for theatre.

and somewhere along the way life got in the way.

and so i took some time. for myself. to refocus.

and then i agreed to do this little production of romeo and juliet. in utah. to see if i might go back.

and that yielded... well. uncertainty.

and all i wanted--all i want--is some definitive answer. some clear signal to erupt before me.

a friend asked me this week if i feel like an actor. and i said, i don't know.

what does it mean to feel like an actor? truly, i'd like to know. and if i don't know, does that mean i am not one? that i cannot be one?

intellectually i know that we all have different paths. different timelines. but what if i'm not moving forward at all? what if i'm just treading water? standing at the fork in the road