the astor turret

on the fourth floor of the american museum of natural history, behind the dinosaurs (think of it: dinosaurs!) is the astor turret...arguably my favorite place in all the city. 

full of light and laughing children it is a place of such peace and simplicity. a place for quiet thought. an escape overlooking central park.
a place i might one day take my own children (think of it: my own children!). might be some time before that last thing happens...

dear blog-spot-lover-of-mine,

remember when it was just you and me? when it was just the two of us? and we were each other's own best-kept secret? and so anything was possible? and anything could be said? and that was the point you know. to say everything. to record everything. because i had this sense that, hard as things were, i needed to record it all. to remember. because memory is important. history is important. a record, vital.

it's not so easy anymore is it blog-spot lover? because it's not just you and me. and i have to worry about what i say and if i'll hurt someone, offend someone, embarass myself. but i want to remember. even if it is skewed, this memory (and i know it is skewed). even if five years from now i'll look back and think of it all differently. because i want to see the space between the memories--the histories--the stories i tell. i want the inconsistency.

i want to write about being an island and the loneliness it entails and how it's not fair to become so necessary to someone only when the person that's really necessary leaves. or the five years of static sandwiched between two once-friends on a subway.

friday.

i'm a little bit granola. and i like my music a little folk-y. so on this lovely friday morning i leave you with these two little nuggets of my week. the first a video by a seattle band, the head and the heart (which of course i became aware of by one of your blogs that now for the life of me i can't seem to get back to) and the second, a gorgeous piece of writing that simultaneously filled me with such wonder, sadness, and love.

this weekend i plan to finally get some christmas shopping done. run the errands that have been on my list for far too long to count. and have a little fun: pictures forthcoming!




There is nothing scarier than the first time you see the weakness in your rock, the frailty of your human pillar. The mortal state looks lighter and too thin. The choices become yours and you desperately and fleetingly beg your mind to recall the instruction manual you need to believe you've been subconsciously writing all your life. There had been contridiction between instruction and action- but not much. It always felt clear what she meant. You wonder passively if when she moves on, her voice- no, her standards- will still live on the ground floor of your heart. Holding all you've done up in a billowing skyscraper of "stuff".

via  here. 

dear husband-to-be,

you should know that i like to sleep with the humidifier on full-blast.

and i feel sexiest in oversized, button-down oxfords.

and yes, i've taken to sleeping with tree-lights on. all night.


love, love,

the girl who'll one day wear your button-downs

december 14

i sat in tom's office yesterday morning weeping gently.

my hands tucked between my legs. sitting on the unforgiving brown couch, next to the worn velvet pillow.

tom sat somewhere between to-the-side-of and behind the large three-sided desk.

we were in the room i don't care for. it's too large--the room--with a mammoth, faux-wood-panneled desk, over-saturated light, and a scent of ketchup that's sometimes-there, sometimes-not.

but there i sat. weeping. gently.

i feel like i'm banging my head against a glass wall, i told tom. i feel like things can't continue on this way. something has to change. my life is stagnant and i'm so filled with the need for change that i might just explode. but i can't imagine that anything will change. ever. 


it's near then, tom calmly said.

his words hung in the air for a moment. buoyant and light. tangible almost. i wanted to reach out and pocket them. but there was no need. because they were true. as soon as he spoke them i knew them to be true. and truth can't be collected in one's pockets. it simply is.

why do i always cry now, tom? i pressed on. is it the residual of banging my head too many times against a glass wall?


it's good. it means you're experiencing things. deeply. allowing yourself the experience. probably in part what makes you a good actor. 


ah yes, that acting thing that i don't really talk about.

tom, sometimes i ask my gut things, i admitted sheepishly. and i know to listen to the answer that comes back. always, i must listen. because my gut is the wisest and truest part of me. it is the part of me that's lived a thousand lives already, that knows everything, that sees everything, that sees the end before it's even begun. it is my inner shaman. it is where God resides. my gut is a little piece of divinity. people say true love resides in the heart, but i know better. and so, well, Tom, i've been resisting asking my gut this  question--this question of "should i act" because i'm afraid of the answer. i'm afraid it will say no. and that will be that. 


it's a funny thing when you're life turns out different then you thought. a hard thing. when everything you've planned for shifts and morphs and you fall down the rabbit-hole. and it's terrifying. and not so nearly mystical as alice led you to believe. and you wonder if it's time to move on or circle round and there are so many options and that hall with doors is long and and those doors are aplenty and you can't imagine which one to walk through so you just stand there. frozen. terrified.

i asked the question recently, tom. whether or not i should act? i asked my gut. and the thing is... it didn't say no. it didn't return with the verdict i lived in fear of and yet...it didn't really give an answer at all. it told me i was afraid. and that that fear was getting in the way. but that that was okay. that i'd figure it out and it'd be okay. i'd be okay. 


and tom looked at me, kinda smiled and said, it believes in you so much it doesn't have to answer. it believes in you to the point that it'll go wherever you choose. it actually believes you can do anything--acting or not. 


i looked at tom in all of his infinite wisdom, felt fresh tears hovering at their own brink, turned my head and looked straight ahead, and said, well, that's a lovely thought. 


when what i really meant was well, that's everything isn't it. 


graduating from college was an exercise in losing faith. losing that little kernel of belief in my own ability. and as well as i am and far as i've come, i've yet to regain that.

so imagine my surprise when sitting in tom's office yesterday i realized it wasn't lost at all. it was there. patiently waiting for me to awaken to it.

and imagine my surprise when i came to understand that the one person i'd spent all this time fighting against, railing against--myself--simply loved me all the while--never grew impatient or frustrated. never accused me of being selfish or cruel. the one person who's love was infinite and almighty. who loved me with the power and force of the heavens.

alright. mark it down. december 14, 2010: the day i realized everything was gonna be just fine.