clarification.

i've always wanted a little boy.

liam, we'll call him. or gavin. something short and strong. a warrior's name.

and his hair will be lighter than mine. curly.

this much i know, this much i have always known,

that someday, somewhere a little boy is waiting for me.

but when naomi was pregnant, i sat on the long subway train headed uptown and thought of what that means--to grow a baby. of all the million miracles that have to take place. it's staggering. the whole thing is absolutely unnerving in its power. and as i sat there, i imagined the moment a child enters into a world.

i imagined giving birth.

and the thing is i imagined having a girl. i'd never thought of it before. it'd never crossed my mind. and the power of the image was so grand, so beautiful, so absolutely wonderful that i began to cry. just a little. just a few tears of happiness. for how wonderful this life is. for how absolutely divine this world in which we live can be.

a little girl. heaven.

i was telling one of the guys i work with about this--was telling him because he has a new baby girl at home and anyone can just see that he's burning with a fire for that baby--that he didn't expect to love fatherhood so much but heaven help him, if it's not just the very best thing he's ever done in this life.

so he listened to my subway tale, gave me one of those slow burning smiles and said baby, you're sunk. you need yourself a man. 

and i laughed because he's right. i know he's right.

it seems to me that men in new york, when it comes to that first date, all ask the same question: what are you looking for? and what they mean is are you looking for commitment? marriage? someone to fool around with? and i'm starting to think that that question, asked on any first date, might just be the first red flag, a deal-breaker in and of itself.

because it's so shortsighted. it's an attempt to define what hasn't even yet begun.

yes, i want to get married one day. and yes, i want to have children. and by golly, i want to do all these things and remain tethered to my hopeless-romantic roots.

but this is not to say i'm not practical. (but practical isn't terribly interesting and so i don't often write about it).

i will get married when i meet the man i want to marry. you're not him? no worries, let's have our wine, enjoy it, and why shouldn't we have another date?   

i am not in the business of looking for a husband. i am just trying to live a life. fully and deeply.

how can i answer the question of what i want when asked on the first date? because really the question is what i want with you and i hardly know you--it's only the first date! what i want is to find out.

to find out, what i want, with you.

i want to live my way into the answer.

and let's find out. together. shall we?

i worry about the blog. when it comes to men, i worry about the blog.

if i'm interested in a guy i try to keep this little corner of the internet a secret. i try not to give out my last name because google is mighty easy to navigate and i'm not so naive as to think that men don't know how to use it.

i'm not ashamed of anything i've put here. but i am aware. aware that it's in many ways a one-sided portrayal. and a whole heck of a lot of information--all at once, at that.

and goodness, call me old-fashioned, but i'd kind of like to tell the man all of this stuff. face to face. and i'd like that coming out of my mouth it should be the first time he hears it.

does this make sense?

new york is stunning this morning. cool and sweet. a breeze issuing forth from the hudson. and sitting here, next to the window i am happy. when i sat down to write this morning i had every intention of describing the roar of the fan behind me and my hopeless devotion to it. instead i got this. forgive me, won't you?

we are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well
that death will tremble to take us. 

charles bukowski

after school. (after juilliard).

i remember at the age of nineteen sitting on the weathered red chairs in the lobby of juilliard when a dear friend in his fourth and final year took a breath, appraised the chair, appraised me and said: it's going to be strange not coming here every day. i'm not sure how i'll do it.


no one tells you how hard the time just after college is. no one prepares you for it.

for the countless hours you traverse the city taking more classes, meeting more people, working never-ending jobs to pay the never-ending bills, all the while wondering what possessed you to get a bachelor of fine arts in the first place? for those nights you find yourself on the bathroom floor because really that red wine did not go down well or really that guy was so-not-the-one, but this feeling, well--goodness, it sure does feel like a broken heart.

(or the nights, like tonight, you find yourself sitting propped against the toilet because the bathroom is the only place you can connect to the internet).

but then again, no one prepares you for how it's better than all that's come before. how it's richer and fuller.

for that first phone call from a girlfriend to tell you she's pregnant--for how much fun it is to watch these people you love marry and grow families. and how you get to choose--yes, choose!--who you surround yourself with. who you love. who you laugh with. who you call in the middle of the night--from the bathroom floor--when that old sadness creeps in.

and no one says how there's nothing so much like love in this life. love of a child. of a friend. love of all those small things that amount to a life.

and lord help me, if there's anything i've learned from naomi over the years, it's how to love the small things.

the thing is, watching as she and josh parent eleanor--as they give selflessly of themselves, i have a feeling that in the coming years i'm going to get a good schooling on the big things, as well.



dear naomi, josh, and little miss e: thank you for a wonderful weekend, your wonderful friendship, and the love you so freely give.




(plus, it's so fun to hang out with people that lug their camera everywhere and take just as many photos as i do {most people don't get it}).

trading in manhattan for the district and old friends. (mostly for the friends).

just above my bed.

it does, it really does. 

lyrics from

noah & the whale's

old joy

made by this lovely lady.