A Yankee candle sits on the dresser in my old room at my parents’ house. The scent is called “Berrylicious.” I walked past it the other day and was transported to my junior year of high school, when I went on a trip with my friend Carrie to New York City for the first time. It was there, at a random shop, that I purchased a random tube of lip gloss. The scent of my lips during that trip smelled like this candle.
I find it funny how a sense can take us back in time. I actually leaned over the dresser for a minute before recalling the origin of the scent and asked myself, “How in the world do I know this smell?” I stared at the candle and then looked at myself in the mirror, determined, for a while. Until it came to me.
Instantly, I was walking those streets again for the first time — Huddled under an umbrella with my friend in the rain and falling in love with a place I knew one day I would belong to. Sundaes from Serendipity. Bagels in the hotel bed. Buildings I needed to see — Breathing NYC.
Now, I miss the city a lot and need to go back soon. But, for now, I have a lit candle to hold me over. The scent, just now, has filled the room.
The candle.Sitting in the hotel window during my first trip to NYC.
The theme of what we like to do came up when chatting with a couple friends recently. I starting thinking of hobbies. Theatre, biking, singing, dancing, laughing, being with friends and family, etc. all came up.
Then I started thinking about what it is I am good at. One thing that always comes to mind is forgiveness. I have always been very quick to forgive others (not to be confused with the term forget).
I have always felt inside that it is unhealthy and unbecoming to hold a grudge or keep a negative feeling about somebody inside, avoided. I am very fast to let the weight go and move on, but with an attained awareness.
I once wrote a little funny for a contest I saw listed in a magazine (I never sent it in), involving writing a funny sentence about resentments or something similar. It read: “You know the one thing I just can’t get over about you: you always do hold a grudge!” I don’t actually have that issue, but the sentence just came to me.
Here is a little poem I wrote years ago. I had traveled to South Carolina and ended up staying much longer than planned.
Here, In My Car
Here I am
In a familiar place
When things have seemed unfamiliar
For too many days
Family.
In a house so stretched
Driving for miles,
Climbing mountains
To feel that again
Here I am
Starting over by going back
Back to a beginning
One can never go back
On my way
Holding your photograph,
Staring at a fingerprint
I have held you before
Here you are
Best to give, not only take
Taking only left me your picture
I am awake
Forgiveness
There is no thing harder to give
But the saying does go,
“Live and let live”
There you were
Beside me, in my car
Still under my thumb
Here I am
In my car
2016. At this point, all I can do is dream. I want nothing but the best for all of my friends and family.
The past couple years have been tumultuous and the end of this year was definitely no exception. I picked up and moved from a place where I have always loved spending New Year’s Eve. So many faces have popped up that I wish I could run down a street or avenue to see with a bottle of bubbly.
Instead, I am with my family and southern friends. Memories of banging pots and pans at midnight and making resolutions come to mind. And, of course, we do have a party in the works.
To be torn between two locations or groups of people or anything can be rough on the heart. And trying to make the most and breathe and smile and feel the sun on one’s face can be tricky. But I believe it can be done and it is worth it. Life is to be made.
For the new year, I so hope for peace and joy and hard work that pays off for my loved ones and myself. I hope for food and drinks and smiles and laughs and everything fulfilling and for us all to get to have these together. When we cannot be together, I hope for good wifi for skype.
Today, I had a sentimental moment in front of Walmart. My dad and I were doing some last-minute Christmas shopping. I needed to run in quickly to grab some glass bottle pendants for gifts that I am making for a few of my friends. My dad opted to wait in the truck.
Before shutting the door, my dad said to call him after I checked out. So, I ran in and did my shopping. I walked past the aisle I needed to be in three times, but I did get to where I needed to be. I purchased my items and then called my dad.
When I was outside in the rain, waiting for my dad to pull up in his truck, I remembered something that made me very sad:
When I was in middle school and early high school, my dad would occasionally pick me up after school. He had this beat-up, ugly black truck that smelled of hard labor. When I would see that truck in the distance, I would run so that I could catch him before he got close to the school; I was mortified when that truck would appear. I would wonder why he didn’t take my mom’s car or why she didn’t just come.
Today, he pulled up in a very nice truck. He works in a much more stylish way these days. However, I wouldn’t have cared what he pulled up in. I started thinking about how much people change when they get (*I’m going to use this next word even though I hate to use it) older. It felt good just knowing I had someone to pick me up. It is so easy to feel alone in this chaotic world and I have the best parents a guy could ask for. Also, you begin to realize that people in your life will not always be around and/or able to pick your butt up from school or wherever you may be. We rode off with a small tear in the corner of my eye.
It’s almost Christmas and, like appreciating any old truck that pulls up as long as the driver is someone I love, friends and family are all the presents I need these days. Amex can’t buy a new bestie, sibling, or parent.
As I near closer to the date that I must leave NYC, I have found it impossible not to be suddenly sentimental and unexpectedly thrown into moods, emotions, and feelings at times. I have worked my butt off to make it as long as I have and I take those who got me this far very seriously.
I would like to say Thank You to:
*My Liz: Words cannot describe how thankful I am to have you in my life and how hard it is for me to envision my life without you. Thank you for always understanding me, even when I am crazy. Thank you for being by my side and teaching my how to create and prioritize through the hard times in life. I will never take you for granted and consider you a soul mate. At times, it is beyond explanation.
*My TL: You are my Songstress. I heard your music once and wanted to be involved in any way I could. I never imagined I would actually be in your band. But I did join it. And I loved it. I also lived with you. And I loved it. I love you and I love your sense of humor and I want nothing but the best for you. Your happiness is contagious.
*My Vicky: I am so proud of your work in school and I always knew you would go far. You have always been a Fart Smeller… I mean a Smart Feller… and I am so glad that we are friends. You were always so generous to me and I am glad I found you. I think you found me, too.
*My Jodi: Michael made it so that we have taken care of each other in the ways that we have. I care so much about you and want nothing but the best for you. Your generosity in life always inspires me. Your wisdom always makes me so proud to know you and brings so much light to those who you love the most. Your heart is a priceless diamond and I am so glad that I have had a chance to see the sparkles and its size.
*My Jilly: You are family to me. I will miss our laughs and drinks (especially my Zachary Daiquiris) and all that is you. I love you so much and know that it is mutual. I cannot wait to come back and squeeze you until you punch me with one of those rings you wear. You are my favorite person to sit next to at the table.
*My Alyssa: 8 hour days. We have struggled through. 4am. Mornings when we have been drunk. Bitch I know you. You might be younger than me but you can cook a turkey. Even though you have a degree, I am proud of you for so much more. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have a daughter but I love yours. And yours has the coolest motherfucking mother in Brooklyn.
I’m not sure exactly how, but I have gotten so far behind on a post I initiated amongst my blog supporters, Liz and Alyssa. We have been going with a theme and holding each other accountable for posting words about a certain topic. The topic I seem to have missed was about a memory. And I think I know why.
The memory that I immediately thought about was the memory of when I moved to New York City. I imagine that the reason why I have had difficulty with posting this one is because I have so much going on and I am actually in the process of leaving all of what I have in the city behind.
What does one do when he/she is exhausted? I mean really exhausted. There is no hotel which claims to take care of informing your employer/s and friends when you reach a point when the color has disappeared from what was vibrant and sustainable. Once the point is reached, it is an internal scavenger hunt for techniques to make the need for a new beginning seem legitimate. The need to make a plan that reads smart and thought-out becomes crucial.
So, there is much to examine. For now, I want to go back to a post I should have completed a couple weeks ago. I want to write about what brought me to Brooklyn— to a place I am at, where I have so many people I am finding so hard to leave.
When I was just 24 years old, I received a call from my friend Cathy. Her sister lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn and was in search of a roommate who was from out of town and really wanted to move to NYC and was willing to drop everything. When I heard of this, my mouth dropped. I felt I was the person she and her 3 roommates were looking for.
At the time, I thought that a miracle was the only thing that would get me out of my situation. Against my family’s warnings, I had majored in theatre and had been going through a difficult time, figuring out what the next step in my life would be. I had recently blown off an offer to work for a Christian-based theatre company where I would have been making a lot of money to pretend to be what I managed to succeed at pretending to be during my call-back at a large audition event.
Turning down the offer and another offer that just felt like the wrong choices left me feeling like I was crazy for not just taking whatever life had handed to me as work. But I did turn it down. And then I got the call from Cathy. I realized during the call that the only thing I needed was to move to New York and I knew in my heart that I would make it work. Despite the look of doubts in the faces of my friends and family, I still knew that I would make it work and proceeded to sell what I had to sell and broke the news to friends and family.
I would have been here in NYC for 8 years in April of this year. The story that I have to share as a memory is one that I currently replay on a daily basis. The fact that I am going over my story so often has prevented me from feeling validated in writing it down. But, I am writing it down now. Mostly, because it feels nice to see that I can write out a passage and am able to follow through on a project that I formulated with my friends who are supporting my blog endeavors.
My dream of living in New York is not an easy dream to let go. However, I am moving forward and find myself, now, sketching out the blue prints of my future where the dream I thought was so pie-in-the-sky to live in such a wonderful city is shifting into an acceptance that I can do a 180º and not look at it as a loss, but a gain.
One step at a time. I am striving to allow myself to take the future as it comes. I have worked my ass off to make it all work this long and I will continue to work and allow awesome opportunities to present themselves. I could probably use an inhaler. And I still heart New York.
I have recently decided to make some changes in a certain area in my life. With intentions to fill my life with more positive energy, I have put into the universe that I will find what it is that I am seeking. My boots are on and I am ready to do the walking –I only hope that life will meet me in the middle.
My sage is burning and I am repeating my mantra, “Out with the bad and in with the good.” Here’s hoping.
And here is a little something I wrote:
Glitter. Entrance. Floor.
Glad you showed up tonight
Now is the time to dim the lights
Everything is lovely
Everything is amazing
Just as long as you stay what you are:
A mirrorball. A shining star.
Spin your globe around all night
You disco diva who I hope just might
Drop down low and give the floor
A tickle and make it beg for more
Dance on glitter, through that door
Breathe the music;
Shaking deep into your core
Here in New York, we are all going through that uneasy period when you don’t know what exactly to wear. We are transitioning from summer to fall clothing. Anyone who does not know the perils of pulling items of clothing to wear the night before— or even the morning of, when it has suddenly become quite chilly— might not understand.
Today, I bit the bullet and grabbed a long-sleeved button-down shirt. I put it on and pranced around the apartment for a bit to make sure it was the right choice for the day. I felt like Edward Scissorhands in my movements, and felt like I could not breathe or move in a way that was easy like summer.
This may all seem like a trivial problem. But it is a problem that I have faced every fall since moving to New York seven and a half years ago. It’s not easy for me to go from shorts, t-shirts, and sandals to a neck-to-toe wrapping. Maybe I am alone in this battle.
For now, I’m just going to pray that my new ankle boots stop making the back of my feet bleed and that I can take less than an hour to decide what cold weather outfit will make me the happiest. I’m all about the dress-and-dash.
My Grandpa Ed recently passed away. He was such an inspiration to me, in many ways. He was an incredible singer/dancer and had the best sense of humor. But, most of all, he was a gentleman. The kind of man that you don’t really see many of these days.
My friend and I were chatting last night about how hard it is at times to be kind. Sometimes, it seems as though people are so defensive that there is not even enough space for goodness to penetrate. My goal, when backed into these sorts of corners, is to walk away with grace. Taking the high road is always the best choice— even when all you want to do is scream and punch someone in the face.
Karma has also been on my mind a lot. I have a big desire to boost my own and I’ve recently taken extra steps to try to do good things for people. I do believe that if we all strive to do so, we can make this world a better place. A gentleman’s world.
ZACDAQ 