Moving

Moving is a strange, challenging, emotional, crazy, frustrating, invigorating, ridiculous experience, and moving in this city is the worst. There's something incredibly draining about putting everything you own into boxes and emptying out the place you've called home for the last however-long. I always end up realizing I own way more junk than I thought, cursing the heavens at the futility of belongings and houses, and contemplating relocating to a far away land where I could live on a beach underneath a tarp and nourish myself from the mango trees growing nearby.

I just moved out of my apartment. Though it is ALWAYS tough, this one was especially hard. When we moved into this place we all thought we had a found a home that would last us for years. We loved each other from the start, and our apartment reflected that. We leave it in completely different places in each of our lives, and with most of the feeling of home gone. Yay, NYC?

There is something to be said for moving out of a place though. There's something cleansing about the massive amounts of junk that inevitably get thrown out (We all have that shirt we haven't worn in 3 years). It's a pleasant reminder that things are not where our value lies, and they can be shed in an instant; most of them you won't even miss. And the exact opposite of that is my other favorite side effect of moving: rediscovering long-lost memories or treasures. My best discovery this time around: The necklace I'd lost that has my Mayan symbol on it, an Intellectual who Rejects Negativity. Let me tell you, I've been wearing that daily ever since.

There is also an undeniable sense of adventure that comes with moving, and the right moving buddy can make that a beautiful memory for the ages. I have been blessed to twice move (and both times under rather traumatic circumstances) with the incredible Kelsey Schroth. On Friday the 2 of us threw everything I own into 2 trips to a storage unit, Tetris'd for the win and fit it all in my space, and still got finished in time for me to make Shakespeare in the Park at 8 pm. That, ladies and gentlemen, is no easy task. We earned our high fives, jamming with the windows rolled down in the Uhaul truck, and joy riding the furniture dollies down the storage center hallways. All kidding aside: What am I going to do without that girl?

When we moved into that place, it instantly felt like home. It was a beautiful apartment in a neighborhood we loved, and the three of us were a family right away. We expected to stay there for years. Moving out one year later, all of our lives look completely different, and we're all, essentially, going our own ways.

I went back up by myself on Sunday to finish cleaning out the last bits. Kelsey and Saloni had finished up, so it was just me. I started carrying things down to the trash that hadn't made the storage cut: the table and chairs, bags of clothes I never wore, odds and ends. Brian had left that morning for a week away, so I was all set to have a pretty sucktacular day.

Then I met a couple who were going through the trash areas of the apartment buildings, looking through all the things people were throwing out. My clothes fit the guy perfectly. The wife was so excited to find a 'wow, so gorgeous!' new table and chairs. I kept bringing down more for them to look through, and we talked about the Heights, and how it's changing, and the price of rent, and moving, and life. It turned into the perfect way to pass along the stuff I couldn't keep, and to let go of that apartment. It was a beautiful and bittersweet reminder to cherish the home that I had there, even for a short while.

Blerg! La Realite`

The other day I was riding the subway to work. It was kind of crowded, typical NYC day, my headphones in. A man came on with a janky speaker and a cordless mic. When they’ve got their whole sound system going on there’s really no point in trying to resist, so I took my headphones off and listened. He talked for a little bit, saying that the only payment he really required was smiles, blah, blah, blah. Then he started singing, various styles, ‘transporting us to different faraway destinations’. And he got the entire subway car smiling and laughing. And it was beautiful. And one of those moments that I feel you could hardly experience anywhere else. I love those.

It’s been a long time since I've written anything on here. I sort of got to a point last summer where I grew tired of just writing about myself, so I quit. The last few days something’s been telling me to share again, so here I go.

My theater company, The Survivalists, produced our first full-length show to sold-out crowds and made a lot of money. Much more importantly I can honestly say we put on a thoroughly entertaining show. It was one of the most stressful and most satisfying experiences of my life. For those interested, we’re currently developing a new play-reading series called Origins, which should be debuting by the end of the month.

There have been a lot of changes. Both of my sisters moved away from the city, leaving me without family in the city for the first time in two years. I moved out of my Spanish Harlem apartment, and after a brief stint in Bushwick (let’s just not talk about it), I’ve settled into Washington Heights, in a stunningly beautiful, uncrowded, somehow rather unknown corner of upper Manhattan that inspired my friend Liz Joblin to proclaim upon first viewing it: ‘What is this undiscovered paradise?!’ Speaking of my best friend Liz Joblin… She moved away, too. It’s been a time of real change for me.

I also very unexpectedly lost my job at David’s Tea. I will say, with pride, that I managed to procure another job within 4 hours, thankyouverymuchandsuckitDT, though I didn’t stick with it. I’m currently settling into two new gigs, working for Mary Helen Bowers and her company Ballet Beautiful in the mornings, and taking care of two boys in the afternoons.

But don’t get me wrong. August was not an easy month. For those of you who don’t know, I was dating someone for the first time in years, and it was wonderful and painful and confusing and new and exciting, and now it’s over

But you know, today I got recognized on the street by a stranger for the last show I did with The Survivalists. I worked two unique, interesting, well-paying jobs. I came home and got off the train and went to the grocery store, and then strolled home through my neighborhood that I love to my apartment that I adore. I have two wonderful, kind, giving roommates. I have a loving family that was kept safe through this crazy flooding (Seriously, what was up with that?). I’m a pretty blessed boy. That’s what I realized tonight.


If there is one thing that I would say I've learned from my life thus far, it's that the goal of each day should be to spread love in some way. (And I didn't even mean for that to rhyme, but suck it, it did.) It never fails to amaze and move me how you can literally watch a change come over people, both strangers and friends, when you share simple kindness with them. It's like a light begins to burn up inside them. I know I've been grateful many a time for people who have shared that with me. I make it my goal to share that with others every single day. In many ways, it's become the goal of my life.

That is a broad goal, though. More specifically, I really have no idea what I'm doing. In the past month, it has frequently felt like my entire life has fallen apart, that nothing is certain anymore, that I don't know where I'm going, blah blah blah blah blah. In a nutshell, I've been acting like a 21-year-old. 

Life is about ups and downs, good and bad, high and low, happy and sad. All of it, every little bit, is what makes life worth living. Without the hard times, the good times wouldn't seem nearly so good. I look back at some of the most stressful or anxious times in my life and I can see how they formed me, and feel no resentment. And those moments of clarity when I can look at it all, see my existence for what it is, see the beauty of it, and love it for what it is; those are the best moments.

Guatemala- 4/8/13

As my plane to Guatemala ascended today, we rose through thick, opaque clouds, bumping and bouncing around, and emerged on the other side, soaring above white, rolling hills. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

I almost didn't make it on this trip. My family has been planning to go on a week-long mission trip to Guatemala with my parent's church for months, and at about midnight last night I realized that I did not have my passport. I tore my apartment apart searching, but I was fairly certain I knew where it had been left- Four days ago I had made copies of my IDs as I was supposed to at a Staples in midtown, and had only just now realized that I had left my passport there. My flight was leaving at 6:30 am the next morning, before Staples would even be open to ask if they had possibly found it. Frantic and desperate phone calls were made to Mom, and after much considering every possible solution, we realized that pretty much the only thing we could do was change my flight to 2:30, go to Staples first thing in the morning, and hope. 

I didn't have much hope. Last night was one of the most stressful, awful nights in recent memory. I felt stupid. I was furious with myself, and had no idea what I was going to do if I didn't get to go on the trip. I couldn't imagine even wanting to leave my bedroom. How could God let me do something so stupid as I was preparing to go serve him.

Around 3 in the morning, after hours of freak out, I was laying in my bed staring into the abyss when I got a text from an old friend I haven't heard from probably in over a year. She said I'd been on her mind. She happened to be going through a pretty bad night of her own. I talked her through what was going on, and, in the process, reminded myself of a few things: My life was not a complete disaster, not in any way. There are other people going through things just as bad or worse than me, always. And the power to adapt, survive, and thrive in any situation lies entirely with me; the only thing I am in control of is myself. I confided in my friend what was going on, and she prayed with me through the phone, and told me what, deep down, I knew was true- I had no idea what God was doing. There could be something totally different and better planned for me this week. The point was, of course, that my trust has to fall on Him. If I say I believe in His sovereignty, His omnipotence, then I have to actually believe in it. 

I fell into sleep. I said goodbye to Amy as she left for the trip. I woke up at 6:15, and headed for Staples. I walked in as the man unlocked the door, and the passport was there waiting for me. I would make the 2:30 flight easily. I was going.

I can't be sure why God put me through that. Perhaps He did have something else in mind for me this week, and realized I couldn't handle it. There could be effects that I will never see. But I think it was because He needed to break me down so that I could fall back on Him, just in time to leave all the usual things of life behind and devote myself to service. What better way to prepare me to completely fall on Him?

And what an interesting lesson. Perhaps I need to rethink my definition of God's blessing. And what a good reminder to keep my eyes open. 

I couldn't be happier to be going on this trip. I hope I can be of use. I hope I can be challenged, and grow. I thank God for reminding me already that even if I have to rise through the turbulence, I will eventually break through and soar above the clouds. 

I'm in the Most Successful Period of My Life

It's been a long time since I've written on here.

It's not been for lack of interesting things happening. I don't want to overexcite my legion of faithful fans (You guys exist, right?), but I seem to be in the most successful phase of my life thus far.

I recently participated in a second Cranky Cabaret, an always-fun, tune-filled, open bar evening. It was both successful and a bit of a train wreck. The first night I went up to sing my first song, the not-funny-at-all Can't Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt, and the accompanist and I were not in the same key. It was really neither of our fault- We weren't given enough time to practice beforehand, we hadn't communicated well on how she was going to do the intro. It was one of those mortifying, nothing-you-can-do-but-keep-going moments, and I kinda wanted to kill myself. I pulled myself together and did my much-funnier duet with the fabulous Lauren Green famously, and then when my second solo at the end of Act 2 came, I went up with a plan. My song, the modern classic Bust Your Windows, needed an introduction: I was a white guy singing a black girl's revenge anthem. So I explained that when bad things happen to me, my inner strong black woman emerges. I began to list examples: 'Your boss is an asshole. A bitch on the subway. You start singing your song in the wrong key at Cranky Cabaret and have to redeem yourself with your second song. You know, hypothetical situations.' And with that, I had the audience back on my side. They laughed and applauded. Afterward several people complimented me on handling the situation absolutely perfectly. The simple fact was that I couldn't just ignore it. The next night the Cabaret as a whole went pretty much perfectly, but while it still mortifies me, I'm able to look back and see the good of completely botching a song: It showed me that 1) Even when I totally bomb, I can keep going and do a good job, and 2) People always respond best to honesty. The acknowledgement of my failure and my intentions to recover from it was the perfect first step in winning the crowd back. It sounds much less significant when written here, but I think it was actually one of the best things I've learned since moving to the city.

I also just participated in a short play that was part of the Take Ten festival, executive produced by my friend Graydon Gund. Grady is always reliable for a unique, whirlwind rehearsal process. We didn't win, but it was so good to get back in front of an audience again.

And finally, The Survivalists. My theatre company is legit, you guys. Our grassroots fundraising campaign is coming to fruition in ways we only hoped for. We're producing an absolutely fantastic new show called 3x3, or 9 after 9 by Shane Breaux, Kevin Brewer, and Michael Christopher, and we just finished initial auditions with over 600 submissions with callbacks set for Tuesday. We're in the process of signing a contract with a publicist who reached out to us personally. And last Thursday we threw an unbelievably successful launch party/fundraiser where we raised over $1000 and took over an UES bar and had one of the most fun nights of my life. For those who haven't been following this as it unfolds (What are you doing with your life??), our show bows the first two weeks of June at the Access Theatre downtown. Follow us on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/theatreofthefittest), Twitter (I'm in charge of it! @survivalistsnyc), and our website (http://thesurvivalists.org/). We're the real deal, y'all.

It's been a busy, stressful, exciting time. I hope it stays that way. I have so much more I want to do. I'm desperate to make a webseries or movie or SOMETHING (seriously, anyone interested, let me know). I plan to start a youtube channel soon for music. I'm so ready to start taking classes again. Anything, just to keep moving.

Because sitting still lends itself to self-examination and over-thinking, and those things rarely lead to good things. Despite all the good that's going on, in the quiet times I still find myself wondering when I'll ever get my life together. There's so much about myself I still don't understand, or am uncomfortable with. I'm frequently tempted to make a list of all the things I'd like to change about myself. I still may,  but only under the strict agreement with myself that I will balance it with a list of things about myself that I love.

I'm sure some people would say that staying busy for the sake of avoiding deeper problems is not really healthy, but I would counter that with an opposite theory: If your work and activity become your whole life, don't the other problems start becoming much smaller issues than they previously were? Still. I will always continue to try and transform myself into a better, more complete person. Lately I've been wondering: When will I stop imagining the fabulous life I'm going to live and start actually living it? I'm tired of wishing I'd gone to things, of making up excuses to stay in, or passing up opportunities. I'm tired of wishing I could lose that weight. I'm tired of wishing I would do more worthwhile things with my time.

Which brings me to this blog. I'm undecided as to what it should become. Simply talking about my life has started to seem a little dull to me, and perhaps a bit self-serving (though always remarkably therapeutic). I will continue to update my faithful friends and family on exciting things in my life, but I'd like to write about something a little bit more than that. I'm not sure what that means just yet.

I'm so grateful for the opportunities that have been given to me lately. I'm so thankful for the people in my life who have supported me and mean so much to me (I hope you know who you are). I feel confident that I'm where I'm supposed to be for the first time in a long time, and that's possibly the greatest gift God could give me.

Sharing Myself

When I was flying back to New York City after two wonderful, fun weeks at home for Christmas, I sat next to a man who really enjoyed talking. It turned out he used to live in my neighborhood, and soon he was telling me all about the best restaurants, and who I need to talk to when I'm looking to rent a new apartment, on and on. The other guy on our row was somewhat in the conversation, but he and I were the real New Yorkers. When the plane landed, I was ready to be back, and feeling good.

The airline lost my bag. As I waited at the baggage carousel, one of my bags showed up. The other did not. I went to the desk and waited forever and the worker wouldn't let my file a report because I had checked in late so technically the bag wasn't lost. I left, and grabbed a taxi. Naturally, he took me the long route home, resulting in an overcharge. The happiness to be back had quickly dissipated.

The next morning I decided to start fresh and go to the movies with my AMC gift card I'd gotten for Christmas. I got to the subway and my debit card was declined so I couldn't buy a metrocard. I jumped the turnstile. I made it to the movie and it was amazing, the kind of movie that reminds me why I want to be an actor. I walked back to the subway and jumped again without thinking, and there were cops waiting on the other side. In hindsight, I should have just turned around and left- I'm sure they wouldn't have chased me- but I didn't, and they gave me a ticket. I rode the subway home in tears. In less than 24 hours, the city had shown me once again that I will not be having an easy time in it, ever. At least the movie was good.

The past two weeks I've had four shifts at work, due to our low sales following Christmas. Thank God, I was asked to be a keyholder, which is a guaranteed thirty hours. It hasn't taken effect yet, though, so I'm poor.

Major things have been happening with The Survivalists, the theater company I've been working on cofounding. We signed a rental agreement with a theater for the first two weeks of June. Tonight we had our very first public event, a reading of a play we've been looking into producing. When we got everybody in there and got the real work going, all the doubts that have plagued me just faded away. I'm sure they'll be back, but for tonight it was all as it should be.

It's good that happened, because otherwise the last 24 hours have been rough. I booked an audition I was really excited about, for an out-of-town production of Les Miserables as Enjolras. They sent me the sides, and they were high, but didn't seem impossible. I scheduled a voice lesson/coaching with a new friend of mine to work on it last night and it... didn't go well. I couldn't sing it. It didn't help that I'd spent the hour before frantically running around trying to print sheet music, which included a completely unsuccessful and infuriating twenty minutes spent in Staples, the bane of my existence. I feel somewhat bad for the voice teacher- I was stressed when I arrived at the lesson, and the more we sang and I realized I couldn't hit the notes, the more psychotic I became. When the lesson was over he  tried to give me a pep talk, shocked at how 'defeated' I looked. I was defeated. I HATE not being able to sing anything, but this was an audition that I'd been looking forward to, one of the first ones I'd had in almost a month, and I now had to decide whether I was going or not. I confided this in him, and he had to concede that not going wouldn't be a ridiculous response to how the lesson went. Another train ride home in tears.

After the lesson last night I was supposed to go to a friend's house to watch the Golden Globes, something I've done every year for close to a decade now. The friend cancelled, and we don't have TV capabilities, so no red carpet and awkward celebrity acceptance speeches for me this year. I debated all night whether I would go or not in the morning. A phone call from my mother only increased the uncertainty; she was absolutely in favor of going. She had a good feeling about this one. Furthermore, it was what I was here for: to get up, prepare, and give it my best shot. That's all anybody (including God) could ask for.

I could hardly not go after that. I did all those things. I sang through it at home before I left and hit all the notes. I went, praying to God that I was walking by faith, not fear.

I went in the audition room and cracked on the high notes of both sides. Exactly as I'd feared. Hoo-freaking-ray for going for it.

I know that I can sound pretentious or condescending, but I truly think it is hard for non-performers to understand how frustrating it is to go to an audition and leave knowing you won't even be considered, watching all the others before and after you nail it. All the while knowing in my heart that if just given the chance, I would give them everything I have, I would go above and beyond their expectations. It's almost like losing a bit of your soul every time.

It wasn't the overwhelming emotion that came flooding over me as it had the night before. It was more a sense of coldness, a hardness settling over me as all of the thoughts I try to push away came flooding back. Worst of all, it was a feeling of resignation, that this is what happens to me. I watch as friends book gigs and love their lives, and I sit at home on facebook jealously, trying not to think about anything. More and more I've stopped letting bad auditions and rejections and disappointments in my social life get to me, but it's like a little bit more of my faith dies every time. Late at night, when I let all the bad thoughts in, I lie in bed not knowing who I am, not wanting my life to go on as it does, and not knowing what else to do. These are all of the things that I usually refuse to let myself think about, but sometimes I get tired of not thinking about it. It's real, isn't it? So shouldn't I think about it? Have you ever just wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, not really for any specific reason, but just general protest? Then you understand what I'm feeling a little bit.

The truth is, I don't know what else I would do; I never even considered another career, or really considered that this might not work out. I've spent my entire life building up to being a performer. How can it not happen? They say that you'll book the gigs that you're right for, that ones that you're just what they're looking  for. What if I'm never what anyone's looking for? What if no one ever wants me?

I know that happiness is a choice, that I ought to brush it off, move on, find the good things. And frequently I can. I don't concern myself with any of it, and I just keep going, and keep trying. But sometimes it feels like all the effort and optimism in the world isn't enough; I'm just being optimistic to avoid facing reality, you know what I mean. Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to fool myself again.

It's late, and I don't want to think about these things anymore. I want to push them away, go to sleep, and get up tomorrow, numb myself to it all again. That's what I'm going to do. Breathe in, breathe out, and hope that the next breath brings something better (and even more hope that it doesn't bring the flu). I never know whether to write about the more unhappy times like these, however it is the my truth. I have sought my whole life to share myself, and so I am, perhaps hoping, as always, that someone, somewhere will see something worthwhile and notable in it.

And it's got to get better. It's got to. And when it does, I will share that as well.

I Wore Angel Wings in Times Square.

Why haven't I blogged in well over a month? Unacceptable. C'mon, Jay. Get your life together.

So I almost got in a fight on the subway today. It was the last day of working at David's Tea before heading home for Christmas. I finished at 4 and headed down to Union Square to check out the Christmas market and grab a special something for a brother of mine. I got a text from my friend I was meeting for dinner asking if we could make dinner at 7. I said that was fine, and had two hours to kill. So, I shoved my way on to the incredibly crowded 4 Uptown Express to grab another last-minute Christmas gift. The train was having one of those unbelievably, everybody-touching-everybody, breath-feeling-a-little-constricted crowded moments. A middle-aged man sat down in the fold down chair in the corner and proceeded to attempt to read his newspaper. At each stop more and more people shoved their way in. He began to feel crowded in his seat, and let me know by shaking his newspaper against my leg, asking how he was supposed to read. Caught off guard at first, I responded, 'What do you want me to do? There's literally nowhere I can go.' That quieted him, but I knew he wasn't satisfied. And now I was prepared to retort. When the next stop came and even more people shoved on, he started half-yelling again, griping about his inability to read his paper (as he sat while the rest of us were standing thigh to thigh), about my crotch in his face. I spoke much more forcefully this time, reminding him there was literally nowhere else for me to go, to which he responded that if I would stand my ground they wouldn't push me in. That was about all I could handle.

'Oh, give me a break. Okay, just get over it. There are other people trying to get on the train, it's not just you.'

He instructed me to 'stop being soft', and he edged ever-closer to being punched in the face.

'You need to chill out. Just chill out.' He believed I needed to chill out, and I was happy to inform him that I was chill, he didn't even need to worry about it. Grumble, grumble, grumble from him. He continued to attempt to intimidate me and I continued to throw it right back at him until a lovely young woman sitting across the way caught my eye and shook her head and in a single instant reminded me that everyone in the car was on my side, and I had nothing I really needed to defend. Arguing with idiots rarely gets you anywhere anyway. I proceeded to let him grumble to himself, ignore him, and not budge a single millimeter out of his way.

However. He wasn't getting off quite that easily. My stop came next and as I gathered my bag, I turned back to my friend sitting in his seat and said nice and loud, 'Have a good day!' The whole section of the subway erupted in giggles while Mr. Obnoxious began angrily grumbling even louder. I think the girl across the way may have clapped for me. I can't be too sure because I was admittedly walking away pretty fast in case he decided to jump on my back or something. A guy who'd been on the train with me came up behind me giggling as we made our way out of the subway. 'That guy was an asshole,' he said to me with a great big grin. I couldn't have agreed more.

As I walked down 86th St., I found myself incredibly thankful for that girl sitting across the way, a silent reminder of peace and reason. Thank God for people like that.

There's been so much that has happened since I last wrote that it's hard for me to know what to include, whether I should put it all in and write an essay or just simply explore my thoughts on life at the moment (aka, the usual). Perhaps a little of both.

So working at David's Tea has been a blast and a half. I really enjoy my job- I mean let's be real, there's times when I get annoyed and frustrated, but it's really ridiculously enjoyable and rewarding for the most part. We have finally moved into the Chelsea location all of us new people were actually hired for, and I got to set up and stock the new location with another girl, Ashley. It was such a surprisingly cool experience, seeing the store come together from a big, fat mess to ready to open in just a couple short days. Already, I have regulars at the store. There's a housewife that's come in several times and only drinks the teas I suggest to her, and waves and says hello to me when she passes in the street. I have a 'special drink' that has become somewhat of a legend. I can't reveal just how I make it, but I have not had a dissatisfied consumer yet, they frequently return for it again, and I've had multiple people I've never met come in, find me, and say their friend told them they had to come try 'Jay's Special Drink'. Gotta love that. I mean, I'm like a celebrity. (a celebri-tea? sorry, couldn't resist). Besides all that, I've made some pretty awesome friends. I hope the world doesn't actually end on Friday, because I'd really like to hang out with these people some more.

Still, even with all this job satisfaction flying around, I need more money. That led to one of the most bizarre and humiliating experiences I've ever had in New York City. Months ago, I applied to a company called Theatre Mama that my friend Gabrielle worked for. In a nutshell, they hand out fliers in Times Square. Their gimmick that supposedly makes them exceptional is that they send out performers, a la the tourists are attracted to the girls dancing around like they're in Chicago so they take a flier. Well, several weeks ago I got a call from them saying they'd like me to come in and interview, and told me to be prepared to move. I figured there was going to be some sort of movement/dance test, and I halfway didn't want to go because I figured I would be completely out of place with a bunch of other dancers. However, my friend and my mother talked me into it. I may never fully forgive either of them.

I arrived and two other girls were interviewing with me. It seemed quite normal at first. Then the woman running the interview told us she was going to leave for a little while and instructed us to think of clever things an angel would say on Earth. We had no idea what that meant, and pretty much brushed it off. Then the woman returned, carrying in her arms none other than giant, feathery, strap-on angel's wings for each of us. I began to contemplate just walking out. But I'm not a quitter. We strapped on those wings, she paraded us out onto the street, shoved some fliers into our hands and told us to be angels (as if it were the most divine idea she'd ever had)! As we 'frolicked' up and down Times Square she would shout things like, 'SLOW MOTION!' or 'MAKE A SCENE TOGETHER!' At one point one of the other girls passed me skipping and saying to herself, 'I want to die!' The feeling was mutual. When we had satisfied her at last (She thought we were all truly fabulous), the three of us trudged back in and at one point I turned to the other two and said, 'The things actors will do in New York.' To which one of the girls responded, 'Starbucks is not sounding so bad anymore.'

I got the job. So for the past month I've been having an intense inner debate about whether or not I'm willing to subject myself to that kind of humiliation (which could quite frequently include running into people I know) on a daily basis. The thing that makes the decision exceedingly difficult- It pays $17/hr. One day I was scheduled to work my first shift with them and I chickened out and called and told them I was sick. Since then I haven't had much communication with the company. I told one of my friends from David's about it and she told me she had a couple friends who did that for about two months and then quit because they wanted to kill themselves. I suppose I'll think about it more while I'm at home.

Home... Tomorrow I fly to Estes Park to be with my family. Amy and Julie are coming in a couple days, and then the whole Addison Clan will be reunited once more. I. Can't. Wait. Anyone who knows me well, knows that home is one of the most important ideas in the world to me. Ever since Thanksgiving, which I spent not with the whole family for the first time in my life, it's been a little tougher for me to push myself, find the drive that is so necessary to life and success in this city. I've looked eagerly forward to being home and not worrying about anything, not feeling guilty for being unproductive, not getting gloomy about my lack of superstardom (or even just mild success). Then a couple weeks ago, the pastor at our church spoke about 'waiting' as a Christian. He spoke of biblical figures who waited their whole lives for events, but never lost hope or gave up, and were even satisfied. It's very late at night, and I don't feel that I can explain it nearly as eloquently as he did, but suffice it to say it rejuvenated me in just the way I needed. It reminded me of remembering to be grateful for the things I have, even if they're not the plays and movies I would have loved to have been doing by now. It put into words what I so frequently can't (or at least can't anymore): That I have the knowledge in me that God has a special plan for me, a reason that I am where I am, that He's going to use me in a big way. And with that knowledge firm within me, the 'waiting' becomes so much less unbearable. It can be almost exciting.

Now don't misunderstand me. I know that nothing is ever going to be handed to me. 'Waiting' also requires work, and determination, and drive. What was so good about that day's message was that it reminded me why, even when nothing seems to come of my effort, I still have reason to keep trying (and keep believing). Since then, things have gotten better and better. I was thinking earlier tonight that I'm probably at the happiest place I've been in my life in quite some time.

It's Christmas. Love the good things in your life. Love people. Spread joy. I have been a firm believer in the magic of Christmas my entire life. The day we bought our Christmas tree and put on the pandora Christmas station there was children's choir singing, and I said to myself, 'It's really Christmas now. Time for me to start crying a lot.' Amy said, 'You cry a lot at Christmas?' To which Liz responded, 'You don't?!' God love that girl. She gets me. My point is this: There is so much beauty in the world at this time of year. Be a part of it. Make some more of it.

Merry Christmas!

Working, Emoting, Striving (and, obviously, Writing)

I recently got asked for the link to my blog by a customer at work and realized I hadn't written anything in over a month. But I'm already getting ahead of myself.

I got the job at David's Tea! It's turned out to be just as delightful of a company as I imagined it to be. I love my manager, I love the people I work with (Most of them. Life is not perfect, you know.), and I love getting paid. My manager has told me more than once that people compliment me personally to him frequently, and I truly love that, especially because for the first several weeks I honestly had no idea what I was talking about. Natural-born salesman right here, folks! You get an incredibly wide variety of people in a tea shop in NYC, but perhaps I'll go into some specific David's Tea experiences another time.

I've had several very unique experiences lately. I went and had a 'trial run' as a personal assistant for a family in the village. They live in a truly gorgeous four-story townhouse with a friggin' backyard. I walked the dog, cleaned up the boys' bedrooms (despite their insistence it wasn't necessary as their mother insisted it was), did laundry, and shopped for and cooked dinner. Let's just say my mother got several texts that evening desperately seeking advice. She came through, as always. I haven't heard back from them yet, so I don't know if there will be a return adventure to the land of the much-richer-than-me. Ya never know, though.

On the performing front, I landed a gig in a cabaret without ever opening my mouth. I applied for something called Cranky Cabaret, where they only perform 'good and pissed off' songs. Going for broke, I sent them an 'angry' and apathetic email, with only the last line saying 'I hope this wasn't too much. I'd really like to be involved.' The next day I got a call saying it was the funniest response they'd ever gotten and they wanted me in the show whether I could sing or not. I guess Go Big or Go Home really works sometimes. Getting to the first rehearsal was an experience in and of itself. We'd gone to a pumpkin patch out on Long Island (a truly fantastic day), and I'd come home still unsure what I wanted to sing. I bought sheet music online for several options, then remembered my printer was dead. By this time I was already running late. So I rushed to Staples, and the music wouldn't print there either. The woman said their computers didn't have the right program. So I got on the train and just headed to the rehearsal (in Brooklyn) with only one song. Halfway there I realized I didn't even have a copy of the one song I had, which was half the point of this rehearsal- to give a copy to the accompanist. So I sprinted out of the subway and ran to a different Staples and copied the music. By the time I got to the apartment where they were rehearsing, I'd completely missed my slot and they'd already started the general information meeting. Praise the God, the two producers were incredibly laid back. They completely understood and I didn't even get chided. Other than that, I went on two auditions tonight (the first auditions I've gone to in weeks), both of which went well, one of which I think something might really come of. Now for the waiting.

Besides all of that... I guess you could say I'm a bit of a mess. But then again, am I ever not? I think being a mess is part of life, especially 20-something life (Yes, I am 21 years old now. Heaven help us). My emotions swing drastically from one end of the spectrum to the other at times. Not that long ago, I tried to go the Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center all the way across town, and was in a fantastic mood, jamming to my ipod with the crisp fall air nipping at my nose. Then the library was closed. I tried to make use of being in that part of town by shopping for jeans, and I couldn't find a dang thing (I really hate shopping). I rode the bus back and was walking home thinking about how much of a mess my life was and how things just really weren't working out. Then I ran into an old friend and he asked if I'd lost weight and said it looked good on me. I walked away grinning and thinking how much I loved life. None of those emotions I just listed are exagerrated at all. That's three drastic mood swings in one afternoon. Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me. A couple days ago I went to see some friends of mine from school in their newest Company play (Company is third year at AADA, where you just do shows.). They were phenomenal. I couldn't help but sit in the audience thinking, 'That could have been me.' And then afterward when the cast and other school folk went out I tried to tag along, but I really just felt out of place. I chose differently than they did. I left there feeling strange and somewhat uneasy. Sometimes I think back and question all the decisions I've made, ponder all the 'what ifs'. It's not enjoyable.

But you know, that's the life of the artist. I feel my emotions in such enormous ways, and I believe that is what allows me to perform. At least that's what I like to tell myself. If I hadn't experienced that I wouldn't have been moved to write about it on here. It also reminded me again of how badly I want to succeed, and how much more I need to push myself.

And I have been doing better lately about seeing the good. Yesterday I stomped thru a blizzard to the subway with my umbrella blowing away and my feet drenched and slipping and sliding all over the place, and I loved every second of it. Tonight I went back to the Performing Arts Library, and Lincoln Center was all lit up at night with the fountain going and people arriving for the opera in their tuxes and gowns and the winter wind gusting through the square, and Don't Rain On My Parade playing on my ipod. I mean, can you get any more New York than that? It was beautiful.

I recently read the blog of a friend of mine, Jason Spina (http://theresalotonmymind.wordpress.com/), and he decided from the start that he didn't want to write a blog just about himself. He didn't pride himself that the inner workings of his mind were of that much interest or importance. I find that very admirable. Obviously, it's not a principle I hold myself to.

I think that's because, in the end, it's really all I have; that's really all I've ever had. My feelings, my thoughts, and my heart. It's all I have to give, and I want to give it all. I always have, I guess in hope that someone finds it dynamic, that it can affect someone, move them, entertain them. So I will continue to pour my heart out, in writing, acting, singing, speaking, dance, anything. Because it's all I know and all I have, and I want to share it. I have to give it.