Tag Archives: New York

Goodbye, NY

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After a post-LA six-month stint in the Empire State, it’s time again to gather the tape guns, construct the itinerary, and head for unfamiliar waters. It’s Groundhog Day, with an unpredictable finish.

Three cities in thirty weeks. Coast to coast and climate to climate. Another fresh start, with even fewer friends.

Multilayered introspection is crucial for any deep-dive system reset, and we are all lone conductors of our own orchestras.  The only constant in life is change, but I’m ready for a little consistency following the chaos.

Gleaning lessons from the past year’s pattern upheaval, the most eye-opening realization has been how capable humans are of acclimation. I consider myself fairly entrenched in the spongy, bouncy comfort foam of routine and ritual. But I have been thrown more than my fair share of curveballs in this game, and I’ve generally been able to hang in the batter’s box longer than the rest of the rookies.

Most of us are malleable and adaptable creatures, even those who think a rigid adherence to track-walking is the only thing that keeps their marbles from getting misplaced. When presented with a series of seemingly insurmountable challenges, flexibility is usually found somewhere in the fabric. We just need the courage and desire to search.

So the quest continues…

Chasing the sun, I’m headed for the land of tennis fanatics and retirement enthusiasts. It was an interesting last lap in a hometown that feels very little like home. But it was necessary to put a bow on the gift of growing up and to capture those mental snapshots for a future nostalgic slideshow.

Time to turn another page in a book that remains to be written.

Adolescence Interrupted

The Feeling of Familiar

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Walking around the world as creatures of contentment and relishers of routine, it’s easy to assume that breaking a pattern to add some spice to the monotonous mix means upsetting the setup by tossing a pot of pasta against the wall to see what sticks and what falls.

However, having recently upended my entire life to return to the place where the building blocks of those comfort zones were first stacked, I’m learning that revisiting the starting line can serve as a thoroughly unexpected chance to refresh and reload. There is a certain novelty to presumption, and jack has been waiting to pounce from his hiding place boxes at even the slightest turn of his crank.

Time is impatient. While I was off chasing adventures, the town that imprinted itself onto my core code grew its own legs and learned to run…and with a heavy hunk of my heart still stuck in another city, it’s been taxing trying to keep pace.

But the breeze that blew me back to basics and the rationale to bunt and steal home remain front and center. I’m constantly reminded of the clock and its speedy sand.

Without the arms to control anything outside my direct reach, I’ll focus on what matters most, strap on those running shoes, and continue to track that elusive feeling of familiar.

Adolescence Interrupted

Luck be a Founding Father Tonight

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It’s easy to view the world as a giant game specifically rigged against you. When enough hopes and dreams fall in succession like a neatly-choreographed domino dance, the prospect of second chances further dwindles with the sound of each ivory thud. The finish line retreats one step at a time to contrast your hard-earned momentum, and the impetus to dig deep feels like a relic from years when you wore much younger skin.

But every once in a while, the universe is flipped on its head, pure oxygen fills the lungs, and those serotonin deficits sit in surplus. Impossible odds and implausible victories make you question the very existence of ruts and worry, and the idea that anything is achievable feels as common a notion as the prior certainty that your particular brand of shadows would never see the sunlight.

One day. One minute. One singular moment everything changes. A notification that you will be sitting in the front row, dead center of a brilliant show that has occupied all your conscious waking thoughts for over a year sends a wave of anticipation and gratitude surging through every single cell. Surreality is too tame a word. You assume there is a mistake and triple check the email. But facts are facts and this is happening. You’re going to Hamilton on Broadway.

Just days earlier, you strolled past the Richard Rodgers Theatre, looked up at the shimmering marquee, and lamented the fact that the modern musical has created a chasm between the rich and poor. There was a time when orchestra seats were expensive, but special occasions justified the cost. Now the sticker shock of tickets priced to maximize profits and establish a notion of “exclusivity” make you yearn for a time when the power of musical theater was accessible to everyone. But you shelve your sentimentality, bathe in the fact that you got the biggest break imaginable, and strap into the experience.

You walk down to the edge of the stage, take a seat that’s close enough to count the number of cavities in the mouths of these musical demigods, and try not to faint from anticipation.

To say that you’re blown away would be an understatement of laughable proportions. You have sat in these theaters since the age of seven, wide-eyed and engaged, soaking up every syllable like a sponge. You buy soundtracks, meticulously memorize every lyric, and belt your lungs out in the middle of traffic. This is, and has always been, your life. Tonight everything changes.

It’s not just good. It’s not just great. It’s the single best play, music, lyrics, and choreography ever created. Hands down. Hamilton sits alone at the very top of a mountain specifically carved to honor the genius it contains. There are no rivals. There is no second place.

The unthinkable is actualized. The dream is a reality. It’s quite possibly the very best night of your life.

Adolescence Interrupted

Sharpened Perspective

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Thank you for being a wonderful mother

It’s often too easy to get lost in the mundanity of daily life. The interval between turning a white noise sleep machine off and turning it on again can feel like a timeless loop of repetitive habits, vibrating on skipping needles, powered by hamster wheels.

My Groundhog Days are normally of little concern. I accept that baby steps lead to Olympian leaps, so I tackle my routine tasks and always sweat the small stuff. As a writer and proofreader, details are kind of a big deal. These are my cards, and I’m happy to play them.

But, sometimes—even when the marathon tennis sessions have beaten my body and emptied my energy reserves—I find myself squirming inside my skin for a change of pedestrian pace.

Normally, I ignore these impulses and continue punching computer keyboards in my never-ending attempt to accumulate tension headaches. But, two weeks ago, I was delivered a surprise fuel injector in the form of a fellow tennis aficionado from NY with the desert on her mind and a pro tournament in her sights.

Mom knows just when to rescue her overthinking, word wrestler of a son from his stationary bike, and exactly how to throw some excitement and a change of scenery into the mix.

It was just what the proverbial doctor ordered, and I was able to unplug and detach from the busy, serpentine track of LA life.

My chiropractor believes that the mountains in Palm Springs have a way of inexplicably extracting the stress from our bodies and, although I don’t normally subscribe to  teachings of the mystic variety, I’d have to agree with him.

So, now it’s back to work and back to that hamster wheel. But, like mainlining lemon-lime Gatorade, I feel refreshed and ready for the race ahead.

Thanks, Mom…for always knowing what I need, even when I don’t.