My brother is an insurance broker. He lives in Scarsdale with his wife and three sons. They own a beautiful house. They have land. A golf course across the street. A woods in their backyard.
I am a writer and an actor. I live in Los Angeles. I rent a house. I have land but it is not mine. There is a golf course a mile away but I do not play golf. As for the woods, well, I can drive to some.
This week was terrible for me in business.
A few months ago, a successful television producer told me that he had just gotten a lucrative TV development deal. The deal would allow him to develop shows created by other writers. I have had some success in that world, having sold a handful of sitcoms and piloting one, so this prospect was exciting for me; creating something awesome and innovative for someone who could really help it come to fruition.
I worked tirelessly coming up with concepts, writing 20 page treatments. When this producer called to have a follow up lunch at the commissary of a huge TV studio, I was armed, stoked and confident.
At that lunch, while perusing the menus, the producer nervously informed me that “unfortunately, our development slate is full up. But we would love to develop with you next season.” I gasped, gulped, cried a little…all on the inside. On the outside, I was playing the role of an adult, a Hollywood guy who is not affected by anything. I was rolling with the punches all the while thinking about my newborn baby and my recently laid off wife. Shit! This could’ve been our sigh of relief. Damn it!
We ordered food. I wanted to be anywhere but there. ANYWHERE! As we squirm through the lunch (and all the while I am thinking “DUDE, WHY COULDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS OVER THE PHONE, TEXT, BBM, FACEBOOK, TWITTER EVEN..) the producer dangles another carrot. “One of the pilots we are developing…well, we all want you to play the lead.” I am a writer. I am an actor. But I thought I was having a writing lunch and now I am potentially the star of a show. My anxiety comes to a hault. “See, you always go with the flow, do the work and it will pay off. Just keep showing up. Keep showing your face. Be present” I tell myself.
Lunch is over. We hug. Oh, right, forgot to mention…we are friends. We met through business but over the years became friends. Had dinners. Went to each other’s birthdays, charity events, met for drinks, laughed, told each other how talented the other was. Friends. So, obvs, we hugged goodbye.
Four days ago I found out that the pilot that they all wanted me to star on was, drumroll, BEING MADE!! Well, I thought, I am one step closer to taking care of my family but moreso, the producer, my friend, wants me to play the lead of that show. This won’t be easy (nothing is) but it will be possible.
I text my friend, the producer. I write “congrats on the pilot. I hope I come in for it.” No response. Then I call my agents. Tell them that “this is the one, the show they wanted me for should it get made.” The agents call the producer and his team. The producer, my friend, calls my agents back and says “we don’t want to waste Matt’s time. We are going to have to cast a star.”
I have worked but I’m not nearly the star Snookie is. Or Tila Tequila. The realization. I AM NOT A STAR. Does that mean I should throw in the towel? Hang it up? What are you if you are not a star these days? If you get a coffee and no one snaps a photo did you really get a coffee?? Shit. I am just talented. Where the hell can that get me?
I then send the producer, my buddy, a text saying “My agents relayed the news. All good. Kick ass on your pilot.” At first I did not want to write that. I wanted to right ARE YOU SERIOUS? But then, I thought, this is business…they always want a star…suck it up. So I did. I sucked it up. And I sent that text.
I go to bed. Conscience is clear.
Wake up to a call from my agents that “they want you to come in for the pilot.”
What? How? Why? What could change in 24 hours? Didn’t want me. Not a star. Want a star. Now want me to audition? Hmmm. I did not trust it. But the agents did, or saw dollar signs, who knows. So I read the script a few times. Rehearse my scenes. Get the right outfit together. Make acting choices. I do what we do when we have to do this. I prepare.
I go to the audition. I sit in the waiting room. I sit near Meadow Soprano. She is beautiful. She gets up to go to the bathroom. I hear a door open. I hear my friend, the producer, stop Meadow and say “so glad you’re here. YOU’RE NOT NEXT RIGHT?” Meadow giggles and says “nope…just peeing.” My friend, the producer laughs.
Then the assistant comes out and calls “MATT.” That’s me. I walk to the casting room. And there is the casting director, two writers…but not my friend. NOT THE PRODUCER.
He left for my audition. He was there for everyone else in that waiting room. Then he left and he would return when I was in the elevator. He would return for Meadow Soprano…a star.
I walked to my car, so hurt. I was called in for pity’s sake. I was called in because he knew that I knew that he said they wanted me for that role but were no longer wanting me for that role.
What I don’t think he counted on was the sequence of events. Had he not opened the door to evacuate the casting room when Meadow Soprano walked by en route to pee…I NEVER WOULD HAVE HEARD HIS VOICE. IN THAT CASE, I WOULD HAVE BEEN MADE TO BELIEVE THAT HE JUST COULD NOT BE THERE. But, alas, he was there.
So, I just shared this story, a story that has really hurt my feelings, with my older brother. And he shared this with me:
I am doing a deal right now with these guys. I love these guys. I’d do anything for them. They’d do anything for me. Until I fuck up or they move on. Until they no longer want to work with me. But until then, WE ARE GREAT FRIENDS.
If what I can offer them is AWESOME but another broker’s offer is MORE AWESOME they are going with the other broker. And they will probably be really GOOD FRIENDS with that broker too. Until an even AWESOMER broker comes along.
These are friends that have to be compartmentalized. They are not from whence it came. They didn’t know you before you had hair on your balls. They didn’t share a bunk with you when you were banging sorority girls. They didn’t turn their tassles with you when you graduated high school or college. They didn’t know you as a person with dreams. As a kid from a town. As a…well…as a friend.
Aha moment anyone?
So, indeed, it is all the same across the board. I am you and you are me…
My dad has always told me that if you have a handful of friends in your life you are damn lucky. I do. I have that handful. So perhaps now, I can officially separate church and state…business and friendships.
This may be the beginning of the adulthood I’ve been so scared of stepping into. And as my brother told me...”you will be everything to your family that you aspire to be, with or without anyone’s promise for your future. Your future is you, in your hands, in your dreams.”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sunday, July 26, 2009
From Jennifer
This is from my friend Jennifer who decided to pack up her life and leave it behind to discover herself and move it forward.
Fromheretoenlightenment.blogspot.com
Healing in Ubud
I have had a terrible case of writer's block over the past month in Bali or, as my mother cutely refers to it, “writer’s blog”. The experiences that I have had here are so surreal and beautiful that I feel like it would be almost impossible to adequately capture my experiences on a page. I could never do them justice but I will do my best.
The decision to come to Bali initially took place in December 2008 while I was in India for Ben and Ione’s wedding. It was my last night at Peedam and I had just experienced a private fire ceremony in the heart of Amma’s Golden Temple. My friends, Jo and Edo, were sitting in the dining room at the ashram and we were discussing dreams and my yearning to break free and travel for awhile. They mentioned that they might be going to Bali in June for a yoga retreat and would I be interested in joining them if they did. I was on such a high from the experience at the temple that I answered “yes!” without hesitation. There was simply no question that I needed to go. I am so happy that I listened to my intuition.
I booked the retreat while I was travelling in India in May. I did not know where I was going and never bothered to look up the Bagus Jati resort website. All I had was the date to arrive and an address. I was told that we would be located in Ubud, which I was really excited to experience since my last two weeks had been spent in Canggu which is more residential and not as hippie/ artsy as I understood Ubud to be. When I gave the address to Nyoman, the sweet taxi driver who had been taking such good care of me on my treks back and forth to the orphanage in Denpasar, he informed me that I would actually be staying a good ½ hour outside of Ubud. “You will be residing in the mountains, in the wilderness. It is a very beautiful, magical place.” He assured me.
Now I know I keep repeating throughout my journey that each place I have been to so far to be “breathtaking” and “mind blowing” but THIS place was unbelievable. I could have never have dreamed a dream as beautiful and serene as Bagus Jati. The property is located in the mountains, everywhere you look is green. My “room” was actually a self standing bungalow with a straw thatched roof. The interior was stunning with twin beds (my roommate was Dans, a yoga teacher from Australia, who I fell madly in love with) and the bathroom is equipped with massage tables. The landscape of the property is exquisite. We are living on multi tiered levels of what must have been rice fields at some point.
Each day of the retreat consisted of 2 daytime yoga classes, the evenings ended with Kirtan (devotional call and response chanting which is led by Edo and Jo and is quite possibly my favorite aspect of the retreat) and meditation. One day involved a gorgeous hike to the top of Mt Batur (1.717 Meters), a Balinese volcano, which began at 3 am. We arrived at the top for sunrise and proceeded to chant the Gayatri Mantra as the sun flooded the sky. Some of us proceeded to hike into a tiny cave inside the volcano and participated in an impromptu Puja ceremony which set my heart on fire once again.
The people that I met during the retreat are some of the kindest, most compassionate and inspiring friends I have ever made who came from all corners of the world: Australia, Germany, New Zealand, and the US. On our final day, one of our teachers led us in an exercise called “Angel Whispers” where one yogi at a time was blindfolded and was led around the circle and each of us whispered what we appreciated about them softly in their ear. I kept my hands on my heart the whole time for fear that it might leap out of my chest if I let go.
After the retreat, some of us decided to take an impromptu trip to the Gilli Islands which are located off the North East coast of Bali. We spent four blissful days of snorkeling, bike riding, surfing, boat riding and sun bathing.
I returned to Ubud with Jo, Edo, Kay and Chrissi and checked into the lovely Ubud Aura which has been my home now for over a month. The hotel is owned by the local Guru, Mr. Ketut Arsana. He is a healer who also runs the beautiful Bodyworks massage center and Ashram Munivara. My room looks over acres of rice patties and I am woken up each day by the sounds of roosters and local farmers scaring birds away from their crops.
We are located right next door to Yoga Barn, the main Ubud yoga studio which becomes my home away from home. I attend classes daily which range from various Yoga styles to Tai Chi to meditation to lectures about life and spirituality. I am amazed at how much there is to learn and I am fascinated by it all.
Some people come to Bali, specifically Ubud, from all corners of the world to heal; the healing can be physical, emotional, mental or spiritual. Whatever ailment or suffering you are going through, there is most likely someone here with a remedy for it. Although I was not ailing from anything specific, I was still curious and open to meet with healers per friends’ suggestions.
The first healer I visited with in Ubud was an elderly man named Jokrta Ray (sp?). He is supposedly in his mid to late 80s but looks about 60. He spoke very little English but lead me to sit down on the floor between his legs. He proceeded to dig his fingers into different parts of my head, some areas hurt more than others. He told me that all of my organs are functioning properly except my mind. “You think too much. Your mind is overactive.” He then layed me down on the floor and began to press into my toes with a wooden stick. As tears streamed down my face, he started to make some drawings on my stomach while chanting in Balinese. I was then sat up and told to look at myself “in the mirror every day and smile big, then swallow your smile and feel it in your heart, solar plexus and sex organs. Then bring the smile up to your face again. No more living in the past. No more living in the mind. Now is what you have. The present time is all that matters. Enjoy your life completely and laugh out loud every day.” He then patted me on the back and sent me on my way. When I met up with my friend Ged (my gorgeous English neighbor/ soul sister who has been living in Australia for the past year) afterwards, she said I was glowing. I had no idea what had just happened but something in me felt lighter.
The following day, Ged and I went to our appointment with Wayan, the female healer who became famous after Elizabeth Gilbert’s account of her in “Eat. Pray. Love.” My session at the Balinese Healing Center has been a definite highlight of my trip, an experience I will remember forever. Wayan is a nice looking Balinese woman with a spitfire personality. Her “office” opens onto the street and my initial “consultation” took place in front of complete strangers (this tends to be the norm with healers in Bali, there is no room for shyness or secrecy here). She began by examining my legs and back, looked into my eyes and at my tongue. Her assessment of everything was exactly right on point from the ligament issues that I have in my left knee to the lower back pain that I occasionally suffer from. She then read my palm which was also accurate. From there, I was escorted upstairs to a room where I was instructed to change into a sarong. I was then sat down on a chair and for the next hour and a half my body was scrubbed down with herbs, mud and potions by 2 to 3 people at a time. Wayan stood over me occasionally, chanting over my body and blowing on my stomach at random intervals. This was followed by an hour long massage, shower with herbs and the most delicious meal that I have had to date. At the end of the session, Wayan stood me in front of a mirror and asked me what I saw. I saw happiness. My skin and spirit were glowing. I feel grateful and fortunate. As I hugged Wayan goodbye, she whispered softly in my ear “you have a beautiful heart. Don’t get stuck in your mind. Live for today; not for yesterday. Now is all you have.” If I was a skeptic, I would have thought that the healer from the day before had called her up and warned her that I was coming but being a believer, I decide to take their guidance to heart. I too had something to heal, as do we all.
I have visited with psychics and Qi Gong teachers, spent days bathing in holy water with Balinese devotees, taken a trip to Nusa Lembongan (a little healing island just South of Bali) and even went in for a “chakra tune up” and so far the most healing experience I have had has been the time that I spend with the children at the orphanage teaching yoga. That is when I am most “present”, feel most grateful and most at peace. This is how I know that I have found my calling. When I look at photos that friends have taken of me teaching, I see the same “glow” in my face as the day I spent with Wayan. The children are my healers and my teachers and they are the reason I set out on this journey. If someone had told me 10 years ago while I was working as a publicist in New York, promoting Hip Hop stars and fashion designers, that I would end up teaching children yoga and meditation, I would have probably thought that they were crazy. And not crazy in a bad way, crazy in a “that’s too good to be true way". India and Bali have shown me that when you follow your heart and have faith in yourself, anything is possible.
Sending healing love and light from Ubud.
xoxo
Fromheretoenlightenment.blogspot.com
Healing in Ubud
I have had a terrible case of writer's block over the past month in Bali or, as my mother cutely refers to it, “writer’s blog”. The experiences that I have had here are so surreal and beautiful that I feel like it would be almost impossible to adequately capture my experiences on a page. I could never do them justice but I will do my best.
The decision to come to Bali initially took place in December 2008 while I was in India for Ben and Ione’s wedding. It was my last night at Peedam and I had just experienced a private fire ceremony in the heart of Amma’s Golden Temple. My friends, Jo and Edo, were sitting in the dining room at the ashram and we were discussing dreams and my yearning to break free and travel for awhile. They mentioned that they might be going to Bali in June for a yoga retreat and would I be interested in joining them if they did. I was on such a high from the experience at the temple that I answered “yes!” without hesitation. There was simply no question that I needed to go. I am so happy that I listened to my intuition.
I booked the retreat while I was travelling in India in May. I did not know where I was going and never bothered to look up the Bagus Jati resort website. All I had was the date to arrive and an address. I was told that we would be located in Ubud, which I was really excited to experience since my last two weeks had been spent in Canggu which is more residential and not as hippie/ artsy as I understood Ubud to be. When I gave the address to Nyoman, the sweet taxi driver who had been taking such good care of me on my treks back and forth to the orphanage in Denpasar, he informed me that I would actually be staying a good ½ hour outside of Ubud. “You will be residing in the mountains, in the wilderness. It is a very beautiful, magical place.” He assured me.
Now I know I keep repeating throughout my journey that each place I have been to so far to be “breathtaking” and “mind blowing” but THIS place was unbelievable. I could have never have dreamed a dream as beautiful and serene as Bagus Jati. The property is located in the mountains, everywhere you look is green. My “room” was actually a self standing bungalow with a straw thatched roof. The interior was stunning with twin beds (my roommate was Dans, a yoga teacher from Australia, who I fell madly in love with) and the bathroom is equipped with massage tables. The landscape of the property is exquisite. We are living on multi tiered levels of what must have been rice fields at some point.
Each day of the retreat consisted of 2 daytime yoga classes, the evenings ended with Kirtan (devotional call and response chanting which is led by Edo and Jo and is quite possibly my favorite aspect of the retreat) and meditation. One day involved a gorgeous hike to the top of Mt Batur (1.717 Meters), a Balinese volcano, which began at 3 am. We arrived at the top for sunrise and proceeded to chant the Gayatri Mantra as the sun flooded the sky. Some of us proceeded to hike into a tiny cave inside the volcano and participated in an impromptu Puja ceremony which set my heart on fire once again.
The people that I met during the retreat are some of the kindest, most compassionate and inspiring friends I have ever made who came from all corners of the world: Australia, Germany, New Zealand, and the US. On our final day, one of our teachers led us in an exercise called “Angel Whispers” where one yogi at a time was blindfolded and was led around the circle and each of us whispered what we appreciated about them softly in their ear. I kept my hands on my heart the whole time for fear that it might leap out of my chest if I let go.
After the retreat, some of us decided to take an impromptu trip to the Gilli Islands which are located off the North East coast of Bali. We spent four blissful days of snorkeling, bike riding, surfing, boat riding and sun bathing.
I returned to Ubud with Jo, Edo, Kay and Chrissi and checked into the lovely Ubud Aura which has been my home now for over a month. The hotel is owned by the local Guru, Mr. Ketut Arsana. He is a healer who also runs the beautiful Bodyworks massage center and Ashram Munivara. My room looks over acres of rice patties and I am woken up each day by the sounds of roosters and local farmers scaring birds away from their crops.
We are located right next door to Yoga Barn, the main Ubud yoga studio which becomes my home away from home. I attend classes daily which range from various Yoga styles to Tai Chi to meditation to lectures about life and spirituality. I am amazed at how much there is to learn and I am fascinated by it all.
Some people come to Bali, specifically Ubud, from all corners of the world to heal; the healing can be physical, emotional, mental or spiritual. Whatever ailment or suffering you are going through, there is most likely someone here with a remedy for it. Although I was not ailing from anything specific, I was still curious and open to meet with healers per friends’ suggestions.
The first healer I visited with in Ubud was an elderly man named Jokrta Ray (sp?). He is supposedly in his mid to late 80s but looks about 60. He spoke very little English but lead me to sit down on the floor between his legs. He proceeded to dig his fingers into different parts of my head, some areas hurt more than others. He told me that all of my organs are functioning properly except my mind. “You think too much. Your mind is overactive.” He then layed me down on the floor and began to press into my toes with a wooden stick. As tears streamed down my face, he started to make some drawings on my stomach while chanting in Balinese. I was then sat up and told to look at myself “in the mirror every day and smile big, then swallow your smile and feel it in your heart, solar plexus and sex organs. Then bring the smile up to your face again. No more living in the past. No more living in the mind. Now is what you have. The present time is all that matters. Enjoy your life completely and laugh out loud every day.” He then patted me on the back and sent me on my way. When I met up with my friend Ged (my gorgeous English neighbor/ soul sister who has been living in Australia for the past year) afterwards, she said I was glowing. I had no idea what had just happened but something in me felt lighter.
The following day, Ged and I went to our appointment with Wayan, the female healer who became famous after Elizabeth Gilbert’s account of her in “Eat. Pray. Love.” My session at the Balinese Healing Center has been a definite highlight of my trip, an experience I will remember forever. Wayan is a nice looking Balinese woman with a spitfire personality. Her “office” opens onto the street and my initial “consultation” took place in front of complete strangers (this tends to be the norm with healers in Bali, there is no room for shyness or secrecy here). She began by examining my legs and back, looked into my eyes and at my tongue. Her assessment of everything was exactly right on point from the ligament issues that I have in my left knee to the lower back pain that I occasionally suffer from. She then read my palm which was also accurate. From there, I was escorted upstairs to a room where I was instructed to change into a sarong. I was then sat down on a chair and for the next hour and a half my body was scrubbed down with herbs, mud and potions by 2 to 3 people at a time. Wayan stood over me occasionally, chanting over my body and blowing on my stomach at random intervals. This was followed by an hour long massage, shower with herbs and the most delicious meal that I have had to date. At the end of the session, Wayan stood me in front of a mirror and asked me what I saw. I saw happiness. My skin and spirit were glowing. I feel grateful and fortunate. As I hugged Wayan goodbye, she whispered softly in my ear “you have a beautiful heart. Don’t get stuck in your mind. Live for today; not for yesterday. Now is all you have.” If I was a skeptic, I would have thought that the healer from the day before had called her up and warned her that I was coming but being a believer, I decide to take their guidance to heart. I too had something to heal, as do we all.
I have visited with psychics and Qi Gong teachers, spent days bathing in holy water with Balinese devotees, taken a trip to Nusa Lembongan (a little healing island just South of Bali) and even went in for a “chakra tune up” and so far the most healing experience I have had has been the time that I spend with the children at the orphanage teaching yoga. That is when I am most “present”, feel most grateful and most at peace. This is how I know that I have found my calling. When I look at photos that friends have taken of me teaching, I see the same “glow” in my face as the day I spent with Wayan. The children are my healers and my teachers and they are the reason I set out on this journey. If someone had told me 10 years ago while I was working as a publicist in New York, promoting Hip Hop stars and fashion designers, that I would end up teaching children yoga and meditation, I would have probably thought that they were crazy. And not crazy in a bad way, crazy in a “that’s too good to be true way". India and Bali have shown me that when you follow your heart and have faith in yourself, anything is possible.
Sending healing love and light from Ubud.
xoxo
So Many Boot Straps To Pull Up
It seems right now that everyone is either getting laid off, decreased salaries, losing all their money in stocks, in Madoffs, in houses, in in in in...
We are totally and completely living in history. Just spoke with my friend who got laid off from a non-profit. A day later her fiance got laid off from a not-non-profit. Months ago my wife got laid off from a major NOT-non-profit...meaning she got canned from a place that makes millions every day. A place where certain higher ups buy coffee tables for their offices that cost far more than my wife's salary.
Those of us who are conscious have often sited the injustice in teacher's salaries. "A baseball player gets 20 million for two years while a school teacher can barely buy ramen noodles."
We can now open it up to much bigger conversation. We are all, in a sense, fucked. Except, ofcourse, if you are doing an online blog about famous people. Then you make a shit ton of funds because, as it stands, as we stand, we are so bored and tired of our own lives that we simply find it more interesting to see John (from John And Kate Plus 8) wearing Ed Hardy shirts. Then we make fun of his Ed Hardy shirts. Then Spencer and Heidi annoy us. And each time they annoy us another click is sent into the web-isphere and both the website and the talent-less car crashes on that site make money...while we get deeper into depression about our lay offs, our hard earned money disappearing and our ramen noodles tasting totally monotonous.
We are tired. We are young, starting our lives and fucking exhausted. How many times have you pulled yourself by the boot straps already? A lot. Too many times, I think, for our age. Start. Stop. Do over. Repeat.
"are we happy, on this painful road
do the times and the world
make your explode?"
Hope everyone is well. Kicking ass. Writing down the names of the people who laid you off and the ones who drained your bank accounts. Not for revenge. But just so you remember in 10 years when you are at your beach house and the phone rings and it is your former employer telling you he/she just fell on hard times and do you have a job for them. You can say yes, but it will probably feel better and more just to say "good luck. in fact, goodnight and good luck." Nama-fuckin'-ste.
We are totally and completely living in history. Just spoke with my friend who got laid off from a non-profit. A day later her fiance got laid off from a not-non-profit. Months ago my wife got laid off from a major NOT-non-profit...meaning she got canned from a place that makes millions every day. A place where certain higher ups buy coffee tables for their offices that cost far more than my wife's salary.
Those of us who are conscious have often sited the injustice in teacher's salaries. "A baseball player gets 20 million for two years while a school teacher can barely buy ramen noodles."
We can now open it up to much bigger conversation. We are all, in a sense, fucked. Except, ofcourse, if you are doing an online blog about famous people. Then you make a shit ton of funds because, as it stands, as we stand, we are so bored and tired of our own lives that we simply find it more interesting to see John (from John And Kate Plus 8) wearing Ed Hardy shirts. Then we make fun of his Ed Hardy shirts. Then Spencer and Heidi annoy us. And each time they annoy us another click is sent into the web-isphere and both the website and the talent-less car crashes on that site make money...while we get deeper into depression about our lay offs, our hard earned money disappearing and our ramen noodles tasting totally monotonous.
We are tired. We are young, starting our lives and fucking exhausted. How many times have you pulled yourself by the boot straps already? A lot. Too many times, I think, for our age. Start. Stop. Do over. Repeat.
"are we happy, on this painful road
do the times and the world
make your explode?"
Hope everyone is well. Kicking ass. Writing down the names of the people who laid you off and the ones who drained your bank accounts. Not for revenge. But just so you remember in 10 years when you are at your beach house and the phone rings and it is your former employer telling you he/she just fell on hard times and do you have a job for them. You can say yes, but it will probably feel better and more just to say "good luck. in fact, goodnight and good luck." Nama-fuckin'-ste.
Friday, January 16, 2009
The Only Living Boy Not Living In New York
I am in the loneliest place on Earth. The American Airlines Admirals Club at JFK. I am only in the club because the hundreds of flights I've flown from Los Angeles to New York and back again have given me status. Upgrade status. But right now nothing can soothe me. Not even a Business Class seat.
An hour ago I got in a car that drove me away from my waving, chin quivering Mom. She stood on West 12th street, a cocktail of cold winds and her baby boy leaving brought the tears. The car drove off before I could see if her tears froze and before she could see my eyes well. I've gotten in that car too many times. The car to the airport to the city across the country where I live. I have been leaving New York for 8 years now. And with each bag packed and every security check-in, my heart breaks a little more.
My seven month pregnant wife and I arrived in the West Village two days before Christmas. In the last three weeks we have had twelve dinners with my parents and seven visits with my brother, sister-n-law and three nephews. We saw five plays. We went to three museums. We tried out red velvet cupcakes at atleast nine bakeries. We saw every single one of our Manhattan based friends. We saw some of them more than once. We experienced countless flavors of weather. We want to come home. We desperately want to come home.
These three thousand miles between Los Angeles and New York have become far too wide. My wife, a recently promoted network television executive was conveniently laid off when she hit her seventh month of pregnancy. As she cried from the injustice of it she began to smile when she realized she could stay in New York for a few more days. A few more days to milk the last drops of home. We don't support lay offs but we do sponsor finding the silver lining. And for us, 72 extra hours in our cobblestoned West Village surrounded by our people is kind of, just kind of worth a lay off.
I can sum it up with our family dog, Kelsee. She is 17 years old. Her legs are giving out. She has lost too much weight. She has taken to peeing in my parent's living room. She's old. And she's going. And I told my Mom that when Kelsee goes and I get a phone call in Los Angeles I want the information instantly. No baited breath. No emotion. Just the news. I will then get on a plane and fly home, stoic. Then when I see my Mom I will cry. I will sob. I will crumble. But I don't want to fall apart so far away. In fact, I no longer want news delivered from so very far away. I don't want to hear that my nephew's 3rd birthday was great or that my Dad loved his dinner at Tortilla Flats or that my brother had a barbeque on a Sunday or that someone is sick or hurt or dead. Not across states and skies. I want to come home. I desperately want to come home.
I'm on the plane now. The business class seat is comfortable. I wonder if my mom is pouring herself a glass of white wine. If my Dad, briefcase in tow, is getting on the 2/3 then walking 14th street to 8th Ave to West 12th and Washington to home. To Home. Home.
An hour ago I got in a car that drove me away from my waving, chin quivering Mom. She stood on West 12th street, a cocktail of cold winds and her baby boy leaving brought the tears. The car drove off before I could see if her tears froze and before she could see my eyes well. I've gotten in that car too many times. The car to the airport to the city across the country where I live. I have been leaving New York for 8 years now. And with each bag packed and every security check-in, my heart breaks a little more.
My seven month pregnant wife and I arrived in the West Village two days before Christmas. In the last three weeks we have had twelve dinners with my parents and seven visits with my brother, sister-n-law and three nephews. We saw five plays. We went to three museums. We tried out red velvet cupcakes at atleast nine bakeries. We saw every single one of our Manhattan based friends. We saw some of them more than once. We experienced countless flavors of weather. We want to come home. We desperately want to come home.
These three thousand miles between Los Angeles and New York have become far too wide. My wife, a recently promoted network television executive was conveniently laid off when she hit her seventh month of pregnancy. As she cried from the injustice of it she began to smile when she realized she could stay in New York for a few more days. A few more days to milk the last drops of home. We don't support lay offs but we do sponsor finding the silver lining. And for us, 72 extra hours in our cobblestoned West Village surrounded by our people is kind of, just kind of worth a lay off.
I can sum it up with our family dog, Kelsee. She is 17 years old. Her legs are giving out. She has lost too much weight. She has taken to peeing in my parent's living room. She's old. And she's going. And I told my Mom that when Kelsee goes and I get a phone call in Los Angeles I want the information instantly. No baited breath. No emotion. Just the news. I will then get on a plane and fly home, stoic. Then when I see my Mom I will cry. I will sob. I will crumble. But I don't want to fall apart so far away. In fact, I no longer want news delivered from so very far away. I don't want to hear that my nephew's 3rd birthday was great or that my Dad loved his dinner at Tortilla Flats or that my brother had a barbeque on a Sunday or that someone is sick or hurt or dead. Not across states and skies. I want to come home. I desperately want to come home.
I'm on the plane now. The business class seat is comfortable. I wonder if my mom is pouring herself a glass of white wine. If my Dad, briefcase in tow, is getting on the 2/3 then walking 14th street to 8th Ave to West 12th and Washington to home. To Home. Home.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
MOVE ON
Stephen Sondheim from Sunday In The Park With George
*this is how I feel
Stop worrying where you're going, move on
If you can know where you're going, you've gone
Just keep moving on.
I chose, and my world was shaken--so what?
The choice may have been mistaken
but choosing was not.
You have to move on.
Look at what you want,
Not at where you are,
Not at what you'll be.
Look at all the things you've done for me:
Opened up my eyes
Taught me how to see
Notice every tree!
Understand the light!
Concentrate on now!
I want to move on . . .
I want to explore the light.
I want to know how to get through
through to something new--
Something of my own!
Move on!
Move on!
Stop worrying if your vision is new.
Let others make that decision . . .
they usually do!
You keep moving on.
Look at what you want,
Not at what you are
Not at what you'll be
Look at all the things you gave to me.
See what's in my eyes, And the color of my hair,
and the way it catches light.
And the care, and the feeling
And the light, moving on!
We've always belonged together.
We will always belong together!
Just keep moving on.
Anything you do, let it come from you--
then it will be new.
Give us more to see.
*this is how I feel
Stop worrying where you're going, move on
If you can know where you're going, you've gone
Just keep moving on.
I chose, and my world was shaken--so what?
The choice may have been mistaken
but choosing was not.
You have to move on.
Look at what you want,
Not at where you are,
Not at what you'll be.
Look at all the things you've done for me:
Opened up my eyes
Taught me how to see
Notice every tree!
Understand the light!
Concentrate on now!
I want to move on . . .
I want to explore the light.
I want to know how to get through
through to something new--
Something of my own!
Move on!
Move on!
Stop worrying if your vision is new.
Let others make that decision . . .
they usually do!
You keep moving on.
Look at what you want,
Not at what you are
Not at what you'll be
Look at all the things you gave to me.
See what's in my eyes, And the color of my hair,
and the way it catches light.
And the care, and the feeling
And the light, moving on!
We've always belonged together.
We will always belong together!
Just keep moving on.
Anything you do, let it come from you--
then it will be new.
Give us more to see.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
War Within
I woke up this morning and recognized that I have been at war with myself lately. Let me speak on this. The world is confused. Markets crumbling. People losing their life's work. We are at war(s). It makes perfect sense that because the collective, global energy, the current that connects bigger thoughts is so far from united, loving and generous right now, that that would bleed into each of us, individually. Wall Street, Main Street...my street. My spirit is in conflict. Where to turn? What to do? The adult in me battling the inner child. The social you-should-bes tackling the what-do-i-want-to-bes. Little wars raging on inside offering me sleepless nights, dark thoughts and a bucket of fear. My own lightness fighting my own darkness. My big laugh working hard to out-sound the little voices of discord.
Two houses away from me was a fire. A fire that engulfed a home. The home of a sweet 70 something man. Just him. 70 and solo...in a house that caught flames. The house is gone. So is the last 20 years of his photography. He bikes around the neighborhood now...lost, alone, scared. I stop to talk with him. I combed my drawers and closets yesterday and have put together a wardrobe for him. I hope the clothes fit. I hope he likes them. Would be cool to see him in a Clash t-shirt (can't believe I am giving it away...but on the other hand I need to...I need to give away more and more to make room for less and less...make sense?)
I had a beautiful talk with someone yesterday. Someone I have always been enamored of. And she had read some of this blog and it reflected things she has been thinking, feeling, living as well. And we got off the phone and I wanted to write 400 new posts on Happyonthepainfulroad. That was my greedy voice talking. I thought "Ahh, this blog has peaked another person's interest...let me write millions of words so my blog seems bigger...better." Then I remembered what the person on the other end of the line had been saying to me in regards to this universal conversation we all seem to be having...she said "stay authentic. that is the golden path." UMMMM...BRILLIANT. I started this blog because I needed to. I needed to share my truth and heart. I have never written a word on this blog to show off (first time in my life really...where I have done something artistic out of true pureness) so I shant start phoning it in now.
Two houses away from me was a fire. A fire that engulfed a home. The home of a sweet 70 something man. Just him. 70 and solo...in a house that caught flames. The house is gone. So is the last 20 years of his photography. He bikes around the neighborhood now...lost, alone, scared. I stop to talk with him. I combed my drawers and closets yesterday and have put together a wardrobe for him. I hope the clothes fit. I hope he likes them. Would be cool to see him in a Clash t-shirt (can't believe I am giving it away...but on the other hand I need to...I need to give away more and more to make room for less and less...make sense?)
I had a beautiful talk with someone yesterday. Someone I have always been enamored of. And she had read some of this blog and it reflected things she has been thinking, feeling, living as well. And we got off the phone and I wanted to write 400 new posts on Happyonthepainfulroad. That was my greedy voice talking. I thought "Ahh, this blog has peaked another person's interest...let me write millions of words so my blog seems bigger...better." Then I remembered what the person on the other end of the line had been saying to me in regards to this universal conversation we all seem to be having...she said "stay authentic. that is the golden path." UMMMM...BRILLIANT. I started this blog because I needed to. I needed to share my truth and heart. I have never written a word on this blog to show off (first time in my life really...where I have done something artistic out of true pureness) so I shant start phoning it in now.
Poem sent to me from Sharon
Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
-Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
-Derek Walcott
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