#projectlife101

September was a whirlwind of a month, and a beautiful tie-up of all the new and exciting adventures I embarked on during #projectlife101. I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to hear what I've been up to since my flying trapeze class, so I figured I should check in and give you an update. I can break the 101 days down into four categories: Work, Art, Living and Love.

Work: I left my job hostessing and spent the month of September studying and training for a promotion to server at restaurant #2. Last week, after passing the food exam, I completed my five days of training and had my first official server shift on Sunday. For those of you scoffing at the idea of a "server exam," the packet of info to be memorized literally includes hundreds of recipes, dishes, dressings, food allergies, etc., on top of our full wine list and cocktail menu. It was harder than the SAT's. (It was. Stop it.) 

Anyway, my point in this update is that I'm finally settling into just one job, with a semi-regular schedule, so I can start to focus on what I really love. Which brings me to point two...

Art: Two fun things in this category. To begin with, the first short play I ever wrote was part of a staged reading by a local independent theatre company, The Shelter. You may recognize the name from some other #projectlife101 blog posts. It was a truly unique experience, to see the characters you've written and played out in your head come to life on the stage. As a writer, I learned a great deal from the evening, particularly in understanding structure, voice and tone. Turns out my snippy sarcasm doesn't always translate on stage. Unless I'm delivering it myself, that is. And on that note...

Last night I had my final performance for my Improv 101 class. I completed the eight week course on Tuesday, and for our "graduation" we had to perform long form improv at the UCB East Theatre. (Upright Citizens Brigade, for those unfamiliar). It has been a LONG time since I was up on a stage... and I think the last time I actually acted in front of an audience on my own was in middle school. Needless to say, I was nervous as shit beforehand,  but it ended up being a lot of fun! There was a rush of adrenaline, a slight pressure to step up to the plate, and a bit of relief that the bright lights drowned out the faces of the relatively large audience. I felt more comfortable than I expected to, and while I'm not planning on auditioning for Saturday Night Live anytime in the near future, I do like the idea of challenging and pushing myself to become familiar with the stage again. 

Living: I moved. Again. About two weeks into living in Brooklyn Heights, I found a roommate through the aptly titled Facebook group, "Gypsy Housing." I'm now settling into a sweet, quiet two bedroom apartment in Park Slope, and staring at my recent IKEA purchases as I type... willing them to put themselves together magically. I have no idea where my journey will take me next, but I can tell you that it's nice to finally have a place to call home that's a little more "me."

Speaking of "me"...

Love: This has always been the most difficult category for me to sort through, because I struggled for a long time with the word as a whole. What does it look like? How does it feel? Why does it seem so much harder for me than other people? I think what I've learned (or what I'm learning, at least) is that you can't be afraid of what you want. This summer taught me forgiveness. It taught me strength. It taught me that time is too precious to be wasted, but that no time is wasted as long as you learn. It taught me acceptance, and how to see the big picture. It taught me the power of the word "yes," and the power of the word "no." These lessons didn't come from going on a dating spree or match.com-ing my way through the five boroughs. In fact, they didn't come from my own personal romantic life at all. They came from watching the people I love, love the people they love, and finally being able to admit "I want that." More importantly, "I deserve that."

Currently I'm plotting my next journey. I'll be breathing new life into NYC Art Scene, planning some trips, and nurturing my artistic side whenever possible. One of my favorite quotes as of late is by Kristin Martz, and goes, "We lose ourselves in the things we love. We find ourselves there, too."

Moving to a new neighborhood is like meeting a new friend. It takes some time to understand it, learn how it's laid out, accept the quirks and embrace the attributes, both positive and negative. Each time you step outside you discover something, whether it be a restaurant having the allure of being your new favorite, or an unexplored street tempting you with mystery and adventure.

Tonight after work I met up with Liz and we walked from Brooklyn Heights to Cobble Hill, to check out the restaurant Jolie Cantina. The menu, Mexican with a French twist, was diverse and full of amazing options, and we dined al fresco... lovely as the summer winds down and fall dances around the corner. We split freshly made guacamole (where they actually make it for you table-side, love that), a beet salad, and I had vegetarian tacos while Liz enjoyed octopus ceviche. Everything was really fresh and delicious, and the mini pack of Chiclets with the check was a great touch. I love when restaurants are creative with their post-meal minty treats.

Hard at work making us some guac.

Love it.

After dinner we walked a bit more and then stopped for italian ices. I went for the spumoni, just for comparison with the only Brooklyn spumoni I'm familiar with (L&B's in Bensonhurst, a Morelli family favorite), and am pleased to report it was delightful. Nothing beats the whole experience of L&B though, for the record. 

Though #projectlife101 is winding down to it's final days, the promise to keep doing something new, exploring and going out of my comfort zone is something I plan to keep very much alive. It's interesting, all the changes that have occurred in these 101 days. I had a whole list of things I wanted to hit up and write about, and didn't get to a lot of them because of all the unexpected twists and turns.

I set out to write about life, and in turn, life wrote me. 

I was on time to my improv class today. (Go me.) Had I known what was coming, I would have gladly walked in 20 minutes late and accepted the reputation of being a slacker.

We gathered in the same circle we start every class in, and my teacher explained what we were going to do for warm up today. It was a game called "Hot Spot"... and it involved singing. By yourself. In the middle of the circle, until someone tagged you out and took over. The whole exercise started with one word, and we were to keep jumping in and out until everyone had gone at least twice.

As he was talking, my stomach dropped and I felt my anxiety rising. What was I going to sing? How long would they make me stay up there? Where is the nearest exit for my quick escape? Why did I do this to myself? Since when did improv become karaoke? Man, I hate karaoke. 

This is NOT what I signed up for.

Then I blacked out.

(Not really, but kind of wish I had.)

Most people seemed really eager to jump in (weirdos), though I caught a few equivalent looks of horror on some classmates. The good thing was that if people knew the song, they were encouraged to sing along, so you didn't end up singing the whole thing by yourself. The bad thing was I had to think of a song that everyone would know and I wouldn't sound like a dead cat leading off.

Don't ask me why "You Are My Sunshine" popped into my head, but that's what I went with first. If you don't know that song, you're dead on the inside. That one was a real crowd-pleaser. Then the second time around I chose to bring it back to high school with a rendition of "Waterfalls" by TLC. Also known by at least half the crowd, and fortunately someone saved me before I had to remember the verses.

It was a relatively scarring experience, and based on some of the words my teacher has been dropping (like "monologue") I have a feeling I'm in for a lot of discomfort before the final class. But I survived and I owned the moment for what it was. It's not like I was competing with Beyonce or singing for Simon Cowell so I'm pretty sure no one cared what I sounded like.

Day Ninety-Three, you sneaky little devil. What a way to start wrapping things up and kick off the new with a bang.

Guess that's what #projectlife101 is really all about.

I was nineteen years old, and I had just arrived in Florence, Italy one week prior. It was the fall semester of my junior year, and I was the farthest I had ever been from home on my own... my first taste at true traveling and endless exploring. It was a life-changing four months.

We were walking back to the campus after our lunch break, so it was about 2:00pm Italy time. A couple of students from another college ran up behind me and my roommate, and were yelling how America was under attack and planes were crashing into the Twin Towers. My roommate, who was from Long Island and had family that worked down in lower Manhattan, started to panic, but I assured her that it couldn't be true... they were probably just messing with us.

Needless to say, we went straight to the school's computer lab, and when I signed onto my AOL account, there on the home page was pictures of the Twin Towers, dark smoke billowing out. By the time we got home from school, the towers had fallen. We watched the news in Italian that evening... it's funny how you may not understand a word being said, and yet understand everything. I remember not being able to reach my parents for hours, and that I actually spoke to my grandmothers before I spoke to my mom. I remember it feeling surreal... and I remember feeling so distant from it all that it wasn't until my plane flew into Newark four months later, and the skyline was different from the beloved shapes and angles I grew up with, that I even started to comprehend what had happened.

We all have our story about where we were on 9/11. Like any great tragedy, you don't have to be directly in it to feel the massive impact. You grieve in your own way. You support. You listen. You learn.

Today I headed downtown to pay a visit to the 9/11 Memorial Site. It was crowded with tourists, as to be expected, but I walked through and took a moment to reflect on the magnitude of what happened that day. I don't try to understand why, and I don't try to understand how those who know even one name on the North or South Pool feel, because I can't. It's not our job to understand, it's our job to love unconditionally, listen when needed, and know that we cannot undo what's been done, but we can carry the memory in our hearts and hope for strength to overcome the sorrow.

The phrase associated with 9/11 is "Never Forget," but it's rare that I will use it. To me it sounds like an ominous command. I prefer to say "Always Remember." Always remember the beautiful lives cut short too soon. Always remember the way our nation came together, how generosity, love, compassion, and kindness prevailed despite the horrendous conditions which provoked it. Always remember how New York will forever be a symbol of strength. Always remember that no matter where in the world you are, you are forever bound to every other human by the story of where you were that day.

Always remember that life is too short, too precious, too fragile, to ever waste a day not pursuing what you love, and who you love.

My friend Martin Rivas has a song called, "North." It's one of my favorites. Years ago, when I first met Martin and interviewed him for NYC Art Scene, he told me the story behind the song and the album it appears on.

"Pride of the Valley" was a therapeutic process for Rivas, as many songs deal directly and indirectly with the loss of his stepbrother on 9/11, who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald in the North Tower. Despite the song's upbeat demeanor, the lyrics for the crowd favorite "North" actually came from a dream that they found his stepbrother's body- visions of comfort, sorrow and joy fill the listener and demonstrate Martin's unbelievable ability to bring a smile and foster hope through music. 

Everyone has their own unique way of grieving and remembering. We are never defined by what happens to us... because as long as we are alive, we can always choose how to live. 

We all have our breaking points, and mine came tonight. After three weeks of unsuccessfully trying to find a new place to live, I culminated the search with the worst apartment ever. Not only was it terrible and came complete with two weirdo roommates, it was about an hour out of my way home, so there went 2 1/2 hours of my life I'll never get back. And right now, every precious minute counts.

On the three-transfer train ride home, I made the decision that I was done looking for apartments. Either something that I've inquired about will come through, or I'm Airbnb-ing it until Oct. 1, and giving myself the month to find the right fit. However, this comes with the headache of: What do I do with all my stuff?

Tonight I gave my apartment a massive detox. A full on enema. And out of that unpleasant purging, came piles and piles of clothes, shoes, bags, etc. that will all be donated to a local women's shelter in the city. Everything else I'm either selling or storing, and I'm determined to get my priorities into two suitcases (OK, two suitcases and a carry on) for at least the upcoming month.

Though having a home base is a wonderful thing, and moving is the bane of my existence, there was something incredibly freeing about the periods of my life when I was traveling and forced to live minimally. I did six weeks in Costa Rica with just a backpack, and three months in Europe with a suitcase and a carry on. The thing was, I didn't really care what I didn't have, because of all the amazing things I was experiencing when "wants" weren't my priority. Don't get me wrong, I love a pretty dress and a great pair of shoes, and look forward to nights when I get to wear both, but in the grand scheme of life- I just want to experience it. In any pair of shoes. It's the people and places that make it feel rich and full... nothing more, nothing less.

So Day Ninety-One was the breaking point, the turning point, the melding together of my old life and my new life to build a future life. My gypsy-for-life.

My wake-up-and-live-the-life-you-want-life.

If you have a great charity or women's shelter that you work with and are looking for donations, please e-mail me at [email protected]. 

One of the first things I had on my list of "must-dos" for #projectlife101 was a summer outdoor movie. Fortunately, NYC has one playing literally every night of the week from June until August. Unfortunately, I started working evenings and could never seem to get it together to make it to one.

So when it popped up that Central Park was hosting an outdoor film festival for one week in August, I put it on my schedule. The screenings are held at Rumsey Playfield, just north of Sheep Meadow, and this year the theme was "People's Park, People's Choice." Tonight's selection was "Silver Linings Playbook," which I had not yet seen and thoroughly enjoyed. 

It was one of those relaxing, perfect, late summer evenings, when the air dances with the chill of the fall, but still holds the balminess of August. (Read: I needed a sweater but my hair was still frizzy. The other way sounds much more romantic though.) I enjoyed "Silver Linings Playbook" for a multitude of reasons, and have officially decided that when my new play is adapted into a screenplay I will be casting Jennifer Lawrence in the lead role. 

Everything seems to be coming full circle lately. There are a lot of references in the movie to "signs," something I do believe in regardless of debating theories of coincidence and fate. Even just the line-up of films was unusually relevant- Thursday was "West Side Story," Friday was "Hook," and tonight was the aforementioned movie.  This probably means nothing to you as a reader, but in terms of my life it was strange seeing those three titles together, based on what they remind me of. 

Anyway, it was a happy evening. A few hours to escape the stress of not knowing where I'm living in a week, and a physical and mental break from the bustle of the restaurant world. And in my world, the little things always trump the big things, in their own special way.

Check out the Central Park website for the rest of the film festival schedule HERE.

Movie with a view.

From the time you are a child, the first time of anything is always laced with a hint of fear and a dose of excitement. First day of school. First crush. First dance. First kiss. First job. First car. First sip of alcohol. First boyfriend/girlfriend. First heartbreak. Our lives become a series of firsts, and depending on how those go we decide what becomes a repeat, and what is to never happen again.

As we get older, our "firsts" morph... they become bolder in some senses, and more minute in others. Experience leaves us doubtful of change and chance, and we long for the things we'll never experience for the first time again.

Every day for the past eighty-four days has been a series of firsts for me, which basically means a good chunk of the past two and half months have been slightly terrifying. I have found myself doing things sometimes solely on the premise that I'm being held accountable to write about something, and I'm regularly going out of my comfort zone for that fact and often that fact alone.

Tonight I brought in some pages from the first draft of a new play I'm working on, and had it read by a group of actors for feedback and critique. Though this is technically the second play I've written, it was the first time I've brought in work blindly and sort of threw myself to the (very kind and gentle) wolves to see how it was received. Usually I send my writing to at least one or two friends before I put it out in any public setting, but this time, I just took a chance. 

The feedback was so beneficial, and made me understand the writing process on a whole different level. I've spent so much time building and breaking down businesses on my own accord, that it can be hard for me to ask for help... and I'm discovering that when it comes to art, you improve and grow in proportion to your willingness to live and learn. My brain is full of directions and ideas, and my motivation to write is so much greater now that the fog is lifting and I can see the path ahead.

So many things to be grateful for lately... but most importantly I'm realizing the importance and the challenge of taking it one step and one day at a time. Not the easiest task for impatient me. But hey...

There's a first time for everything.

Today was my dad’s birthday, so I celebrated my favorite guy by renting a car and driving to my favorite place and spending the day with my family. It is basically impossible for me to be in a bad mood at the beach, so when you throw in blue skies, two open road hours of guilty-pleasure pop music, zero humidity, the perfect outside temperature, and cap it off with a delicious dinner you have one happy little lady. (That sentence makes it seem like it takes a lot for me to be happy, I really would have just been content with the beach... but the additions didn't hurt.)

To celebrate Dad’s birthday we went to a restaurant in Harvey Cedars called Plantation. It’s Island-Asian fusion cuisine was so good, from the ahi tuna nachos to the salmon to the peanut butter chocolate dessert. Typically, when I come down to visit my parents, we dine on our side of the island (Beach Haven), so it was nice to venture to a new spot and take in a change of scenery.

For those LBI-lovers who make their way down each summer, make a left when you get on the island and head to Plantation for a taste of a true island vacation right in the comfort of the familiar Jersey shore. They also have live music in the evening starting at 10pm!