There's No Business Like Resistance

This day, or late morning I should say, turned out better than I thought. Though I didn't make it to the gym as I'd been hoping, I did some work on a short script and then, as hunger struck and I had only my roommate's food to contemplate easting I took myself on a walk to Whole-Paycheck which for some reason never seems to last a whole week.

The imminent rain still held off and I was armed with my empty bag ready to be filled with groceries and music streaming in my ears thanks to slacker. My Frank Sinatra channel, created when I typed in the artist's name on an earlier day and got nothing by the artist but rather things like Cake's Frank Sinatra
was playing, which I didn't mind because I love Cake- both the band and the food group. Hence the need for the gym but I digress.

I stepped out onto a sidewalk dappled with the white fallen petals of the blossoming nearby trees. I like to think of this as spring snow. Freshman by The Verve Pipe was playing... "For the life of me, I cannot remember what made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise...". Genius.

Those lyrics were playing as I looked across the schoolyard that gives way to the back of my Ex's building and I thought, I've let it go. It was like remembering a childhood romance, something far in the distance behind me. Though he and I are both far from being children I was able to look back at it, at least for that moment, and see how naive I was for thinking that it would have ever worked in the first place and laughed at myself for all the pain I caused myself trying.

As my friend Hoods (Heidi) and I rehashed our similar recent experiences with the noncommittal, I told her that some good comes out of even the worst relationships and that HE gave me a gift. If nothing else he got me writing again. Not that that was ever his intention-probably far from it in fact.

But the numbness of that "corner office" I was talking about before wore off and for a moment I had clarity on who I was and what I was doing here. Not just on this planet but in NYC. Why I was now living in a walk up building after having had a doorman for the last 5 years. I was alive with love and loss and beauty and jealousy and for the first time in a while, purpose.

I've been reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield given to me by one of my dearest friends in the world. It's about conquering that thing called resistance- that thing that keeps us from doing what we really desire to do whether it be, write, paint, open up a business venture or start a weight loss plan. He delineates the differences between an amateur and a professional and in this case professional is not synonymous with success. It is however synonymous with a way of thinking and acting.

He sits and writes everyday for about 5 hours. He doesn't care what ends up on the page, he can deal with that later. The hard part is the doing. The simple act of sitting down to write or to do whatever it is that's in you to do. Finally, I'm getting there.

And, as I walked along the snowy street singing aloud and waving to the 2 elderly men in the laundromat window next door, I couldn't help but smile. Literally, I couldn't have stopped myself if I wanted to. In this one perfect moment, my purpose seemed stronger than any will.

I crossed the street to face that building that haunted me ever since moving into this fabulous East Village neighborhood that still holds a little bit of grit from what I imagine NYC used to be like when when this wasn't a safe place to live. I crossed the street and I stared down my resistance. It was just a building after all.

Splitting The Nice Atom

Nice- It seems too often it is the conciliatory adjective used to describe a person of lack luster personality or used as a synonym for not so attractive. I believe myself to have a fair dose of both attractiveness and personality. I do also believe however that the first word that would pop into someone's head when I am called to mind is nice.

I could let my ego take some misguided offense but I have come- at this very moment actually after having just slowed down to help a non-English speaking woman to the F train even though I was in a rush- that nice isn't such a bad thing to be.

It seems like such a benign almost impotent word but as the sun shone down on second avenue and 3rd street and a man in his van said, "Hi baby," instead of walking by with blinders on, I waved and offered a "Hey" and a smile back. It was the nice thing to do.

Don't get me wrong. I am not a sticky sweet Mary Sunshine, far from it. And I don't consider those people to be so nice but rather suffering from a personality disorder.

What I do believe is that true niceness comes from having a caring and respect for others and no, not all the time, that's impossible, but most of the time. Not something that seems to be valued much as a character trait anymore as we walk around with our headphones on or texting on our blackberries because honestly, why bother to pick up the phone if you don't have to?

Maybe this technology that connects us all is causing a huge disconnect in society and this insular/isolationist quality to the whole thing makes being nice the same way- why do it if you don't have to?

I'm sure most grandmothers would be turning in their graves if they saw me as I sit on this surprisingly empty train tapping away at the berry keys, thankful for having a device to record my thoughts. I am seemingly more self absorbed than ever but somehow I still manage to be nice.

Hey! Pull My Finger

Why do we hold on to terrible relationships, even when they're over? I have good prospects so why can't I get my Ex out of my mind. How do you get that thing called closure? Do you get it from the other person or do you get it from yourself?

I heard he moved out of the neighborhood. No more worrying about what I look like at the gym. And though I should be filled with a sense of peace I find myself feeling more of a loss. He is indeed gone. He moved to the Berkshires- something we talked about doing.

I know I can never know for certain, but I wonder...does he think of me? Does he go to the bar we went to after seeing Frozen River and remember how I said that movie actually made me want to be a mother? Great movie, rent it. Melissa Leo is incredible.

And maybe the never being able to know is the exquisite part in this self torture- you can't know so you can't put it to bed. And so, in this painful way, the relationship is still a part of you.
But why do I want to hold on? Why is it so hard to get over when I know there are better people that want to be with me, right in front of me, people I know I actually would want to be with in return.

This my friends is self sabotage rearing its vicious face in all you desperately want. It sometimes snickers at you while you debate going into his email. Or it smiles at you condescendingly as it says, "hey, pull my finger." And, at times, usually in the early hours of the morning when you're too tired to fall asleep, it makes no attempt to disguise its intentions as you cry into your pillow so the neighbors won't hear for all that you hoped for and all that potential you believe you lost.

Me My Baldwin And My Rolex

Is it wrong that when Alec Baldwin was on my flight from JFK to LAX the other day I tried to mentally communicate with him? I thought maybe he'd connect into my brainwaves and be waiting for me at baggage claim. He'd pass me his number on a small scrap piece of paper and say, “I noticed you when you boarded. You're lovely and I'd love to have dinner with you while you're in town.” After all he did offer me a half smile as I passed from first class to coach. It was either a smile or he tried to avert a yawn- not quite sure which. I admit it. I'm a dreamer and the dreamer in me says it was a smile. Now I know that has a negative connotation which conjures images of some pot smoking slacker who just hopes for a financial windfall to avoid having to get a socially acceptable type of job to pay the bills. But I'm not a pothead.

I tried the socially acceptable job thing, I was good at it too and it was lucrative but it came at a cost. I kept thinking, “Is this it? Have I reached the end of what I'm looking for and now just get to live in a fog of contentment that comes out of having achieved something?” Whether it's what you wanted to achieve or not in the first place at that point almost seems irrelevant. I can't live without a dream. I had made up my mind to quit. My whole team was falling apart anyway- one jumping ship after the other. I didn't because I didn't want to jump into the same water in a different pool. If I left, I was going to go back to being an artist-and at that point, it almost didn't even matter what kind of artist. I just new I had to start dreaming again. Dreaming of possibilities.

There are those that dream of the corner office. I dream of freedom from all that office holds hostage. So there I was last Thursday at 9am boarding American Airlines' flight 1. I thought at the very least my 3 shared seconds with Alec was a good omen of things to come. Perhaps my manager would call saying he got me an audition for a new series regular role on Brothers and Sisters. I am not completely out of touch with reality. If you'll notice I said audition, not that he got me the role just based on my headshot and the lavish praise he offered of my work. That would be delusional. But it's good to see the possibilities...that you still just might able to be what you wanted to be when you were 5....what you gave up for a fiancé who moved you to Paris but didn't want you to pursue your passions anymore. It's been a long journey getting back to this place.

And reality does smack you in the face every now and them. Once I left corporate, it seemed almost more difficult to even conceive of getting back into a youth dominated field where a quart of milk has a longer shelf life than the careers of most women. But without hope of possibility and without a dream to strive for I felt empty. So luckily back at corporate headquarters after all my friends left to dive into another pool, I took an extended lunch to hit up the Elie Tahari sample sale. I told the then marketing director who was with me, who had already given 2 weeks notice (or had been politely asked to leave by the end of the month-that part is still debatable) that this sample sale would be worth getting fired for. Well, I may have a future in fortune telling if all else fails because as soon as I got back, I was politely asked to leave as well. At that point, there were only 2 of us left on a team that used to be 10. It was obvious some restructuring was necessary. When asked if I wanted to be considered for the position of team manager- I declined. I told you I never dreamed of the corner office and I was afraid it would give me less freedom to concentrate on my creative life that existed outside of my bullpen. What could be better? I was planning on quitting anyway and now I'm getting unemployment. I owe a lot to Elie Tahari!

During the end of my tenure working for the man- who was technically a woman since it was a woman owned business, I wrote a screenplay. I came home every night and wrote. One Saturday morning, after putting the finishing touches on the first draft I took a “walk and coffee” near the Time Warner Center a few blocks away. “I'll just look,” I said to myself as I walked into Tourneau. Eventually, I optioned the script for a sum considerably less than the previously owned Rolex I walked out with that day. No, I certainly can't walk into Tourneau anymore while working for the New York State Department of Labor. I an not now and may never be wildly successful as an artist. But at least I am one. And, I can dream. Anyway, I already have a Rolex, I don't need another one.