Dancing at 5Rhythms: My Impressions

Comment

Dancing at 5Rhythms: My Impressions

Everyone is improvising and dancing together. Dancing is like tasting the air with my body. Sometimes the air is thick and my body feels heavy with it’s movements and I feel a luxurious grounding into the earth. Other times there’s a tingling like eating a sparkling grape that bursts in your mouth.

I connect to the earth and the sky while I groove. Letting the music travel up from my feet through my spine sending waves out through my hands. I see faces, smiling brightly, I catch moods. None of it matters on the dance floor. It’s all gone the next moment; ephemeral shapes the body makes.

Loose, languid, hot, heavy and shaking bodies by hour two.

I need this closeness to others; this vulnerability I can open up to among strangers without having to speak. Words often fail. This dance creates a closeness between people of any age, any shape, and at any time.

As long as you give in, you get back.

Sure, I didn’t coordinate well over there, but here’s a new note, a new tone of voice; an end and a beginning.

Stopping to watch other people dance after you’ve given your heart to your feet on a dance floor is so fun. It’s not voyeuristic like someone peeking into a world they’ve chosen to be separate from. No, watching other’s after you’ve moved yourself is like enjoying someone’s reaction to a meal you’ve made together.

Dance more often. Visit 5Rhythms Dance for a class!

Comment

Leaving New York

8 Comments

Leaving New York

No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky
— EB White, Here is New York
80s ny 2.jpg

I wanted to live in New York since the mid eighties; since I was twelve and saw women wearing sneakers with suits on 5th Ave.

When I finally moved at 34 I felt a strange sense of loss.

devil-wears-prada.gif

the me that wanted to live in NY her whole life.

who cried watching Devil Wears Prada because she wasn’t living in new york, was gone and I felt her loss.


“Learn to Teach, Teach to Learn,” is the slogan at the company Yoga Works where I landed my first teaching gig. It is also the slogan I cut out from an Oprah magazine for my “vision board” before I moved to NY. Vision Boards work.

I’m in love with N.Y. It matches my mood. I’m not overwhelmed. It is the suitable scene for my ever ever heightened life. I love the proportions, the amplitude, the brilliance, the polish, the solidity.
— Simone de Beauvoir

The city was so big that I couldn’t comprehend the way it worked. It took three years for New York to feel like home.

mta-bench-PaulLowry-537x359.jpg

I left my brown computer bag on a brown bench by the subway. Gone were my keys, wallet, phone and computer without a password on it. I swear my stomach was in that bag too when I realized what I had done and the subway doors were closing, “BING BONG!”

I got this email from a person three days after he hacked into my amazon account and email account and ordered himself 6 Wiis, 5 iPhones and 3 iPads, none of which went through on my card because I was a poor NYer.

Hello, My name is XXX

I am the teen that found your laptop.

I found it on the train.

I am sorry for what I did.

So in saying that I want to make you a deal.

I, do not have the laptop it was stolen out of my house.

But I know you are still mad at me and I want to fix everything.

Will you be willing to meet me in person.

Please reply back to me by 12 today.

1_West_72nd_Street_(The_Dakota)_by_David_Shankbone.jpg

I envisioned fancy couples living in beautiful old apartments in New York. I hoped I would live similarly.

On moving day into my dark box of an apartment, I carried half open boxes and garbage bags up from the lobby to my apartment. This crushed my ideal and I felt badly for leaving garbage bags in the lobby. Later, I learned New York isn’t fancy and that she actually loves garbage bags!

Thus, no matter where you live in New York, you will find within a block or two a grocery store, a barbershop, a newsstand and shoeshine shack, an ice-coal-and-wood-cellar…a dry cleaner, a laundry, a delicatessen, a flower shop, an undertaker’s parlor….
— Eb White, Here is New York

Today it’s a nail salon, a Sweetgreen, a Duane Reade, an Equinox, a Yoga Studio, a mobile phone store, and a mobile charging station. 

I saw a bachelor from The Bachelorette walking down Park Ave and stopped him to say both sincerely and sarcastically, “You were great on that show!” I knew a lot about him because I watched the show. On a date with him that evening, instead of asking him questions I knew the answers to, I self- consciously recited my resume; it was awkward. I ran into him three more times realizing New York is actually a bunch of small cities in one big one. 

I saw many real celebrities.  Some, I could not immediately identify. I saw Tony Bennett carrying a song book with the letters, T-o-n-y B-e-n-n-e-t-t. That one was easy.

IMG_6570.jpg

I didn’t get cast on SNL, but I met the entire cast at a party with my best friend from acting school.  I wanted to do something special so I brought a baseball that I had painted after seeing someone’s special baseball art collection. I had every cast member sign it. 

New York blends the gift of privacy with the excitement of participation … so that every event is, in a sense, optional, and the inhabitant is in the happy position of being able to choose his spectacle and so conserve his soul
— EB White, Here is New York

….I think this is why I could meditate in New York without feeling like there was something better to do. There were so many better things to do that they canceled each other out…

I lost my wallet, again, just two weeks ago. I am going to be losing New York soon because I want to. Because New York didn’t just take two wallets. It took a part of me. Good and bad parts. My brother told me that when a grapevine has to grow its roots far in search of water, it produces better fruits than those who don’t have to struggle. I love this idea, but it’s time for me to water my grapevines.

Everything in my lost wallets is replaceable. We all know that New York isn’t…

New York is nothing like Paris;  it is nothing like London; and it is not Spokane multiplied by sixty, or Detroit multiplied by four. 
— Eb White, Here is New York
3_DavisSquare-500x344.jpg

we are moving to Somerville, Massachusetts.

I got to live in the same city as my brother for seven years. He met lovely Hannah, and I got to live in the same city as her too. And that’s my mom.

I got to live in the same city as my brother for seven years. He met lovely Hannah, and I got to live in the same city as her too. And that’s my mom.

IMG_2158.JPG

The best part about NY is that I met my fiancé here. Thanks Manhattan. I’ll miss ya.

We are getting married this Friday, October 12, 2018 in the city!

blog 4.jpg

I love you in the summer, New York

blog 5.jpg

I love you in the Winter, New York

ny 10.jpg

I love you from above, New York

garbage .jpg

I love you from below, New York

8 Comments

Won't you be my neighbor

Comment

Won't you be my neighbor

IMG_8290D3F80B4D-1.jpeg

It touched me, this movie, deep in my heart.  Mr. Rogers in Won’t You Be My Neighbor made me believe in love. I believe in the power of love so much right now.

My chest hurt right where my heart was that night after the movie.  My little girl heart was bouncing around and jumping on a bed inside my heart and it hurt from all the activity!  I’d been crying and laughing nearly the whole movie, sitting next to my fiancé. He was just as moved by Mr. Rogers and the children in the movie.

Actually, it seemed most everyone in the theater was reacting.  People clapped at the end.  Almost everyone stayed in their seats until the last credit played.  I saw a young couple look at the strangers beside them and say hello.  People stayed in the hallway outside the theater to discuss it. I live in New York; this doesn't happen. 

All the emotion was overwhelming, but the overwhelming positivity reopened my heart. Lately, all the bad news that infiltrates my phone and screens makes me feel the need to shut down my emotions.  I, personally, would not function well if I were to react emotionally to every shooting, white house decision, and nasty tweet I hear about. 

The little girl in me was astounded at how kindly Mr. Rogers talked to little people. This is what we need in this country right now; we need to remember that there are a lot of people who want to help others and truly have compassion for others’ feelings.

Comment

Color - full

Comment

Color - full

IMG_2955.JPG

I haven’t dyed my hair in months. I see my ‘colorist’, as people say now, every month and have been going to several different ones ever since I first started noticing more than a few grey hairs in my head.

I spotted my first grey at 26 and every year a couple more showed up until I started covering them. I always noticed my greys while in my car, stopped at a light, looking in the vanity mirror along with pimples and stray facial hairs.  Basically, I felt the most confident in my looks when driving (HA).

When I was 39 turning 40, I covered every last grey hair as if somehow this would turn back the clock. I was afraid to turn 40. What will happen to me now, I thought. Nothing happened. 

Right now, I have let a prominent swath of grey grow out. It's right where I’ve been parting my hair for years. My fiancé says he likes the little grey swath that is very easy to see. I didn’t believe him at first. I like it, now. I worry when it grows out over months, I will not like it anymore.

But, I am tired of hiding it and spending $200 a month on my hair. 

And I wonder how people will respond to my greys. Will men stop eyeballing me on University Place? I sort of won’t mind.

I have heard older women say they feel invisible. 

I was thinking about my grey hair today and I walked by two different women. I paid attention to each. 

By that I mean, I took a picture the back of one girl (see above) because her hair was dyed a bright pink. I thanked her silently as I walked by for “letting” me take a picture of her and for inspiring me.

I thought, if she can color her hair in an unconventional way, then I can let my bright greys shine too. We have so much choice, us women. 

I walked by the other women on 10th Street and 6th Ave. Her hair was very grey; she probably in her late 50s. I imagined she was returning her huge lamented book at the Jefferson Library, a block away. 

I stared at her until she felt stared at. Then I shined a hopefully not creepy or patronizing smile at her.

Have I ignored older people before?  Have I made them feel invisible? I won’t do it again.

I think I’ll try this grey hair thing for a bit. 

Sarah Harris, senior Editor at British Vogue .png

Sarah Harris

mid thirties. senior editor of British Vogue. Love. 

Comment

Juicy Mom

Comment

Juicy Mom

IMG_319F5CCE0E07-1.jpeg

Juicy is my mom’s nickname for me. She was and still is always found in the kitchen. So were the dog leashes, hairy and knotted up, that hung over the wooden kitchen stools. She would stop anything to greet me and my brothers when we would wake up late after a night home from college. She’d first ask, “How did you sleep last night? And then, “Are you hungry?”

The kitchen usually smelled of onions, garlic and vegetables at 9am because my mom cooked my Dad’s lunch every day of his life starting at 7am. She did this so he didn’t have to leave the hospital to eat.  She would offer to make me eggs, or pancakes and stop her onion sautéing if I said, “sure, but I’m not that hungry yet.” Food and sleep were my Mom’s remedies for nearly anything. I love that.

My Mom’s home identity was formed in the kitchen, cooking. I’m proud of her, not because she had what some might think of as a 1950’s woman’s identity, but because she truly enjoyed it. She recently told me that her Mom and aunts were excellent cooks, plus, she said that Montreal, where they grew up, was a foody city.

I’ve started to cook more this month. Partly because I really enjoy it as well and partly because it’s so much healthier. I feel joy at completing a recipe that I’ve found in a cookbook or online. The more cooking steps it requires, the more satisfaction I get. I can be too ambitious with meals. Like the breakfast I made for Larry’s birthday last summer. I made a frittata from Cooks Illustrated (no less than 1800 steps and 140 ingredients), a chia seed side from Jessica Seinfeld’s cookbook, a banana’s foster style oatmeal from NYT cooking and an arugula parmesan salad. I was sweating when our friends arrived and pretending to greet while my mind was on the frittata and whether it was properly cooking under tin foil.

I hope to create memories like my Mom did for me. I will forever feel bonded to my Mom in the kitchen. In my mind, she is figuratively hugging me with flavors and warm meals and literally tickling my stomach any chance she could get saying “I love my Juicy. I’m gonna squeeze her for Juice; that Juicy girl.”

Comment

Comment

It was worth $100

I sat quietly noticing a young girl smiling at me on the bus. I was in the sideways seat, she in the front facing seats. Maybe it was the colorful ball of fur on the top of my hat. I gave her a smile back. I called it my transit smile.

It's where I physically turn the corner of mouth upwards, pause for nearly a second and then look away as if something else caught my eye. There is no warming of the cheeks that I feel when smiling at a friend. I assume I am carefully making sure not to feel uncomfortable myself or make anyone else uncomfortable while on public transit. 

Next, I was pulled off the bus for not having a paper ticket by men in uniform. I later found out they are from the Transit Adjucation Bureau, but to me they looked like cops. One of them was asking for tickets. A ticket I opted not to get while running to the bus on 34th and 1st ave because I didn't want to be late to work. A ticket from those little machines by the bus stop that issue paper tickets that no one ever checks.Until, they did last Tuesday.

I was confused at first exiting the bus. When he took out his cop-pad out and started writing me a ticket, I was angry. Then I was crying. I was lying, crying and doing everything I could to get out of the ticket before I knew it was a $100 fine which then turned into me shaming, accusing, and lying some more.

What a different Jessica than the one carefully smiling back at a woman in a way that wouldn't make her uncomfortable.

"I didn't know this bus needed a special ticket," I said. Finishing with, "I was rushed."

If I were to coach a liar, I would say stick with one lie or it sounds like a cover up.

"I am a teacher," I literally cried.

"I can't afford this," I said knowing full well I had just bought a $98 shirt from the Chloe sample sale the Saturday before.

A shirt I didn't need was a $100.  A ticket I thought I didn't need was $100.

It was worth it to me. The fine. It opened my eyes to a little hypocrite in me with great abilities to cry on cue. I thank my training at the William Esper Conservatory and my own childhood trauma for prepping me for this role. And God.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" I scoffed when the Transit Bureau Cop said, "You can call this number to contest the ticket. Sometimes they will reduce the fee."

I ended my performance with, "They won't do anything for me, but YOU could have."

Walking down the street I felt alive with a heavy heart beat. I felt slightly ashamed. I felt like a teenager. I was wiping tears from my eyes. I felt confused about who the hell just acted like that. I felt badly I was caught doing something that could have easily been avoided. I felt good that there are rules that are enforced.

I'd pay $100 again to see me perform if it makes me a better person next time. I think it might.

What if I had said to the TAB man, "Yep. I totally skipped on buying the ticket because I was rushed. This sucks. How's your day going?"

 

Comment

Meditating on the subway

Comment

Meditating on the subway

The idea of meditation conjures up feelings of relaxation, wholeness, and a peaceful mind. This is not how I feel on the subway to work. Of all my favorite places to meditate, my chair at home, in the park, and with other meditators anywhere, the train is not included. There are smells, noises, happenings, and we hope nearly constant movement.  Meditation asks of us to concentrate, slow down, observe. There are stresses associated with train happenings like a horrible smell, a screeching noise from the train tracks, people singing, fighting or worse standing too close, and train delays. This is not conducive to the aforementioned qualities that meditation can bring about.

Yet, I choose to meditate on the train. I am mostly observing the smell, touch of people near me, the sounds. Yet, my whole being can relax to suit the moment. Yes, the subway is uncomfortable, but it's also not always so bad. It is a modern convenience. When I meditate, instead of scroll I at least recognize this; that I could be spending triple for a cab in time and money or walking my butt off three miles to arrive late to my next event. I get to a place of tolerance and gratefulness meditating on the train.

Comment

Sunday Engagement, Gym, Errand

Comment

Sunday Engagement, Gym, Errand

I got engaged yesterday. It was quite a surprise. We were walking on the High line to Chelsea Piers to get in a workout before going to look at furniture at the DWR outlet in Brooklyn. Larry and I are moving this month to a new apartment in a building we've had our eye on for over a year. New fiance new apartment.

We were about half way to the gym when I looked up at the Frank Gehry building and said, "I think that's my favorite building in NYC." I said I knew it was a bit garish but that it looks soft and cuddly.  We both noticed benches we'd never seen before that lined the High line near the view of the Gehry building.  Larry suggested we sit there for a bit and I suggested we meditate while we sat. We'd meditated in public together only once before, that morning, on the benches in front of Toby's Estates coffee.

I put on the meditation timer for 7 minutes. The bell rang at the start. The bell rang at the end and Larry didn't get up, say anything, or move. Interesting to me. I was happy to just sit and enjoy the crisp air and the beautiful sun. I did this for about another five minutes. I was curious if he had his eyes open or closed and whether he was still meditating, but I didn't want to poke him or interrupt him.

Larry hugged me. He hugged me again. He held my hand tight. He held it tighter. He kissed me. Then I thought we would get up and keep walking. But, he kissed me again and again and again. He looked at me and said he loved me with a sincerity that went deep.

I thought the Metta or what is also called "loving kindness" meditation I'd done minutes before must REALLY be working today.  This Metta practice starts with offering myself Metta (Buddhist tradition in the form of offering phrases, like May I be Happy, May I be Safe, May I be Healthy and May I Live with Ease). After I offered these to myself, I offered them to Larry. Then I offered Metta to us, together. I said a few times, "May we be happy. May we be safe. May we be healthy. May we live with ease."

Larry kept on lovin' me up. He was holding me in every way he could. I even said at one point, "Do you want to make sweet love to me on this bench?" I should have said right after that "My BAAACK" because it's our favorite SNL sketch to rehash, but I didn't. The one with Will Ferrel and Rachel Dratch in the hot tub playing schmarmy lovers with bad British accents who's lavish love talk always ends in Will Ferrel saying, "MY back, NO, it's my back, get off me!"

Then he pulled out a little box and I can't tell you how surprised I was. I looked at it and smiled so big. I didn't know what to do for a brief moment. He didn't ask me anything for what felt like a long second while he was opening the box. It was so bright and sparkly and then he asked, "Will you Marry Me?" "Yes," I said! "Yes!"

Comment

Song of My Youth

Comment

Song of My Youth

forever_young_usa.jpg

Forever Young came on at Whole Foods today while I was choosing two red grapefruits for tomorrow's breakfast. The Rod Steward version, not the 80's techno version (the artist's name escapes me). I had just finished a difficult, yet beautifully honest conversation with someone I care about. I'd say the song was exactly how I was feeling at that moment, standing in the fruits and vegetables section.

It wasn't the usual madhouse at Columbus Circle Whole Foods, but it was busy.  The song caught me by surprise. It reached out and grabbed an ear and said come in and listen.  I entered, listening. A song I knew well but never really heard when like this, "do one to other's as you've had done to you. Be courageous and be brave and in my heart, you'll always stay." 

I had been courageous just moments ago. My friend had been too. I think I was more courageous and vulnerable than I have ever been with this friend. He had affected me and I had affected him and it made me realize how much we affect each other, all of us. 

Rod's lyrics were perfect plus they reminded me to take a moment to reflect on a personal breakthrough before the madness of New York took me back in.

So I did. I walked around the fruit for a while longer than I needed feeling grateful for my bravery and my friend's honesty and wondering how many times I'd heard these lyrics before and how this time I'd really felt them.

Comment

Ballet Memories

Comment

Ballet Memories

Ballet Jess.jpg

I once waited for hours for my mom to pick me up at ballet class. But, I didn't mind because I was watching a rehearsal of the Sarasota Ballet Company.  It was the year when my Ballet school, Florida Ballet Arts school and the professional ballet company, Sarasota Ballet Company moved to the big empty downtown mall called the Main Street Mall.

The Mall never really 'happened' and still today is mostly empty save the movie theater.  When it had just been constructed and ready for stores to move in that never came, there was a new smell to it; a fresh paint and poured concrete smell.  There was also an eerie and lonely quality, but I never felt lonely because I had Ballet class there and I loved Ballet more than anything else.  There I was dancing Ballet under the highest ceilings I'll probably ever dance under again.

The ballet floor made of sprung wood an Marley looked tiny in the big open Mall. On the other side of the Mall,  the Sarasota Ballet Company rehearsal under the artistic direction of Eddie Toussant. Alexi was the Russian ballet star of SB and he taught our class some nights. I had a crush on him. I can smell new tights and poured concrete right now just writing about Alexi.  He was lean, tall and muscular and always smiled at me in class. After class I watched him and his girlfriend dance and imagine I was her.  I would imagine how I would be with him, very graceful and generous with my movements like she was (but, I thought probably even more than her if I had the chance.)

I loved sharing space with the Sarasota Ballet Company. It made me feel professional and gave me things to dream about.  The high ceilings and light pouring in from the upstairs made me happy. So did an empty Mall, my favorite ballet dancers, and the smell of new point shoes.

Comment

Practical Mindfullness

Comment

Practical Mindfullness

Photo taken November 22, 2015 at sunset on the highline

Photo taken November 22, 2015 at sunset on the highline

A spark of joy arose from the approaching spring wind touching my face gently and brushing my hair back as we walked home. The sun was beautiful. Larry and I shared a brief moment on the high line lying down on the chair overlooking the Hudson river. The lounge chairs are made of wood and are perfect for watching the clouds above. The sun rays bursting through the colder air and wind to warm our cheeks and eyes.

I noticed my desire to stay later than I knew I could for I had a 4pm tea date with a friend from my retreat and it was a quarter till. I used mindfulness to allow the feelings of longing to exist and not resist. That way I could enjoy the moment best. I only had five minutes left, and spending it being annoying I was wishing I had more time wasn’t very skillful to me. Instead I felt everything;  a longing to stay, a peaceful feeling being next to Larry, the warmth of the sun and the cold in the wind.

Comment

Comment

Ooh La La

eqx.jpg

I heard a woman with a French accent say, "Ooh La La" today as she walked past the Equinox on Greenwich St. There are neon lights in the window and a pair of racy, insanely high heeled boots hanging from a rainbow-ed backdrop. It is worthy of attention.

I thought to myself a bit sheepishly, French people actually say that!? I was in high school in the 90s. I remember that actors in the video's in French class would say seemingly cheesy lines like "Zut Allor!" and "Ooh La La!"  I didn't believe these the French actually said these then, and definitely not twenty years later. Maybe you can understand my excitement?

I must of thought back then that it was just a way to get us to learn these phrases, and not really what the culture is like. 

It made me think about stereotyping.  I was celebrating this woman's reaction while thinking about stereotyping. I was thinking that socially, I couldn't be as excited to hear her say "Ooh La La" as I actually was because I wouldn't want to appear to be stereotyping anyone. 

It's a human thing to simplify. Simplification is essentially the act of stereotyping.

I believe that stereotyping has been the root of evil in history and still is today.  However, can we still get pleasure when we see or hear a cool difference in language or in culture? 

I think it's the acting on stereotypes that's bad. That reducing people to one dimensional beings and treating them like one dimensional beings is the evil.

 

 

Comment

The taste of rage to an otherwise even keeled person

Comment

The taste of rage to an otherwise even keeled person

I've been learning something new.  To meditate in the Theravedic Buddhist tradition as taught by various teachers at the Insight Meditation Society.  I'm still excited about this new trick (it's not really a trick). 

I might be pushing too hard to meditate and practice mindfulness when a break from it feels like heroine, right? Like,even if you've never sat down to meditate, this sounds counterproductive.

The last two weeks, I have been practicing and sitting (meditation) every morning for 30 minutes and every night after dinner for 30 minutes. On a recent seven day retreat I was sitting for 5 hours a day (not all at once, come on!) so this seems like a nice amount while working.  In addition to sitting, I am practicing the tradition of witnessing aversion to things and letting aversion go like the smell of personal gas in public; quickly. A great lesson in aversion as well.

Just a few hours ago, I got extremely angry with Stephanie, an employee of the 90th St pharmacy over an order that her her coworker, Anna, messed up royally all day. 

I did not witness but fully engaged in rage. I was standing in the lowly lit foyer of my studio alone and on the phone, pacing back and forth on the off white berber.  My heart rate was up. I was sweating in my clothes.  But, when I got off the phone, I felt more alive. It was like eating a pint ice cream when I've been on a no sugar diet. It tasted good. 

I'm pretty sure I made Stephanie have a crap moment because when she put me on hold she goes, "Oh my GOD."  I felt out of control. I made up with Stephanie but it made me think.

I might be pushing too hard.  But, I fear if I do it any less, I will quit it all together.  And I don't want to lose it, because this practice helps me feel at ease, more grateful and calm in my body. 

I think I shall let my practice come and go a little more naturally and see where it goes rather than fear the end.

FEAR FutureEventsAppearingReal

 

 

Comment

The Rain

Comment

The Rain

In the summer in Sarasota Florida, an afternoon rain storm came almost everyday around 4pm and lasted a few hours.  At times it was a drag because it meant my beach time with friends would be cut short. However, I came to look forward to it. I recall the thunder rumbling like a huge dryer filled with tennis shoes. The rumble would last for a few seconds, getting softer and softer in volume. I miss thunder. I miss feeling like a rain storm is a blessing rather than a curse. As the rain and North Easter begins to start tonight in the city, I'd like to start my day tomorrow with the memory of pleasing sounds of thunder. Rain, growing up in Florida was a rare chance to do nothing inside and not feel bad about it. It was always sunny and a cloudy, rainy day was a reprieve from the heat. I have to work tomorrow, but I will hope to remember how the rain of my youth felt; like a blessing. Someone once told me that the rain clears the city's air pollution even just for a few hours. I choose to believe it.

IMG_0463 2.JPG

Comment

Comment

My Life without Color

IMG_1696.jpg

I was standing in the shoe room where I'd left it to charge. I was on a silent retreat for the past seven days.  The retreat was over, silence broken and I had it back. It belonged here by the dirt and dust of worn out shoes for all I was concerned.

I have a difficult relationship with it like an ex you want to hear from from know it won't be good for you. Every time I picked it up I felt that twinge of rotten that continuous senseless joy seeking gives a person after a while. Constant scrolling, texting, email checking was making me feel like there was a big hole in my heart that could never be filled. Bottomless Instagram and Facebook feeds were designed to and made me feel desperate for more.

I had zero misgivings about putting it in that plastic bag and ceremoniously placing it in a basket in front of 100 people to be kept in the office. 

Now I had it back and reluctantly charged it. As I waited for the stream of texts to appear,  the jolt of anxiety up to my heart was undeniable compared to the nice calm feelings I had cultivated all week long.

Today marks one week and one day since I've had the little bastard back.

But, it's better because I made it black and white. It doesn't have the same allure as it did with it's unrealistically beautiful colors.

Yeah, I am texting and emailing. How does a person not do this in today's culture? But I am not playing Dots anymore. I can't really play without the colors. I am not on Instagram for now. I like my life without color so far.

 

Comment

A Slice of Life in New York City

Comment

A Slice of Life in New York City

IMG_1690.JPG

I ran to the subway today. I left my apt later than I should have and arrived at the 8th Ave and 14th St station hoping to make the earlier train. I made it. It wasn't until I began writing this post that I remembered a very nice moment that happened shortly before making haste.  I ate a half of a grapefruit today. I prepared it by cutting it in two,  slicing around the edges and then dividing up the triangle slices to make them readily scooped up with a tiny spoon. While cutting the triangles, I cut through the bottom so that the juices ran through onto the counter top. This mistake led me to find a simple joy. The bowl I found to keep in the juices was the perfect fit for a half of a grapefruit. Oh the joy of a perfect fit for anything!  And to top it off my boyfriend, Larry, said he'd take the other half. He got a perfectly fitted bowl too. In a rare moment, we shared breakfast. I savored the taste while we sat across from each other at our light wood kitchen table. I noticed how quickly he came to eat and and left to start his day of back to back meetings.  Then I got dressed. It was 7am and I thought a half hour would go by slowly. It never does. So, I ran to the subway.

Comment

A Project

Comment

A Project

IMG_1666.JPG

Thanks for stopping by. In addition to my Pilates blog, I am starting this more personal blog. I intend to write here everyday. That's a big commitment. I think I am ready. The daily aspect encourages me not to overthink my writing and to create the time and space to write with more regularity.

I wonder what will it be like to have an outlet for my creativity, thoughts and feelings everyday?  Will this daily exercise change how I perceive my experiences in the moment they are happening? I'd like a new perspective, whatever it may be.

I think I might look back at my blog at the end of the year and remember all the incredible and difficult moments that I will experience and that my friends and family might also experience.

I will write about practicing Vipassana meditation, my observations as a resident of New York City, my perspective on relationships, current events and stories.

thank you,

Jessica

Comment