Back when I had grand visions of posting daily, I dubbed Friday my day to share interweb happenings that tickled me. But I saw this today and I just couldn't wait. Enjoy.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good year...
In a few days I will mark the end of my 33rd year. I’ve long believed my thirties would be a time of tremendous progress for me - perhaps because I was once told by an acting coach that I’d really start to get work in my thirties, or maybe because I’m a perpetual late-bloomer. For reasons I can’t name precisely, I felt the year numbered 33 would be an especially auspicious age. 33 promised to be a year that would see previously illusive happinesses unfold themselves like long awaited late-blooming flowers, finally offering their full beauty. 33 would be the age at which I could finally release the breath I’d been holding all my life, sigh in great relief, and cross that line between the woman I longed to be and the woman I am.
I haven’t accomplished all I’d hoped to at this age, and often wonder if I’m too old for (fill in the various goal/activity/hairstyle/skirt length). New-to-me art forms call to me on a fairly consistent basis – a banjo or ukulele will say “play me” or a camera beckons me to view the world through its lens. Shouldn’t I, at my age, be content with performance and writing and sewing? I wonder if I’ve passed the stage in life when it’s acceptable/appropriate/possible to continue pursuit of my current chosen field(s) of art, let alone pick up new ones. What if I never star as lead in a comedy that’s both critically acclaimed and financially successful, become America's next some-where-near-the-top-of-the-middle singer/songwriter, and/or write the great American post-feminist novel all while winning a Tony® for best new play, mastering the fine art of baking French macarons and rearing the worlds most precious and well behaved children? Oh motherhood, who’s knock on the door of my belly is growing increasingly insistent - I swear I hear you! And yet...I can’t think of the past year without thinking all these potential ambitions and more (that's right I, said more) are in fact possible.
In many ways I was right about 33 being a water-shed year. I’ve been consistently active both behind and on stage, and became an artistic associate of a young theater company. I began plans to start a business with a fellow artist involving handmade crafts (on hold for the time being, but still a very new venture for me). I started this blog, a small step in becoming a more active writer. I’m taking care of my body in a much more healthy way than I ever have before, and I’ve started to realize I’ve finally reached that place of confidence in myself that prevents the opinions of others from inflecting any real impression upon my self-worth. I’m actively choosing happiness on a consistent basis. And the most wonderful of my year-33 happenings – I accepted a marriage proposal from the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. Not a day in this year has been spent without the sound of our laughter, and I eagerly anticipate the thousands of laughs we’ll share as we build a life together. Thank you year 33 for being so amazingly gracious and giving.
Bring what ya got year 34 – I’m ready.
I haven’t accomplished all I’d hoped to at this age, and often wonder if I’m too old for (fill in the various goal/activity/hairstyle/skirt length). New-to-me art forms call to me on a fairly consistent basis – a banjo or ukulele will say “play me” or a camera beckons me to view the world through its lens. Shouldn’t I, at my age, be content with performance and writing and sewing? I wonder if I’ve passed the stage in life when it’s acceptable/appropriate/possible to continue pursuit of my current chosen field(s) of art, let alone pick up new ones. What if I never star as lead in a comedy that’s both critically acclaimed and financially successful, become America's next some-where-near-the-top-of-the-middle singer/songwriter, and/or write the great American post-feminist novel all while winning a Tony® for best new play, mastering the fine art of baking French macarons and rearing the worlds most precious and well behaved children? Oh motherhood, who’s knock on the door of my belly is growing increasingly insistent - I swear I hear you! And yet...I can’t think of the past year without thinking all these potential ambitions and more (that's right I, said more) are in fact possible.
In many ways I was right about 33 being a water-shed year. I’ve been consistently active both behind and on stage, and became an artistic associate of a young theater company. I began plans to start a business with a fellow artist involving handmade crafts (on hold for the time being, but still a very new venture for me). I started this blog, a small step in becoming a more active writer. I’m taking care of my body in a much more healthy way than I ever have before, and I’ve started to realize I’ve finally reached that place of confidence in myself that prevents the opinions of others from inflecting any real impression upon my self-worth. I’m actively choosing happiness on a consistent basis. And the most wonderful of my year-33 happenings – I accepted a marriage proposal from the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. Not a day in this year has been spent without the sound of our laughter, and I eagerly anticipate the thousands of laughs we’ll share as we build a life together. Thank you year 33 for being so amazingly gracious and giving.
Bring what ya got year 34 – I’m ready.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Belated Valentine Contrition
did I ever tell you
that story?
seems I never
got around to it…
..............how the way you
..............looked at me was like
..............being home?
always seemed better
left for another time.
but the time I’d planned,
the minutes I’d store
in a jar --
..............how eclipsed the light of fire flies,
..............the first time
..............I saw you smile?
I never saw
how they’d escape,
and slip between the grooves.
funny, how the lid never fit.
but you fit me fine.
..............how I found in your arms
..............warm rare moments
..............of utter safety?
and were I to find
you were mine
(again)
even for a moment,
I’d store in you
the story
I never got around
to telling.
that story?
seems I never
got around to it…
..............how the way you
..............looked at me was like
..............being home?
always seemed better
left for another time.
but the time I’d planned,
the minutes I’d store
in a jar --
..............how eclipsed the light of fire flies,
..............the first time
..............I saw you smile?
I never saw
how they’d escape,
and slip between the grooves.
funny, how the lid never fit.
but you fit me fine.
..............how I found in your arms
..............warm rare moments
..............of utter safety?
and were I to find
you were mine
(again)
even for a moment,
I’d store in you
the story
I never got around
to telling.
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