Letters to Our Younger Selves

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

Ellyn Spragins and I first connected when she commented on a blog post in which I had included a copy of a letter to my younger self that I had written in 2008. It was inspired by a contest in Marie Claire magazine that was based on Ellyn's books. I never actually entered the contest, but two years later, my letter led to a personal invitation from Ellyn to host one of the inaugural "Letters to My Younger Self" Parties. After I agreed, she sent the invitations, party kit, a free copy of her latest book to reference at the party, which had a personalized inscription from Ellyn to me, and swag for the gift bags (which included products from Neutrogena, Trish McEvoy and Suze Orman). Virtually all I had to do was be a host. And since I organized a potluck picnic, I spent less than $100 on pens, gift bags, champagne, orange juice and disposable cups, plates and eating utensils).

In a note to the party hosts on March 6, 2010, Ellyn mentioned that there would be nearly 50 LTMYS Parties taking place across the United States during the week of April 30-May 2 - an initiative that she is developing into a product associated with her books. Among us, she noted, were dear family members, treasured friends, neighbors, readers, attendees and organizers of her speeches and Letters to My Younger Self Seminars - women spanning age ranges from their twenties to their sixties.

And so it came to be that seven of my 20- and 30-something girlfriends gathered in Central Park on Sunday, May 2, for our own LTMYS Party - a picnic brunch with discreetly-contained mimosas (hey, Mayor Bloomberg said it was ok) and delicious snacks (most notably, lemon-artichoke pesto and sliced baguettes from Zabars). We shared our potluck snacks, drank premium orange juice spiked with cheap champagne (except me since my bicycle training rides are getting longer), enjoyed small talk and laughter, and then listened while three friends read aloud from Ellyn's book - letters by Diane Von Furstenberg, Bobbie Brown and Barbara Walters. Finally, under the cool shade of a large tree at the north end of Sheep Meadow, we began our own letters. Except me again. I just continued eating since I had already written a letter to my younger self and posted it on my blog ... hence the reason I am holding a laptop in our group photo.

 

Adrienne

Bianca

Casandra

Keisha

Kelly

Liz

Mayra

And me ...

 Dear Younger Self,

You won’t have what you thought you'd have by your late-20s. But you’ll be happy. You’ll have a 350-square foot apartment in Manhattan. A MetroCard. A job as an executive assistant surrounded by amazing women. You’ll have great friends, New York, phone calls from mom, dirty martinis, Lox cream cheese and bagels.

You’ll realize something new about yourself often. You won't seek to constantly reinvent yourself, yet you might not ever really know everything about you because different parts of you will change – sometimes frequently. This should probably bother you, but it won’t.

You’ll wish you were wittier, and you’ll be a sucker for a sense of humor. You won’t fall in love easily, you won’t get attached easily, and you’ll have to be both of those things if you’re going to get jealous easily; you’ll be able to thank a military-brat upbringing for that. You will be nominated for the "Most Friendly" Senior Superlative at your second high school, and you’ll be a "relatively nice" New Yorker 10 years later. But you’ll have a dark side, and you generally won’t trust those who don't. You’ll like to step back and absorb certain moments so that you can remember the details; you’ll do that most often when your friends are laughing.

You’ll crave cliché “Sex and the City” moments because it’s how you once pictured your life – minus, of course, the Manolo Blahniks, Upper East Side brownstones, and voluminous consumption of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes without gaining a pound. Your narrative thoughts and meaningful conversations won’t be set to background music, but you’ll have the fantasy in syndication and the real thing right outside your window. You won’t worry that your life is becoming a cliché because there will be a reason that you are not the first to live life the way you’ll choose to live it. And you’ll want to be Melanie Griffith at the end of Working Girl when she calls her best friend and says, "Guess where I am right now."

Good and bad things will happen. And you'll have regrets. A few will stay with you always. So embrace varying levels of disappointment so that you’ll recognize rapturous joy. Floss your teeth regularly. Take chances. Don't settle for what’s easy; seek what’s worth it. Take random walks in this city. Look for sights you can't believe, listen for sounds that tug at your heart strings, savor the feelings that take your breath away. Eat more fruits and vegetables; drink more water. Allow yourself to be swept off your feet regularly. Save money and spend wisely. Live like Anthony Hopkins in Meet Joe Black so that you can wake up one morning and say, "I don't want anything more."

When you write this letter, you still won’t know who you are exactly, but you’ll realize it and be ok with it. And you’ll see that the only thing that matters for any of us in the end is that we once existed. So laugh more, love more, live more. Because you can.

Love Always,
Your 28-Year Old Self 

P.S. And when you're 30, you'll cycle across North America [2010 revision].

UPDATES:

• Tory Johnson's May 5th interview with Ellyn Spragins on ABC (You might see someone else you know - albeit briefly!)
• Ellyn's blog post: Letters To My Younger Self Parties!
• More photos from the other inaugural LTMYS Parties are available on Ellyn's website.

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Movie Premieres

It may be just a coincidental pattern, but some of the best recollections of pivotal moments in my life have fallen on Thursdays. Maybe it's true what they say about the power of positive thinking. In any case, today's Thing-I-Love Thursday is "movie premieres."

Who doesn't love movie premieres? Whether you are the quintessential New Yorker, born and raised, who simultaneously loves and hates everything that makes this city what it is -- or the trite and contrived wanna-be, who - in an effort to feel like less of an outsider - does not respect their role as a transplant New Yorker -- either way, it's cool as hell to turn a corner in the streets of Manhattan and roll up on an A-list celebrity event (no matter how long you've lived here as noted in Exhibit A or Exhibit B). But how cool would it be if you were ever actually invited?

I found out on Tuesday morning when my best friend called me on my cell phone. I slipped out of my cubicle and into my boss's empty office to take the call.

"Guess who's coming to tomorrow night's premiere?" she squealed. With a small - yet substantial role - in Tyler Perry's latest film, she was in New York, crashing at my apartment and meeting with her agent, publicist and stylists for Wednesday night's red carpet event at the AMC Loews on the Upper West Side. Not to mention that a BET camera crew would be following her through her premiere day preparations. When she walks out of an apartment door in Hell's Kitchen and introduces herself, I am proud to say that the apartment door would be mine. (The previous sentence is meant to be read using Chandler-from-"Friends" inflection.)

Looking out over my boss's high-rise view of Bryant Park, I blurted out viscerally, "Denzel Washington!"

"Nope," she replied. Michelle Obama. Nope. Oprah? Nope. Angela Bassett? Nope. Will Smith? Nope. Diddy? Nope. I went through my personal list of top Black actors and entrepreneurs. Impatient, she began to drop hints.

"She's a secretary."

"... Of State?" I said. "Hillary Clinton?"

"No!" she finally exclaimed. "You!"

"Me?!?!?!" I could barely contain my excitement, jumping up and down and struggling to keep from screaming in my boss's office. However, there was one issue that I had to address before I let the exhilaration consume me. I momentarily stopped bouncing around the office and said matter-of-factly: "But, Tokii ... I'm not a secretary. I'm an executive assistant."

With less than 24 hours to the premiere, I left my office immediately after work and went hunting for a dress, which I found quickly and easily at a store in Columbus Circle. I wanted to find something classy, but not overdone. Something that looked like I was meant to be there, but didn't look like I was trying too hard. Something that said, I'm so proud of my best friend and put careful time and thought into honoring this invitation, but without drawing unnecessary attention. How does one dress for a movie premiere? That's already a tough question for the people who actually have to fear widespread post-event wardrobe criticism. It's an even tougher question for someone who was just invited solely because their friend's agent was able to get an extra ticket. I went with a low-cut, sleeveless black trench dress that seemed appropriate for a guest of an actor and was also appropriate for my wallet - especially after I applied the $100 American Express gift card that my boss had given me recently.

When I arrived at the theater, I met my best friend's agent at the side entrance and we found a front-row spot near the end of the red carpet, adjacent the E! and BET camera crews. The stars arrived, one by one, pausing expertly with their best angles projected toward multiple shutters. I waited eagerly, tiny digital camera at the ready, for when I would see her appear on the red carpet, and only slightly aware that I was lightly trembling and intermittently forgetting to breathe. As the seconds ticked away, I tried to mentally process what was happening immediately in front of me. And to enjoy the moment. Because, from what I've perceived of an industry like Hollywood, you have to indulge in each blessing you receive. Actors - and the people who know and love them - can just never be sure when their next blessing will come around. One moment you might be the next up-and-coming sensation, another moment you might wine-and-dine at the very top of the A-List, the next - the tabloids are publishing your most unattractive photos and reveling in your demise.

And as I stood gazing down the red carpet, watching the shutters flash and the reporters thrust their microphones into the faces of Tyler Perry, Derek Luke, Keshia Knight Pulliam, Sofia Vergara, Mary J. Blige, and Ray J. to name(drop) a few, I thought about how much work has gone into these few strolling red carpet moments. And I don't just mean the rolling out of the carpet and setting up of the lights. As often happens whenever I get exciting news regarding my best friend's acting career, I could not stop the mental reel of flashbacks over the last ten years - filled with shining moments and false hopes, extreme highs and incredible disappointments, a rollar coaster of emotions, physical strife and the risks of the unknown, all which leave you simultaneously anticipating the next thrill and dreading the next fall. I'm not going to go into the clichés of Tokii's starving actor story, but the clichés for actors - or anyone with a dream - are the mere truths of entire lives - most of which goes unseen, unnoticed, unacknowledged, unrewarded. The camera catches the glamour of the Hollywood red carpet, but not many outsiders really comprehend the volumes of proverbial blood, sweat and tears that go into a few snapshots and sound bites. I certainly don't have a fundamental grasp of it all - at least not more than peripherally.

And then, there she was. My best friend. Smiling for the wide-angle lenses and chatting comfortably with reporters. As I strained to get a shot of her on my own tiny Canon digital camera, a bodyguard poked a little fun at me: "Why are you taking that picture from so far away?"

"Leave her alone," a woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard said over his shoulder, "She's with the talent."

In characteristically-corny-Katie, the headset-and-clipboard-woman's brief statement went on repeat in my head. She's with the talent. If I were a peacock, I would have been slowly pacing along the end of the red carpet with a huge, open plume of feathers. If pride were helium, my head might have exploded.

"Why don't you go out on the red carpet and get a closer shot of her?" the bodyguard whispered to me.

"No way!" I hissed back. "I can't do that."

"Sure, you can," he insisted. "Hurry before you miss all the good shots."

I hesitated, too timid to set a foot on the red velvet in front of me. The simultaneous anticipation and fear of the unknown washed over me, much the way it did when I was riding up I-81 to begin my new life in New York City over three years ago. Much the way it did when I went apartment and job hunting to open the next chapter of my life. The risk of embarrassment at being shooed away as an outsider on this coveted Hollywood landscape loomed. But the idea of the personal shots I could get of my best friend being interviewed and photographed sparked some courage. I leaned toward him, "Will you go with me?"

He laughed, "Sure! Let's go."

So I did.


"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
A Year Ago Today:
Official Quotes of Our NBA All-Star 2008
NBA All-Star 2008
Two Years Ago Today:
More Reasons to Love New York

"Things I Love" Thursdays - The Crossroads of the World

I'm alone in Terrence's apartment in eastern Japan, listening to Times Square celebrate the New Year on the other side of the world. It's just after two o'clock in the afternoon here. Beyond the shoji screens of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the morning snow that topped the oriental bushes is gone. The space heater is warming my bare feet on the tatami mats. I can't decide what to eat. Terrence has a jam-packed first day of 2009 with game film sessions and basketball practice. My mom and I talked via Skype for her last 30 minutes of 2008 while I watched live streaming video of Times Square on boxingvid.com.

The video is still playing in another web window, and Louis Armstrong's magnetic voice is crooning What a Wonderful World over the horns and screams in Times Square. I know it sounds more savvy as a New Yorker to announce that I hate the tourist trap in the Crossroads of the World, but I don't. I can't say I'm always happy squashed between a family from Minnesota decked out in the latest and greatest tourist gear and a homeless man pushing a shopping cart filled with trash bags of unwashed clothes, a broken coffee maker, a Scooby Doo plastic dining set, and a step ladder, but I do love living within five blocks of Times Square on a narrow street tucked away in Hell's Kitchen with Broadway in my "backyard." I love that magical moments can actually happen outside the gaudy souvenir shops, below the neon lights and oversized billboards. I love that my intimacy with the streets edifies me to avoid the crowds when I want to and provides solace in familiarity.

I imagine this is how a jealous lover would feel, watching someone else dance with the object of their affection. Or maybe it's more envy of not being able to join them because I would gladly allow others to cut in if only for the chance to share that beautiful, dirty, wonderful, grimy, charming, smelly city. New York moments are, after all, best when shared.

Ringing in 2009 in Japan roughly 14 hours ago wasn't too shabby, however. I joined Terrence and his American teammates outside a Japanese castle in the city square, which was haloed in a gorgeous fireworks display at the stroke of midnight. But I still thought of New York.

Last year, I gathered for the 2008 countdown with my New York friends in an apartment on Bleecker Street in the West Village, continued to celebrate at after-hours on the Lower East Side ... and somehow ended up in Jersey.

Three years ago, I brought in 2006 working in a smoky casino in North Carolina holding a tray full of drinks and watching the guests around me jump up and down, blow horns, and kiss and hug each other. It's weird how you can feel completely alone in a sea of people. I quietly consoled myself among the masses with images of what my night could be like a year later somewhere in New York City. It would have to be in Times Square. My next New Year's Eve had to be better. For me.

So for 2007, I found myself again in a sea of people, but for a few brief moments, I felt like I was one with everybody in the new city that I called home. It's so cliché but the sheer, non-alcohol influenced happiness was absolutely surreal. For the first few minutes of 2007 - despite what hardships may follow - we were at peace with ourselves, our lives and the world.

Immediately after "Auld Lang Syne," Frank Sinatra's voice floated over Times Square as confetti drifted in loops and swirls to the jubilant bodies below.

Start spreading the news
I'm leaving today
I want to be a part of it,
New York, New York
These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it -
New York, New York
I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap
These little town blues
Are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there
I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you,
New York, New York.

I sang along at the top of my lungs, completely off key, and half swaying off beat and half jumping up and down, waving my long, red balloon, and thanking my lucky stars for that first night of '07.


"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today:
On the Brink of 2000-Great
Two Years Ago Today:
Rockin' New Year's Eve
Phone Photo Ops - First of 2007

Miracle on 34th Street

I was not permitted to blog about the great news until all pertinent parties had been informed. Now that the cat is officially out of the bag, I am celebrating in the blogosphere.

On Thursday, November 20, heretofore known as "HeSheIt" Day, I was standing on the southwest corner of 34th and Seventh with Tokii after dinner and a basketball game in Madison Square Garden (her husband is an assistant coach for a top NCAA team playing in the 2K Sports Classic benefiting Coaches vs Cancer). Yawning through farewell hugs, I was bidding her good night when she paused and took my hand. Placing it on her belly, she said, "But first, meet your god child."

Suddenly wide awake, squealing and jumping up and down under the neon lights of Midtown, the curious stares actually blurred around us. I could not just go home after news like that. After regaining my composure, we went to get coffee and talk about the he/she/it forming inside of my best friend ... and more importantly, what an amazing God Mother I am going to be - the years ahead of cards and presents for Birthdays, Christmases, Graduations and HeSheIt Days.

She might not believe it - so I didn't tell her - but when I was standing in line for my ticket at the team will call and she waved from beyond the barricade to get my attention, I experienced nanoseconds in which I thought, "Wow. She is glowing." Yet within those mere seconds I assumed that either (1) the TV studio sure does take good care of their actors' skin and hair or (2) she is really happy to see her best friend. Looking back now, I want to believe that I had sensed something was different about her.

Over coffee in the lobby of a nearby hotel, we discussed how she might surprise her husband with the joyous news, how her family and our friends would react, and what challenges lay ahead in juggling her unplanned pregnancy with a significant role on a national television show. Her husband called periodically as the night grew later and his evening obligations to the team were winding down, and we giggled excitedly about the fact that he would soon be a father. I did not get home until after 2am and still had to pack for a weekend trip to DC for an Andrea Bocelli concert at the Washington National Opera. When I woke up a few hours later to get ready for work, it was the funniest thing ... the sky really was bluer.

A Year Ago Today: Back to My Life
Two Years Ago Today: When the Past Comes Back

Phone Photo Op - 34th & Seventh

I received wonderful news here last night.

More to be revealed in due time.

A Year Ago Today: Aging, Not Wrinkles, Is Cruel
Two Years Ago Today: Small Big City

Oh, What a Night

New York City has the Morning-After-Election glow. I woke up this morning in a nation with a violent history of slavery, oppression, and civil rights struggles and remembered that overnight, we had elected our first African American President. I know that not everyone in the United States is rejoicing this decision. But today matters because it is the first step toward a time when perhaps it will no longer matter. When a Black, female or even gay president will not be a phenomenon, but a norm. Sure, there are more politics behind Obama's win than just race alone - Bush's reputation, taxes, the economic crisis, McCain's choice of a vice presidential candidate, the war in Iraq, our relationship with Iran and the rest of the Middle East ... and this first step is not affirmation that racism is behind us, but it is a sign that our nation is - not entirely, but broadly - ready to heal.

A dozen or so of our friends gathered in our tiny Hell's Kitchen apartment to watch election coverage. We mixed drinks, ordered takeout and debated politics as we crowded around the television and surfed between the CNN Election Center and the Indecision '08 coverage on Comedy Central. Even a chef friend showed up after his shift with lobster fritters.

When CNN projected Obama to win at approximately 11pm Eastern Standard Time, our apartment erupted in cheers and our neighbors rushed in to tell us that they were heading over to Times Square. As we were throwing on our jackets and silly 2008 and beer mug sunglasses, someone yelled pensively, "Maybe we should double check FOX News to make sure everyone is projecting it."

"Quick," someone else yelled, "What channel is FOX?"

After a quick scroll through the Time Warner guide, we found the channel and again erupted in celebration when we saw that even FOX News was [reluctantly] declaring Obama the winner. Cognizant of the false Al Gore projection in 2000 yet feeling fairly certain that the victory was sealed, we charged through Hell's Kitchen and ran, leaping and screaming, in the streets of West Midtown.

A blind man could have followed the roar from Times Square that was echoing through the canyons of Manhattan. We raced down the blocks, dodging Obama supporters with campaign signs, wearing crazy hats, even some in full body paint, and packed ourselves into the masses of thousands reminiscent of New Year's Eve. Complete strangers met in an embrace and then remained nameless as they turned to scream Obama's name at passersby. Rather than the short, agitated beeps of impatient taxis that I've learned to ignore, I rejoiced in the long, victorious honks of the car horns. I hollered, I did little jigs on street corners, I took silly pictures. If human electricity were conductible, I think our bodies could have lit Times Square alone.

When the jumbotron monitors suddenly experienced technical difficulties as Obama commenced his speech, Natasha and I took off through the crowd to race the few blocks back to our apartment. It was in that moment when I realized that Times Square and Midtown Manhattan were like our very own backyard and for the hundredth time, Natasha and I linked arms and squealed about living in the best city in the world.

But this time, as we ran zigzagging along West 45th Street, stumbling on uneven pavement and giggling uncontrollably, we both knew that we were subconsciously capturing this moment and realizing that this is the story we will tell when our grandchildren ask where we were when Barack Obama was elected President.

... And what a very special time for me,
'Cause I remember what a night ...

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: New York City Marathon
Phone Photo Ops - Marathon Images

Two Years Down; A Lifetime to Go

Today marks my first two years living in New York City. But that anniversary is secondary. Five years ago today. And the 3rd has fallen on a Sunday again. At this exact moment five years ago, that darkness did not yet exist for me. In another 12-13 more hours, his father would be calling to tell me that he was dead.

I'm still creating coincidences and searching for that connection, which logic tells me does not exist. But as August 3, 2008, drew closer, I was helping plan a baby shower for Mayra, and Natasha invited me to attend a Yankees game - a first for both of us - made even more special by the location of our seats.

Natasha and I spent the three days before Friday's game, bouncing around our apartment, giddy about the idea of sitting in the first row behind home plate for our first-ever Yankees game - and one of the last to ever be played in The House that Ruth Built. We giggled continuously and said corny things sporadically, like "Home plate, baby!" while passing each other in the kitchen. One evening, I walked in the apartment and called out, "Is there a home plate ticket holder in the house?"

And as Mayra's baby shower approached, I became increasingly busier with last minute preparations and shopping for gifts on her registry. Ra and I met at the Toys "R" Us in Times Square after work one evening and wandered aimlessly in the babies section. Sifting through the endless options of bottles, diapers, teethers and care kits was overwhelming, to say the least. I highly recommend it as an effective form of birth control. As we were exiting the store with our purchases (including a large, boxed high chair), Ra - slightly frustrated by the complicated shopping spree - mentioned that we should probably catch a taxi to my apartment. I replied that we probably wouldn't be able to catch a cab in Midtown at that hour, to which she exclaimed in horror, "Oh no! What are we going to do?"

I looked back at the genuine expression of repulsion on her face, her body hunched by the weight of Toys "R" Us shopping bags, and we both died laughing. Unable to catch an available taxi from 44th and Broadway, we ended up taking our first pedicab ride.

Mayra and Melvin's baby shower was a traditional Dominican shower, which included a lot of friends, food, music, dancing and alcohol. I ran around Midtown on Saturday morning, trying to find some of the last things I had forgotten to purchase for her shower games. And then there was the commute from Midtown to 111th Street in Queens, the set-up for the party, and Melvin's reassurance that we had plenty of time because Dominicans are never punctual. But what about all of the invited Americans, Ecuadorians, Puerto Ricans, and those who bubble in "other", I wondered? So many things to keep my mind occupied. And of course, I found more moments to add to my memory montage when Mayra was in the middle of opening her gifts and suddenly began to cry. We all knew it was partially her eighth-month hormones, but we also knew how overpowering it can be to feel so incredibly loved. As Melvin laughed and began to console her, his own eyes welled up and a few tears spilled over.

And this evening, Natasha and I are painting our living room and kitchen. Spiced Butternut and Autumn Orange while we order Thai take-out and sip Pinot Noir. It's the combination of the big and little things, after all, that make life go on.

A Year Ago Today: One Year At A Time
Two Years Ago Today: Temperaturely Speaking ...

My First Yankees Game

The Former SNL Actor got Natasha four tickets to the Yankees game versus the Los Angeles Angels on Friday night and told her to invite two girlfriends. So she brought me and Iris.

The Yankees didn't win, but I had my first MBL hot dog. I couldn't help but wonder if the secret was in the sauce or in the stadium. And beer had never tasted so refreshing.

"Katie," the former SNL actor said, leaning across Natasha after the fifth inning, "You're going to love this."

The Yankees grounds crew came out to rake the infield mid-game and performed their traditional YMCA routine as they worked. I had to take a second and appreciate the moment. We were sitting in seats that the three of us would never have even dared to search for on Ticketmaster. The crowd was singing along, my friends were laughing, my beer was ice cold.

I added the moment to the montage of memories that I plan to play in my mind the moment before I die, right after me and Ra struggling to shop in Toys "R" Us for Mayra's baby shower, and right before Tasha screaming at Natasha and me to "work those thighs" as we ran up the stairs to catch a Manhattan-bound A train on the elevated platform at 111th Street in Queens.

Below: Waiting for the game to start ... and glad that the three of us stopped waiting for our lives to start (in Idaho, North Carolina and Arizona respectfully) and found each other.









The highlight of the game: Iris throwing the ball back to A. Rod.

A Year Ago Today: Uppity Executives
Two Years Ago Today: No post

63,072,000 Seconds

July 1st marks the completion of two years of chronicling my move to NYC and the start of the third year of "Becoming a New Yorker" - and what I have decided will be the last year of this blog. In the beginning, I didn't know what this New York life would hold or if this blog would even last that long. But as my posts become less and less about becoming a New Yorker and more about just being, I've decided to have a third and final year of posts that reflect what becoming has been and what being has become.

Posts of present accounts of being will end with "a year ago- and two years ago- today" links to the past of becoming until the third year comes full circle and the "Becoming a New Yorker" blogtale is complete. I don't know if I'll sincerely feel like a full-fledged New Yorker until I can say I've lived here for 10 years. I guess old beliefs die hard [even when demonstratably false. - Edward O. Wilson].

A Year Ago Today:
Annus mirabilis
A Year of Sunsets
City Walk #8 - Tribeca
Two Years Ago Today: Countdown: 30 Days

Sex and the City: The Movie ... Life and the City: The Reality

There are two movies in which I will readily admit to crying. Steel Magnolias when I was 9-years old and Sex and the City: The Movie when I was 28.

It was everything I thought it would be in a New York that is almost everything I had hoped for. Our plan was to avoid the larger opening-weekend crowds by purchasing advanced Saturday, 10am tickets at Loews 84th Street 6 on the Upper West Side. To secure good seats, we arrived early just in case, but we discovered that even 40 blocks north of Times Square was not a haven from the masses. At 9:15am, there was a line for the ticket counter and a line for the cinema. Groups of girls, who all had the same idea. Some prepared better than others, unpacking bagels and cappuccinos as they took their seats.

Ready and willing to overlook any of the movie's flaws for another chance to watch the next chapters of their lives unfold, my eyes began to well up as soon as the familiar theme song announced the opening credits. I looked around, feeling embarrassed in the darkness and saw the silhouettes of other 20-somethings wiping their eyes. A remix of the show's theme song continued, and the voiceover of Carrie Bradshaw reintroduced each of the characters one by one. All of my friends were crying by the time she got to Miranda.

Even reviews by male critics are giving the movie its share of kudos:
You want to know about “Sex and the City: The Movie”? Here’s the bottom line: It’s going to be a very, very big hit. I saw it on Saturday night at a private screening. Women wept, cheered. It’s the Neiman Marcus catalog on steroids. Read more

Well, not all men.

Sure, the SATC lives are not exactly the lives that my friends and I currently lead and had once imagined before we arrived in New York. But we see versions of ourselves in them. And though our realistic visions are not entirely adorned in Gucci or Chanel (but rather sprinkles here and there), our relationships are mirrored just as richly. For our clique and hundreds of cliques all over Manhattan, this is our New York. As the movie ended, Ra stretched her arms around us and cried, "I love you girls." I began to ball, but tried to disguise it in the darkness by laughing.

Rather than allow ourselves to be completely taken in by the fairytale of happy endings, where all of us achieve everything we've ever wanted, we enjoyed it for what it was: a movie. We knew that the reality of New York City waited just outside the cinema doors, but we had to let ourselves be swept up in the moment, and we embraced it.

A new line had already formed outside of the entrance as we emptied the theater, crying and laughing and temporarily seeing New York through rose-colored glasses. There were a few sprinkles of men gazing about reluctantly and obviously bewildered by the effects of estrogen mixed with SATC. But mostly women huddled together, anxiously anticipating their moment with Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha. On our faces, they could see that the movie was going to be everything they were hoping it would be.

And so we left the theater and walked out onto Broadway, proud to be the ultimate cliché. Spring in New York. Cliques of girls leaving Sex and the City: The Movie. Heading to brunch. Arms linked. Laughter through tears. Friendships in full bloom.

"... But “SATC” is also not a pratfall comedy. It has nothing in common with “The Devil Wears Prada,” for example. While the caricatures in that film were hilarious, the people in “SATC” are drawn more seriously, perhaps more richly. Also, we know them, and they know each other. They are not competing among themselves for anything. Rather, they are moving forward as a single organism with four personas, for survival.

What’s kind of interesting in “SATC” is that no villain is set up for the women to overcome. No one is standing in the way of each woman’s happiness except themselves. I kind of liked that. The formula is gone. Carrie is not vying for Big’s attention with a rival. Samantha is not shooing off Smith’s girlfriends. The problems are in the relationships, not outside of them. It’s refreshing."

Cerebral Albums

I wish other people could feel moments the way I feel them. The way I capture a moment – an expression mid-sentence, eyes squinted in a laugh, a sideways look, a small achievement or a defining instant, an overall setting – whether it’s intense and intimate or casual and breezy. Maybe others do and just don’t share them out loud.

I don’t know what triggers me to take mental snapshots of my surroundings at any given time. I know that I do this most often when my friends are laughing. But other times, my albums of the cerebrum are unexpected. Like last night, at an informal cocktail hour event with coworkers at a restaurant on East 4th Street between Bowery and Lafayette, when everyone was chatting, laughing and reaching for more antipasti with wine glasses in hand. Suddenly I was unnoticeably quiet. Lightly smiling. Careful not to project my sentimental demeanor to my colleagues. Just watching and listening. And storing to memory.

Maybe my constantly changing landscapes as a military brat have made forgettable moments and random faces a staple in my memory so that reminiscent postures are familiar, proverbial. I could already feel myself, years away from last night. Older. Perhaps wiser. Maybe with wrinkles. No, wait. I can’t imagine myself with wrinkles yet. But I could feel myself in a future time, looking at my mental snapshot and remembering an easily forgettable moment when I was leaning against a heavy, dark oak table along an exposed brick wall, in a dimly-lit East Village restaurant, one arm crossed under my chest, the other elbow anchored at my side and propping the hand holding my glass of red wine pressed under my chin. And I was just looking at my New York life, the people in it, and thinking about how much I love it all.

Wednesdays at 10/9 CST

The City of Diverse Moments

Last night, I had dinner with my new Giant friend. He was running some last minute errands in Manhattan before the team was to leave for Phoenix today and wanted to grab a bite to eat.

I chose a small, inconspicuous Mexican restaurant near my apartment to avoid a scene, and as we were finishing up dinner, a police officer approached the table, "I'm sorry to bother you, but do you play football?" [Clearly not directed at me]

My friend's response: "Yes."

"I knew it!" he exclaimed, "You're [name removed]!" And turning to his partner, "I told you it was [name removed]!"

His partner, approaching the table: "I thought it was you, too, but we were like, 'What's [name removed] doing in this little restaurant in Harlem?"

Then there was a lot of handshaking and, "Bring the Super Bowl back to New York," and "It's an honor to meet you," before they walked away talking about how they couldn't believe it.

Then, the restaurant sent over two Tequila shots on the house. So much for avoiding a scene, but I did appreciate the Tequila.

And today, I had my final presentation for the Founder and the CEO at my company. I stood in the executive conference room as my visual aides flashed on a screen, my palms sweated buckets and I somehow found the words I had been practicing for weeks but momentarily thought I had lost. A few hours ago, I learned I would be on national television. A sudden whim of the Founder's.

Only in New York can you dine with someone headed to play in the Super Bowl, present to a celebrity mogul, and learn you'll be on national television - all within 24 hours. Ok ... maybe stuff like this happens in L.A., but never before to people like me and not once in North Carolina. Regardless, no more details regarding the three will appear in this blog!

The Moments That Make the Ride

Have you ever wanted to run through the streets of New York screaming? I have and I did. As I recall, very few people paid any attention to me. And granted, it was the one night of the year when 90% of the city's population was looking, doing or watching what would normally be considered weird by society’s standards.

And just like on Halloween, my best friend did it again. She tricked me into believing that her late-night phone call was just an average chat. It was indeed not an average chat, and now I am wide awake, can’t sleep and am up blogging.

“You sound like you’re already in the bed,” she had said when I answered my cell. I was (and thinking of the 5:30 a.m. alarm prepped to send me off to the gym) but for her I make exceptions so I responded, “I am. What are you doing? You back in Jersey?”

“No, still in Atlanta [three days each week, she is filming new episodes of ‘Tyler Perry’s House of Payne’ scheduled to air sometime in the near future]. I just got back from having dinner with Shameika and Scott,” she replied, “How’s your 2008 been so far?”

I think I said something like lovely or fabulous, and I had a quick flashback of my all-night-and-into-the-next-morning New Year’s Eve/Day. For a second, I wondered if I had returned her New Year’s midnight phone call, which I had missed because of Veuve Clicquot (this hot French guy I know). Then, I remembered that I had left her a voicemail shortly thereafter. Rather than relay first-of-the-year details, I just yawned: “How about yours?”

“I would say it’s starting pretty well considering that today Tyler Perry offered me a role in his next movie.”

I bolted upright in my bed. I am glad I don’t sleep on a loft in my tiny studio. Otherwise my head would have gone through the ceiling. Out of respect for her professional privacy and that of our friendship – as with other good news and discrete moments we’ve shared – I won’t go into the details of our conversation in this blog. Suffice it to say it included a lot of laughing and crying and ended in reminiscence of the last decade.

Tokii: “Can you believe it?”
Me: “Yes! [pause] I absolutely believe it! It’s just that I have been waiting almost 10 years to hear you tell me that you have been offered a role in a major film project.”
[Silence]
Tokii: “Wow. You just put a whole new perspective on this for me ...Ten years.”

I thought of the seemingly endless rehearsals she endured at WCU while I waited for her in our dorm room watching late-night television (I usually didn’t make it to see her return). I thought about how she busted her ass taking more than the customary 15 credit hours each semester so she could graduate in 3 ½ years. I thought of the play she worked so hard to script, direct and choreograph as part of her senior year project; it was a raving success and she received many local accolades. I thought of the nights she spent working as a security guard before she finally auditioned for The Juilliard School. I remembered how confident I was that she would get in. I was almost arrogant about it and had to back off a little for fear that I might jinx her talent. When she told me she had received the acceptance phone call, I was absolutely delighted but barely excitable (I had already gotten over the initial exhilaration of Tokii attending the legendary school for the performing arts when she had first told me she was going to audition). I think I had replied, “Girl, I know.” I thought about the grueling schedule she endured while studying in New York City, which often pushed her close to her breaking point, but would ultimately prepared her for the real, bitter - and often cruel - world of acting. I thought of her fourth-year showcase and graduation with scholastic distinction, a recognition for completion of an honors program for exceptional undergraduate performers and composers who wish to expand their scholarly activity by engaging in an extended independent research project in their senior year. All those thoughts and everything that has happened in New York since her graduation in May streamed through my mind within a matter of 10 seconds.

"We have been through some things," I said as I briefly thought of Rickey and remembered my one-year, three-job struggle to save money to move to New York. Without hesitation, she replied, “Yea, we have.”

"I mean, there will be more things to go through.”

We’re both smart enough to know (and I’ve watched Tokii and her classmates go through enough to know) that an acting career is a roller coaster of peaks and valleys, highs and lows, big breaks and breakdowns.

“Oh, of course,” she said. “That is for sure.”

Laying back on my pillow, smiling at the ceiling, I responded, “But moments like this are what make it all worth it. These are the moments that we live for."

These are the moments that we sometimes create, that sometimes we wait for, and that sometimes just happen unexpectedly. I’m so grateful that I have family and friends who will celebrate mine as eagerly and sincerely as I celebrate theirs, who will be there for each other through every twist, dip and loop of this ride we call life. These are indeed the moments we live for.

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, your body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming, ‘Woo hoo! What a ride!’”

I hope I am screaming the loudest.

UPDATE: Tokii may not be able to take the role because of a Connecticut-based play in which she is starring.
UPDATE: Tokii was unable to take the role in A Family That Prays, but did take a part in Madea Goes to Jail. You can follow her work under her stage name: Bobbi James.

"Things I Love" Thursdays - New York Moments

So here is how a moment in New York feels more magical than anywhere else in the world. Last night, I received great news that would have been good to hear anywhere, but to receive it while walking through the Village in a Halloween costume on a brisk New York night felt iconic - and ironic - in ways I can't describe. Maybe because this is my life, and this is New York.

I was exiting the train station at Christopher Street-Sheridan Square between Marilyn Monroe and Cat in the Hat when my phone rang. I am not a habitual call screener, but I am also not one of those people who feels the need to answer my cellphone every time it rings, and I was in no mood to chat. I wasn't feeling irascible, but to briefly describe the atmosphere, I was amidst an intense crowd created by the Halloween Parade on Sixth Avenue, in which the scuffle to either enter or exit the train station prompted one stranger to yell at another: "Bitch! I will slap you!"

But since my best friend's name popped up in the caller ID as I filtered through the crowded sidewalk, I flipped open my phone.

"What are you doing?" she asked. I smiled and replied, "Oh nothing, just trying to cross Seventh Avenue dressed like a slutty devil. You?"

She laughed and started talking about driving home (just across the Hudson River in Jersey) and deciding against ordering fried chicken for dinner, then she slyly added, "Besides it probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to eat fried chicken when I'm going to be ... 10 episodes ... Tyler ... of Payne."

"Wait? What?" I stopped dead in my tracks, straining to hear her above the groan of the subway below my feet and the commotion on the city streets. A fairy stepped on the back of my red, Patton leather stilettos. I turned around and mouthed the word "sorry" to her and then almost stumbled into the gladiator in front of me. The police had paused the ghoulish pedestrian traffic crossing Seventh, and as I tried to keep my balance on the uneven sidewalk, she laughed and casually said again, "It probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to eat friend chicken when I'm going to be on TV in 10 episodes of Tyler Perry's House of Payne."

With no regard for the sexy French maid, Groucho Marx and the pirate smooshed on the curb beside me, I began to jump up and down and scream into the phone. I had so many questions and wanted every detail. So from there, I was half skipping, half jumping and fully squealing along West 4th Street to Sullivan, tears streaming down my face, and barely cognizant of the fact that I was almost jogging in stilettos with no regard for why my body suddenly seemed to be in such a hurry.

For whatever primal reason created by my own primitive stereotype of what my life would be like in New York, I can't think of any other scenario in which receiving this news might have been more fitting. If that moment is ever reenacted in a biographical movie about my best friend, this is how the screenplay will read (proper screenplay formatting has been compromised by Blogger's inability to center only selected text and the fact that I am not a screenwriter):

EXT. WEST 4TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY - NIGHT

A crowded West Village street on Halloween night. Noisy and frenzied.

People in Halloween costumes of all variety hustle and bustle in every direction and create bottlenecks, where police officers and barricades are trying to maintain organized pedestrian and vehicle traffic flow.

KATIE exits the subway station with her cell phone pressed to her right ear and begins squealing on the curb as she waits to cross Seventh Avenue. She is jumping up and down in her red stilettos and despite a few looks from the painted and masked faces immediately surrounding her, her screams are lost in the chaos of the New York night.

KATIE
(screams)
Oh my God! Oh my God! Are you serious?
(continue with incessant, blurted expressions and questions mixed with shrieks and squeals)

As KATIE crosses Seventh Avenue, she receives the exciting details from her best friend of 10 years as she heads along West 4th Street to to join friends at an apartment on the corner of Bleecker and Sullivan.

Tears stream down her face as she struggles emotionally to grasp the reality of this news while an alternative realm of myth and fantasy floods around her.

Surrounded by ghouls, goblins and sexy nursemaids, she zigzags in and out of the crisscrossing pedestrian traffic along West 4th Street. The Halloween night seems to blur and the bustling bodies around her become illusory figments as if she were the only person in New York.

[Cue wistful music that tugs at heartstrings]

KATIE continues to talk excitedly into her cell phone.

[Zoom out from West 4th Street to Birdseye panorama of New York City]

[Fade to black]

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

One Year At A Time

This is it. One year has passed for me in New York. It's a meaningful day for me in two very contrasting ways. I go on in rememberence and with some regret, but always in anticipation and with hope of better tomorrows. The important thing is that I go on. The personal triumph is that I go on in New York City.

In Memoriam of Rickey

Remember me on quiet days
When raindrops whisper on your pane,
But in your memories have not grief
Let just the joy we knew remain.

Remember me when evening stars
Look down on you with steadfast eyes;
And when your thoughts do turn to me,
Know that I would not have you cry;
But live for me and laugh for me -
When you are happy, so am I.

Remember in a joke we shared;
Remember me when spring walks by;
Think of me when you are glad
And while you live, I shall not die.

By Sibling Lyn Bryant
TCF Bayton, Texas

Good, Bad & Ugly First-Year Moments

A year ago today was my last night in Cullowhee, North Carolina. After selling my car, my furniture and giving away the bulk of my belongings, I packed the remaining items - clothes, shoes and anything important to me - in a rented stow-and-go minivan. Then Terrence and I stopped through my parents house in Asheville for a little over a day to tie up loose ends with my old Honda and deal with an unexpected delay before he drove me and my stuff all night up the east coast. We arrived in the Bronx around 9 o'clock in the morning on August 3. Terrence returned to the South within the week, and I've taken it one moment at a time since that first month and chronicled almost every good, bad, ugly - and even boring - day.

Looking back on my posts, there is a naivety and romanticism in much of my early writing that I recognized then and still embrace today. Just as children are encouraged to enjoy being children for as long as they can, I want to enjoy being new to the city. I don't want to be that transplant, who arrogantly gives incorrect directions in the subway or calls the MetLife Building "the Pan Am Building" in a contrived attempt to sound like a native.

Labeled the consummate tourist by a coworker, there are so many things about this city that are still new and exciting to me. But I've changed, too. I walk a little faster and I look up a little less; however, I consciously welcome the personal novelty in which I allow New York to present itself to me. The city rubs everything it has on you - the wonderful, the inane, the whimsical, the repulsive and the unexpected. You balance the harmonious moments with a certain layer of grime, and those who survive here find 10 reasons to love the city for every one reason they hate it.

In chronological order are my top good, bad and ugly first-year moments (subject to changes and additions):

The Good
10) One Week Completed
9) First Day of Work
8) Apartment Hunting, Scrabble & Two Drifters
7) The Sound of My Mom's Smile
6) Key to the City
5) Great Expectations
4) A Knowing Wink
2) New Years Rockin' Eve
2) Random Act of Kindness
1) Almost Home
And another (1) Crossroads of the World

The Bad
10) "Fast" is an Understatement
9) First Day on Broadway
8) Reality Soon Sets
7) Subway Convos
6) Winter Wonder
5) What Was That Smell?
4) Commute-Associated Hazards
3) Frustrations with Furnishing Your Life
2) Six Months to Final Repairs
1) Once in a Blue Moon

The Ugly
10) Craigslist NYC
9) Midnight Police Raid
8) Bad Day
7) Game of Grab Ass
6) Minding My Own Business
5) Accepted Anomalies of Incoherent Commuters
4) Costs of Living
3) NYC Mass Transit Wants You to Cry Them a River
2) To A/C or Not to A/C?
1) I'm Melting

The good, the bad and the ugly ... through it all, one thing is for sure:
I love New York!

Annus mirabilis

A year ago today, I posted my first entry in this blog ... and what a difference a year makes.

On July 1, 2006, I was anxiously working my way (via three jobs) through my last 30 days in North Carolina, lamenting over TV dinner days and pan de sal nights, insomnia, nights off with no life, and nervously awaiting my move to New York City. I had no idea, not a clue, what adventures - good, bad or ugly - awaited me.

On July 1, 2007 - and 471 blog posts later - I spent a quiet Sunday morning exploring Tribeca on one of my city walks, with a cup of iced cafe latte from Starbucks and dark black sun glasses, before returning to my uptown apartment for a lazy afternoon. One job. Weekends off. Bills paid. No debt. A monthly MetroCard, and keys to a tiny studio with a small view of the Hudson.

Of all the posts I've marked as memorable moments in my first year of becoming a New Yorker, my favorite has to be my cliche New Years' Eve moment. It was the night I achieved the goal I had made for myself along that long stretch of I-40 over a year and a half before - the night I realized that not all of my dreams will come true, but some of them will.

If what "they say" from my first blog entry is true, I have 9 years and 30 days to go.

Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.

Phone Photo Op - A Year of Sunsets

I don't remember what the weather was like in North Carolina
on July 1, 2006, but as the sun set on one year of
becoming-a-new-yorker.blogspot.com, I wondered if it was as
beautiful as it looked tonight from my New York apartment.

Phone Photo Ops - Drinking in the Skyline

Stages of sunset from the rooftop bar at 230 Fifth during Happy Hour with Terrence (boyfriend visiting from Atlanta), Jenny and Victoria (coworkers), Matt (Jenny's current main squeeze) and new acquaintances.






It was an evening of overpriced drinks and great conversation and the cliché ideal of how I had once envisioned my life in New York City. I also take those corny mental snapshots of people and moments I want to remember. I have one of Jenny.

The sun was setting over the Hudson River, Bruce Hornsby and The Range's song "The Way It Is" was playing on the outdoor roofdeck speakers, and she leaned toward Terrence and me and was laughing at something funny he had said. I didn't tell her that she had just created a moment that I will always remember, but I did say out loud, "Isn't this life great?"

I've been saying that a lot since I moved to New York.