A Time to Change

Growing up, I learned lots of things from The Brady Bunch.

The sadness of pet allergies. Caution in the face of flying footballs. How – no matter the convenience – AstroTurf just doesn’t make an aesthetically pleasing yard.

But most importantly, I learned the value of letting go, of just relaxing your grip and shifting when the road before you changes. 

When it’s time to change, you’ve got to rearrange who you are and what you’re going to be.

A year ago, I posted my first blog – a fluffy little piece about leaving New York and heading for some literally greener pastures (with, hopefully, some figuratively greener pastures thrown in there, too.)

I wrote for fun… to keep my unemployed brain busy and productive. But mainly I wrote because I was in the frustrating position of seeing myself as a writer when no one else did.

My daily writing led to meetings, an unrealized magazine column, more meetings, and an eventual job. Which, of course, begat more writing. Which begat less blog-writing. Which, in turn, begat a written list of things I want to write when I have more time (and no, a list was not on the list). 

It seems I need to rearrange not just who I am but what I can commit to. I cannot do everything… because as much as I love what I do, I hate the feeling of not doing something well.

And right now, I’m not a very good blogger. I lack consistency. I no longer have time to read other blogs and comment and reach out to the community.

But mostly, I’m tired of looking back.

I miss New York. Some days I miss it with what I can only imagine is the pain of a brassy, bumptious and quite large Met diva sitting on my chest.

And the constant comparison of what life is now as opposed to what it used to be or what it could’ve been makes the moving-on a bit too plodding.

So, I want to refocus on who it is that I’m going to be. A writer, definitely. A novelist, hopefully.

This blog has been incredibly rewarding – it's kind of like theater for an actor. Instant feedback. You know immediately when you've touched a nerve or a heart or even been completely passed by.

But it's time to tell a different story.

I need to rearrange my life to embrace a new challenge, a new cast of characters, and a still unfamiliar landscape.

And no matter where I go, I know New York will still be there.

A girl never forgets her first love.

Thanks so much for having traveled with me this far. xoxo

Surburban Cowgirl

Living sub- of the urb means I’m surrounded by a whole lot of loveliness. But while flora and fauna have a lot to recommend them, sometimes it just seems a little… eh.

Without the yin of the city, nature’s yang can get a bit wobbly and boring.

Like, you know how a Frosty is sweet, sweet heavenly goodness, but then you dip a salty fry in there and--KABLOOEY--your tongue explodes with the yum?

Sometimes you need the salt to make the sweet even more flavorful.

I love it. Do you? Vote here.

One of my favorite things in the whole world is lying on rocks in Central Park. Just lying there.

Try it. Keep your eyes open. Stare at the sky. Watch the clouds. Feel the breeze sweep against your cheeks and the drool puddle around your slackened jaw.

Then tilt your head ever so slightly, just far enough to see the rich folks’ penthouses.

Your pupils suddenly refocus, and all the park’s beauty is magnified by the stalagmites piercing the sky.

The quiet seems even more hushed knowing that life rages on just beyond the tree line.

And your appreciation of this moment is heightened by the knowledge that some lowlife will steal your cab as soon as you hit Fifth.

See more great NYC photos at I Could Not Stay in Strawberry Fields Forever.

The juxtaposition of city and country brings me unexpected joy.

Like in Brooklyn, where horses trot down the street, through the roundabout at Park Circle, and enter Prospect Park.

Traffic circles are confusing enough without horses.
Via Streetsblog.org

The first time I saw the equine parade I was just blown away. It’s really quite stunning to see horses and non-uniformed riders sweeping through rush hour traffic.

I thought, I can’t wait till Liv can ride there. Of course, considering the fact that she'd barely lived through the apparent trauma of a pony ride at age 2, I wasn't in that much of a rush.

120 seconds of sheer terror at Fink's Farm.

We moved before she was ready to face her fears at Kensington Stables, but this Saturday she got her big happy, happy horse ride.

No tears... and no cars careening around a traffic circle.

Just a girl, a horse named Frances, and not one square inch of city for miles and miles.

I’ve got to say, though, I kind of missed the salty yin.

Till I stepped in it.

A huge steaming pile of yin.

But while it made my boot pretty freaking disgusting, it made the sight of my girl sitting tall in the saddle even sweeter.

 Or yang-ier, if you will.