I am afraid of many things.

I'm sure we all are from time to time.

But much like the first time I decided to quit taking no for an answer, this decision I've just made to spit in the face of terror is more terrifying than any hesitations I've ever had in the past - and will be the beginning of a stage of evolutionary growth.

It will be painful.
I am not ready.
But I will make myself learn readiness.

And so goes the story of the foundling heart finally afire.

When I first moved here it felt as though everything was going to change for the better. But as is so often the truism of life: wherever you go, your trouble will follow...until you turn and face it.

Two and a half years into this wild free for all that is life in New York I am aware of my growth, my new perspective, and of course the troubles that followed me from the home. That said, my growth has allowed me the wisdom to appreciate my perspective and my perspective has given me the wherewithal to face my troubles.

They're falling in front of me, one by one, victims to the newfound fearlessness built by their owner. 

---

Tuesday morning I rented a u-haul van and drove to Natalie's loft. She and I moved the last of her New York life into the back of my vehicle. I hugged her- might have cried a little- and then let her go prepare to fly away from this place. And now, as I sit on the bed she once owned, I realize that her fearlessness is like mine: it's let her take the chance to do something other people wouldn't dare to do.

But I still miss knowing she was so close by. It made my bravery less lonely.

---

Yesterday I had a second interview for a job in fashion pr. 

The interview went well.

I got the job.

---

Today I slept in a missed yoga. 

I will go tomorrow.

---

I need to write a short story.

A recipe for calm collection

 Once I was a boy who rarely carried an umbrella, constantly at the mercy of the elements. The occasional cloud presented a potential anxiousness not unlike seeing red and blue lights in the rearview mirror: please pass me by, I think and hope.

 But that was then and this is now.

 Today is fresh and I am ready: I say bring on the storm; unfurl the cloud banks, unleash the rain, and for god's sake let loose the lightening. Place me in the eye of the fury and let it all encircle my new bravery. Even as I read back over the last few lines I wonder to myself what exactly changed that brought me this new surge of confident survival.

 Is it external: The change to Summer? New friends slowly maturing into companions? A sense of acceptance and security?
 Perhaps internal: Recent sobriety? An alacrity for health and fitness? Diet improvement? Meditative priority?

 Actually I believe it to be a hearty mix of all the above-listed ingredients. A recipe for calm collection. And as I see it, this is a concoction best served warm so I shall continue to freshen the batch and stoke the oven fires.

In Gratitude of Friendship

I've come to a rather beautiful point in life where I have allowed myself sincere happiness. It began with submission to the state in which I found myself, proceeded through a period of reassessment and revision, and now I am embracing the present in fullness. The excelsior in which I currently find security and buffering is composed of those with whom I've found kinship over the months and years: my friends. People are a constant aspect of life in some form: coworkers, neighbors, those in front of and behind me in the grocery check out line. All meshing together into a roiling, faceless mass. And from this chaotic myriad rise the few who choose you as you simultaneously choose them; those spirits of a familiar sort. You bond in a common will to keep one another from drowning and at the same time hope to teach one another to fly. These are the ones who make life worth living. These are the ones we soon call family. I am blessed. And now I sleep.

The All Too Quiet Dark

It would seem that this heavy season is yet again inescapable. In the way that beliefs change upon subjection to unwavering fact, I am no longer a believer in the dusk will soon become dawn outlook. This creep toward midnight implies too much for my perforated heart to hold without splitting. And morning is no longer the salve it once was. I am going to pieces, smashing them back together again, then going to pieces all over. It's become the one constant in my otherwise hurricane life. I learn with growing assurance that my loves, joys and fascinations will wilt like petals on an unwatered stalk leaving nothing but a withered, gnarled skeleton eager to hide himself behind as much flowery language and licentiousness as is commonly known by 10 men. And yet I haven't the strength of even half of one. I have these moments- these glimpses into the excitement I used to know- during which I see shades of the person I once was and want again to become (oh, the futility of growing up while glueing one's feet to the floor). Just the other day I was on the train, en route to someplace of no importance, when I overheard the somewhat bland voices of two females discussing something equally boring. As I am still by nature a curious person, I stole a glance at their faces (they stood just next to me) and noticed that they both appeared to be much more interesting than their conversation would have implied. I elected to continue listening while feigning interest in the open book pressed nearly to my nose. We happened to exit at the same stop and I allowed myself the odd treat of following behind the two of them (back a few paces naturally) so I could maintain my unassuming observation just a few moments longer. What with it being the first time I was permitted a full head-to-toe view of them since having begun paying any attention it was of course delightful to discover they were both in possession of exquisite legs. Having listened in to their discourse for the duration of our train ride I felt a moderate sense of fraternity with them (unrequited I'm sure) and thus upon regarding their legs - indeed some of the prettiest I have ever laid eyes on - it was as though I were just learning my fiance enjoyed bondage or my brother preferred cats to dogs; this additional bit of information that, while not terribly pivotal, painted them in a wholly new way. And then the moment was done. I walked home. And nothing remarkable happened for quite some time. This is the Hell I seem to always be either running from or slipping toward. I wish to God I knew rest.

Horse and Home

It's been quite some time since I've not been able to fall asleep.

This is of course something for which I am incredibly grateful considering how much I enjoy the occasionally rested feeling I get from sleeping a full night.

Tonight, however, seems to have slipped away from me like a wild horse too quick to be harnessed. It's 6am and here I am in the living room with the company of a single lightbulb and far too many thoughts.

In the two years since climbing on that airplane and utterly dismantling my life at large I've been known to have quite a few 6am moments like this. The primary difference (which I am all too happy to report) is that, in the past, these moments have been riddled with an insurmountable worry. For the moment I am in total calm despite the still present worrying (what can I say, it's in my blood).

While I think of the need to find an apartment, to make more money, to save for bigger and better adventures I am finally permitted to look around and love the life I have. There is love, there is joy, there is chance and spontaneity, there is art and there is freedom.

Truthfully, I couldn't ask for more without beginning to feel like a glutton.

Sure, there will always be more that a part of me will want. That's my role as a middle class white boy. However I am now in an authoritative place of dominion over that wanting. The roles have switched and I am now holding the reigns.

So while the black horse of a restful night's sleep may be off and away, at least I know that the steed of contentment stands loyally by my side.

A Professional Dilemma -or- And Now We Wait

A week ago today I met with the Designer's assistant.

Yesterday I met with the Designer's Managing Director and briefly met with the Designer herself.

Today I was asked to meet with the Designer's Production Manager this coming Monday.

The expectation is that I begin working for the Designer no later than Wednesday of next week.

This gives me all of one day (one!) to let the President know I will no longer be working for her.

Are we beginning to see the reason for my present joyful angst?

Having deferred to a small number of confidants re: WhatTheHellShouldDo I've come to the following three conclusions:

1. This new position is an opportunity I cannot afford- financially, ambitiously, psychologically- to deny.

2. My present position, while gratifying of some of my artistic wants, is not as much of an avenue toward living-making as it is a temporary means of (barely) supporting myself.

3. I must act with love and equanimity- but also cunning and wit- in ALL professional and life endeavors.

So here I stand.
And I shall continue standing until next Monday afternoon.