Vision Board or Vision Bored???

I can't believe I have actually heard this come up in recent conversations,



"VISION Board!"



A sentence overheard like this..."so, while I was cooped up last weekend I started adding to my vision board."



Or this one..."she is really talented. I told her she needs some focus, maybe a vision board"



I mean, I know I heard Oprah mention it. I think she occasionally refers to it. But, I didn't think anyone actually did one. But, in the past several weeks I have heard at least 3 people talk about their vision boards. Part of me wants to puke. Part of me wants to laugh. Part of me wants to pry. And, honestly, a large part of me wants to know if I should do a vision board.



I have my own beliefs in what motivates people. I believe that most of our motivation for anything we do originates out of two primal emotions: LOVE and FEAR.



We either LOVE to eat and let ourselves get Fat. Or we FEAR that we are getting too fat and we diet. Or we come and go from both sides of the spectrum.



When we LOVE someone so much, it motivates us to keep the relationship alive. We are motivated to talk to that person, to help that person, to hold that person. When we are AFRAID of losing someone or afraid it isn't going well any longer, we are motivated to lie, cheat, harbor our feelings inside, hypothesize etc.



But, I also believe we "go toward what we focus on." When I focus on the negative in my life, things never seem to look up. When I focus on money problems there is never a solution. When I look in the mirror at a blemish or a scar my perspective of my self changes. The same is said when I look in the mirror with a good hair day and nice suit. I feel sexy. I walk out the door differently. When I focus on leaving 20 dollars at home every time I walk out the door, I find myself with extra money at the end of every pay period. And, I definitely believe that if you hear something enough, over and over and over again, it can start to become your personal truth.





So, does a vision board put those feelings into better perspective? Or, are we just bored with our daily life, daily outcomes, etc, and decided to vision our life in a make believe way? Does the board function and motivate? Or, does the board just remind us? Which can either measure our success or constant reminder of where we are NOT. Maybe the bigger question is what are my visions? Before I can make a board for them or get bored of them, I should probably start to figure out what they are?



I should also stop judging those who do have faith in the power of a vision board. Who am I to criticize or patronize or condescend. What ever works for you! I certainly don't seem to have it right, or at least any better...



Let's see...I envision...umm...ummm...well, right now...I envision wine and maybe some froyo!

Another attempt

Here I go.





With no readership but myself.





I have to start all over and get it going again. I made a promise to myself that after my trip to Chicago over the weekend of March 6th, I would jump back on to this "writing" idea that I have. I am not sure if a blog is exactly the way to go anymore, but for now it seems like the best way for me to do it. Using my ballpoint and a sheet of lined paper inside a leather bound book seems so archaic at this point. And, truthfully, the thought that even one person (even somebody I actually know) could read this is just the amount of pressure/validation I need to keep me writing...ANYTHING!





Right now that ANYTHING is a haunting sadness and an overall lethargy. These two emotions seem to be the most powerful over the rest of my flurries that bluster through me on any given day. Sure, the sadness can be linked to my departure from NYC after nearly 14 years of braving the "concrete jungle where dreams are made of." The lethargy is part complacency, part normalcy, part growing older in a city that always makes you feel 10 years older than you are. I am tired all the time but don't sleep well. I am lazy with my days but still get everything done that needs to be done, for work, for home, for me. I am lacking motivation but have a tendency to keep knitting, keep reading that one book that has taken me 4 months to finish, that one vocal CD I have been working on since December, and the organization of my belongings that seems to be 3 years in the making. I am bloated and feeling fat for my frame, yet I am cutting out carbs, drinking less, and trying desperately to not indulge in the late night binges. I am not an idiot. I realize this all points to me just not being happy with myself, or where I am in my life. I keep trying to understand that "unhappiness." I don't necessarily feel unhappy. But, I think my actions, feelings, and demeanor all point to something unhappy within me, around me, about me. I know that I wished I were doing more in life. More meaning what, I don't know? I guess when I say 'more' I mean something bigger than myself, or something truly myself. I feel pulled in too many different directions hence never giving anything 100 percent of my devotion. I always spend my days wishing for more time, looking back at what I didn't get done instead of what I did. I also tend to wake up with a feeling of anxiety. I always feel like there is some impending doom awaiting me when I turn off my alarm and turn on my phone, when I open my mailbox, when I open my front door, when I take my first step into the jungle. I know that I need some inspiration, some motivation. I hope I am not putting too much pressure on my huge life change to suddenly spark the inner artist in me, or to transform me into an overnight healthy, successful version of myself. But, they say that huge life changes like "moving" can either be the most difficult thing to go through or the most rewarding. It forces you to face the harsh realities of starting over, getting to know new people, new places, and new life. I can't sit on my couch anymore in a pile of safety blankets, hugging a pint of complacency and sipping a cup of soothing liquid of my choice. I hope this is the case for me. I hope I can face the new chapters in my life with more zest. I hope I can zoom through those chapters in half the time it has taken me to read the last book I read.



Here is to another attempt.

The Fast Track...Day 1

There's probably not many of you left out there still reading me. I can't believe I dropped the ball just at a time when I was getting readership. Anywhoo, here goes...



I have embarked on what I believe to be my very first official diet. Sure, over the years I have given up this or cut back on that. I have had my exercises fanatical days and my low carb seasons. But, this is the first time I am with in very strict perimeters of a diet that is specifically aimed at cleaning and detox the colon and the liver. It is called The Fast Track One-Day Detox Diet. (Link above...i hope)



Here's a little back story.

-Met a boy and he made me smile.

-Three months later it's a deal.

-His influence is powerful because I love him.

-Now I follow a strict summer detox that he has done in the past, loves and is far more diligent and excited about than me that lasts for a total of 11 days.



But, it is something we can do together (I keep telling myself). It's something that we can share the benefits of together. It means we can cook together. Share ideas for snacks together. Encourage and motivate each other. Even keep tabs on each other to ensure that neither is falling off the detox wagon.



So it begins with 7 days of stocking up and chowing down liver loving foods. (i.e. Greens nobody likes, fruits and veggies that make you gaseous, and protein the size of the palm of your hand in the form of lean chicken, beef or fish. Not to mention things like Flax - what the F is Flax? - a few berries here and there, olive oil, and half your body weight in water a day.) But it also means staying away from the things that clog our liver, toxi-fy our body, and cling to our colon. (i.e. Coffee, alcohol even WINE!, breads, gluten, pastas, fried foods, soy products, sugars and anything that ends in "uctose" as well as any and all dairy.) On the eighth day you fast for 24 hours with only water intake and juice they call "Miracle Juice." It consists of Cranberry Juice (natural of course) and some spices of nutmeg, lemon, etc. Then after most likely "gettin' rid of the rottens" you spend the next 3 days replenishing your fluids and your good bacteria with some supplements and lots of good healthy yogurts and greens.



Now, I must admit, I consider myself a person with a strong sense of conviction and dedication. When I set my mind to something I feel that 9 out of 10 times I accomplish or fulfill to a satisfactory outcome. And, so far this is how it went...



DAY #1 MONDAY

I woke up with a whisper of a hang over. It could have actually been a hang over from Saturday masked by margaritas and wine on Sunday only to rear it's soft subtle head on Monday. A hangover nonetheless was present. So was the boyfriend. (For the sake of this blog and any future one's he will be known as Zondry.) There we were, Zondry and I, scrambling eggs with broccoli and mustard greens in olive oil. The night before we had done some mild one or two day shopping of must have items: A couple of pears and oranges.; a big clove of garlic and a large onion; some odd greens like cilantro, mustard greens, and chard; carrots and lean chicken breast.

I did very well. I jokingly wined about craving coffee. I gave total poker face when Zondry asked if I had a headache. I mustered up a smile (could have been a wince) and said..."No not really..." While thinking..."Nothing a little cup o' java couldn't cure!" He gave his signature "ha!" Which is this adorable nervous laugh he has after he knows more than someone else has actually revealed, when he doesn't know what to do with the dead air, when he feels like being polite and when he hasn't really been listening. It's actually quite cute. Adorable in fact. This toothy, airy, comforting, "Ha" that has just a linger of a sustained awww sound. He preps me on what to expect for the day with my hunger pains, headaches, and possible withdrawal symptoms. (What am I, a junkie?) He promises to cook my first dinner that night and have it waiting in the fridge when I come home from the night shift. (He really is that devoted to the diet)

I suffered that day. No matter how many pears or carrots I ate, my hangover stomach and caffeine headache just would NOT let up. But, I made it. I drank copious amounts of water. I didn't cheat. I didn't have a glass of wine from the three beautiful bottles staring me in the face from my kitchen. I made it home to grilled chicken over more mustard greens and asparagus sauteed with olive oil and garlic. It tasted like heaven and I loved it more because just the thought of Zondry brought his scent into my memory and the dish was peppered with Bond St. #9 cologne.

Day #1.
Mood Swings - 0.
Tired Level (0-10) - 8
Hunger Level (0-10) - 9
Cheats - 0
Cravings - 2 (Peanut Butter and Coffee)

Pieces of Me

For instance, I want nothing more than a million little things with you in this very moment. I want to cry on your lap. I want to hear you sing. I want to throw popcorn in your face. I want my hair stroked by your hands. I want to slowly undress you. I want to swirl the hair on your forearms. I want to run really fast through Washington Square Park in a race. I want to take you to my favorite lil romantic wine bar. I want sleep for 12 and 1/2 hours waking up periodically to your elbow in my chin. I want you to complain about my hogging the covers. I want to push you to be more; to be better. I want you to challenge my intellect and my vocabulary. I want to know what Florida looks like with you. I want you to see beauty in the ugly of Iowa. I want to go shopping for you, with you, because of you. I want to fight at the jukebox. I want to hate Bjork...but I don't. You want to hate Kelly...but you won't. I want to gossip with you and judge all the boys that pass us by. I want your hand to fall effortlessly onto my thigh. I want my body to quiver when it does. I want to laugh, I want to kiss, I want to cry, I want to hold...even just your hand.

I will not be here waiting.
I will just be here.

I will not take these things for granted. I will only cherish and learn from all this that is bad and that is good.

Someday maybe...Someday maybe not.

Either way, in time it will bloom and grow and close up and start over again.
I will be here...if you will be. I will be here....Please be careful with me.

Breathe out the old...in the new...

At first I was afraid. I was petrified.

I ran to the nearest mirror. I inspected my nose hairs for any extra long strays. I tugged at a few of the bed head strands of my styled-to-look-messy hair. I made sure my shirt was tucked in to reveal my "new" ass. I gargled with my organic mouthwash. I shined my boots. I may have even dropped down and squeezed out twenty push-ups (like when we used to date) to give myself a freshly pumped look.

I came up the stairs to find that I was not afraid. My heart was not aching with every heartbeat as it had so many times before. My hear wasn't even racing. I was angry but confident. You were somewhere you shouldn't be. You were doing all the things you shouldn't do. But, poor you, you just can't stop. I was confident but angry. One could say I was maybe confidently angry. I may have been angrily confident. I am not sure how the combination of the two end up rationing themselves over my emotions. But, I was both. I was grace and power. I was tranquil and in motion. I danced around you with reckless abandon but with total control over my surroundings. I looked you in the eye and saw right through you. You are hallow. I wanted your heart to beat. I wanted your pulse to rise. You were in MY house...UNWELCOME.

But I remained a gracious host. A professional manager. My normal, flirty, happy-go-lucky, playful self.

I believe I breathed my very last high strung breath with regards to you. It was a tight breath but after I let it out, the amount of new, clean, fresh air that I let in carried me to new heights. Higher than you. Bigger than you. And yes, I will say it, BETTER than you.

I am so strong...right now!

4am Escape

The Sweet Escape hasn't been so sweet. More bittersweet. It seems I can't escape myself when I need it the most.

My travels have been eye opening, fun-filled, exhausting, challenging, cumbersome, worthwhile, and joyful. But, in all of this I wished I could escape my mind and the anxiety that plagues me.

My travels did not begin last week, or even two months ago. They began years ago. Some of the same roads have been traveled. Some of the same places have been visited. All the new and "first-times" have been parts of my journey of self discovery.

I am not myself these days. I am trying to change. Sometimes, it can't be forced. Other times it was never meant to change.

I deserve to escape. Escape the thoughts and fears that hold me back. Only then, when I break free, will I be open to the changes that surround me. Or at least the possibilities for change that stare me down.

I'd give you everything that I am
I'm handin over everything that I've got
Cause I wanna have a real true love
Don't ever wanna have to go and give you up
Stay up till four in the morning And the tears are pouring
And I wanna make it worth the fight
What have we been doing for all this time
Baby if we're gonna do it come and do it right

This Moment

I can't decide whether to keep going, hold my breath, lash out, dive in, or any of the other metaphors you can think of when developing a relationship with someone.

I can't find descriptors that suit the lips or the eyes. Green, beautiful, full, tender. These words don't seem to stand up to what I feel or witness. These words seem lacking in luster or strength. They don't seem to be heavy enough for anyone to feel the weight of the world that lives beneath the ever changing sparkle of green and hazel that swims with in his stare. These words don't seem to savor the succulent savviness or sarcastic perversions that fall from such ripe lips.

I wished I could tell you about the hands. The hands I have yet to leave my tears in. The hands that hold, touch, and caress my thoughts. These hands that could hold my entire person if I asked them to. These hands that will explore my body only to expose my soul and wrap me up in my own spirit. These hands that have a sexy, smooth, masculine exterior with a sensitive, soft spoken inner life.

Then there is the laughter. The stifled boyish chuckle that begins and ends as a giggle. There is also the smells and the texture of the skin. Both so clean and worth burying your nose in.

If only I could comprehend my own fears and where they have come from. Just when I think I have a full view of myself and my world. The enormity of my reality hovers above causing my fleeting moment of joyous exuberance to shutter to the thoughts of sadness and solitude. Only to shift once more to horny-ed excitement and fluttering eagerness.

It has been slow, steady, and sufficient to this point. I can't predict, no, I won't predict the outcome. I will only say it has been worth it. Sometime, hopefully in the very distant future, I will come back to this post and remember that no matter what the outcome, I was plenty full of happiness. My satisfaction was running over.

"Can I get an Amen!?"

If we stood on our tiptoes and could peak into the future, what would we see? If we knew we could do this, would we do it everyday? Would we constantly be standing on our tip toes? A sea of people walking on their tippy toes afraid of what is to come, maybe excited, or just overly controlling with their life and it's path.

How much control do we really have? Sure, we can financially do our best and keep our fingers tightly gripped on all of our dollars. Thus, preparing for the "future." Having money is preparing for the future isn't it?

But, what about the deeper more immediate future? What about three days from now? Three days from now is my future and there is no telling what is going to happen. I could fall flat on my face. I could soar through my life song with rousing applause. Two weeks from now is my future. Two weeks from now I will turn 30 years old. The day after that, I could die. Or, the day after that, I could feel relieved or nervous or nothing. Three months from now is my future. Three months from now is the end of the year. It is all of our futures. Will we care about how much money we have in the bank? Will we look back at three months ago and see fiscal growth that will ease our minds and make us realize the present moment which was only a few fleeting moments ago the future and now in another fleeting moment it is the past? Or will we have tippy toed our way through those three months dodging anything that looked like potential harm or hurt so as to keep us on the even. I mean really, if you stood on your tiptoes and peaked into the future and saw the hurt you will be feeling after the end of the affair, wouldn't it scare you enough to think twice?

If I could stand on my tiptoes it would only be to stand taller and prouder. I wouldn't want to see into the future, or walk through life straining my already tired and old feet. I would be tempted, of course. I might find myself on a quiet street late at night stretching to the very tops of the tips of my toes and sneaking a quick, but hopefully vague, peak into my future. But, I wouldn't want it to scare me away from the moments that lie most immediately in my future and the ones that exist in my present. I don't care so much about financial growth or security. I don't care so much about retirement plans and property ownership. I don't want to care about whether I am going to be hurt or experience loss or devastation in the future. If I did know these things I might actually become what I fear most--a robot. A functioning product of society as opposed to a fulfilling participant of life.

Sure, I am scared of the future. We all are. Some are terrified. Putting away money and stocks and bonds. Scouring match dot com for the father of their babies. Planning and plodding their predictable futures. Others just nervous and anxious for the changes that lie ahead. Maybe one of the changes in our future will enlighten us. Maybe another will awaken us.

I think about where I might be 10 years from now. It's always fun to think about it. It's fun to think that or to be asked that question. "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?"
My response will be..."I do not see myself in 10 years. I can't see myself in ten hours from now. I see myself as I am currently. And, the most I can hope and strive for is to constantly evolve, learn, feel, express, try, and be. I will dive in. I will swim, wade, languish by the pool and soak up the sun. If I am burned or tired or drenched, then I will make the necessary changes to feel differently. I will not let my tippy toes tread through life with trepidation and a soft unspoken step. I want to leave my mark. I will not let my tippy toes taunt me with my future that teeters on the edge of anything and everything. I want to love the shit and shiny stuff all the same.

I will not take these things for granted.

I will, again, attempt to practice what I preach.

Hills and Loops

I can't begin to describe the flurry and fury with which my emotions rumble through me these past few weeks, days, hours. One minute, I am reeling from blueberries and yogurt. The next I am doubled over in pain set on by the anxiety of life. I can be cool as a cucumber and stroll hand in hand down a street, or fret and stew at the great unknown of the city and the nights that don't belong to me.


I feel so vulnerable these days, which can either manifest itself as abounding confidence or overwhelming sensitivity. My body will ache with desire for things I have never felt. My heart will mourn and scorn the loss of something I don't even have yet. I can cry only by myself. In circles I can only laugh too wholeheartedly. I miss people that I know have not gone away. I take for granted the ones who are available to me most.

I hate vulnerability. It feels like walking a tight rope. Or better yet, it feels like waiting in line for the newest most dangerous rollercoaster. One second you are excited the next your stomach tightens. One minute your thinking about jumping the line and taking the chicken exit the next you can't wait to throw your hands up with reckless abandon.

ARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!

Legends

The night is bitter.

Maybe there is only a whisper or a trace of me left in your memories. IF this is true, I am still grateful.

Maybe time really does heal all wounds. If THIS is true, I am happy.

Maybe the wounds are still there and they just get easier to live with. IF THIS is true, I am tolerant.

The stars have lost their glitter.

Maybe it was obsession. Maybe it was unhealthy. If this is TRUE, I will strive for growth and change.

Maybe it was authentic and an unexplainable desire, connection and chemistry that I can't seem to erase. If this is true, I won't apologize for it.

The winds grow colder and suddenly your older.

There is no denying that Judy is a better singer than Rufus. But, the bravery he showed when climbing atop the legendary Carnegie Hall concert of Judy's is, well, just that-Bravery.

And all because of the man that got away.

It took courage for me to say and do all the things I have said. From here all the way back to Carnegie Hall. The good, the terrific, the bad and even the ugly. I am saddened by the turn of events.

Ever since this world began,

there is nothing sadder than.

A one-man woman

looking for the man that got away.

Choking Back

There are so many excuses for my behavior.

This was my first relationship.

I was highly insecure.

I was terribly jealous.

I was deeply in love.

I was 21 years old.



So, then, why? Why every time we see each other, do I get this dizzy stomach and nauseous headache? It's fleeting for the most part. But, it comes every time I see you. I look at you now, and the way we are as friends and feel so blessed. I see how much we have grown as people, as men, as lovers. 8 years and counting. But, I can't seem to shake this one instance. This disgusting display of immaturity and drama.



I wasn't a perfect boyfriend. I still doubt I ever could be. I was jealous and insecure and full of fear. I never felt you would love me for me. I don't think either of us realized it was okay to be ourselves with each other. So instead we tried so hard to be what we thought the other wanted.
And, boy did we love each other. WE LOVED. AND LOVED. AND LOVED.

I am not saying I live with regret from that moment in time. That moment in 1999 where I disappeared from the music store (in hopes that you would chase me down...argh...games!) and walked my sorry ass back to Jersey City where I proceeded to sit on the stoop of our brownstone wiping violently at my tears and peering down Mercer Street with tainted anticipation just waiting and waiting and waiting for you and her to come down the street. And...you didn't. Hours and hours went by. Not a phone call. Nothing.

I didn't get what I wanted. Even after a tireless, immature, ridiculous effort to manipulate it out of you. I didn't get what I wanted. But, I also couldn't see that what I had was enough. I wasn't taking what I was given I was only managing to see what I wasn't.

I don't regret my behavior. I had to go through that to learn about myself. It's an unfortunate circumstance that brings the chuck up to the back of my throat every time I think about it, but I had to go through that.

But, you asked me if I had any regrets, or rather, anything I would go back and change. That would be it. Even if I had left the music store out of jealousy and an immature display of loyalty. I never would have confronted you in front of her. I would have, hopefully, walked my sorry ass back to Mercer street and had sometime to think about not feeling sorry for myself. Then maybe when you both arrived back at the house, I would have stood up on the stoop and said I was sorry. Sorry for my childish behavior. Sorry I was pouting and needy for your attentions. Please forgive me. Please understand I am (was) so young and in the great unknown of relationships.

Don't be Sad Get GLADD

I happened to be lucky enough to attend the Gladd Media awards on Monday night at the Mariott Ballroom in Times Square. Sitting with my boss, his partner, and various other successful GLBT business persons and creative types.

I bumped elbows with Tom Ford, smiled and shared a joke with Julianne Moore, shook hands with Kate Clinton, thanked Cynthia Nixon for her generous donation, made google eyes at Robert Gant and tried to remind Heather Matarazzo of our fleeting but fun friendship back in '01.

I listened to Whoopi Goldberg crack us all up with her straight forward quips and loving acceptance of a community that has kept her afloat. I listened to Cynthia Nixon find a sense of humor about her late blooming. I soaked up Rosie O' Donell's politics mixed with genuine thanks and humbleness at the success of her family cruise line and the documentary that I had no idea existed about it. I was warmed by John Water's confident manner and truthful approach toward the audience.

Then came the montage of video footage and media coverage in the last year. The good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful.

I cried.

Nothing too intense just small, sniffly tears.

My visibility as a gay man is more powerful than I will ever know. Each person who takes a stride in public to be recognized, accepted, themselves, etc., is making crucial steps and huge advances in the way we are perceived, portrayed, treated and ultimately understood.

Everything has to do with everything. From Ann Coulter to Rosie O' Donell. From coming out to killings.

It has only been 40 years since the movement really became a movement.

Progress is evident.

I felt empowered, inspired, accepted and safe Monday night.

That doesn't happen very often.

Thank you for being GLADD.

This Just In...

It's been awhile. I know.

It is also very rare that I journal within my blog. Lately, over the past year I have only eluded to my life or written from various perspectives. Sometimes, I have even tried my hand at fiction. But, mostly I have tried to keep a "James Frey" approach to my writing. A fine line between reality and fiction. True emotion or assignment of such. I write in vague metaphors which some "writers" can not stand, other's relish. I stretch myself as a thinker. I give you only a taste of what I might be going through with little to no explanation. Or I rely on a funny story from my past that is guaranteed to garner comments.

This blog exists solely for my own needs. It scratches an itch I have. The itch to try all the uncharted areas of my creativity. The itch to express myself. The itch to gossip safely and anonymously (sort of). The itch or urge rather to be read and understood. The desire to find commonalities among other thinkers and evolving human beings out there.

The blog stems from the creativity and thoughts of other's. Specifically, it's beginnings come from Joely's company. One of my best friend's blogs. This blog has been many things. It's been a bitch fest, a vent system, a piece of art, a lesson in loneliness, an exercise in storytelling, etc. Through her thoughts I found other thinkers. Too many to name here. Some are linked other's are not...yet. But, there are so many people out there with so much to say. Your blogs and your comments often stir my thoughts enough to provoke me to write. Thank you.

I never want to be a Stephanie Klien or a Joe.My.God. or a Perez Hilton. (Or maybe the longing is so deep it hasn't penetrated me yet.) I just want to write when I feel like it and when I have the time.

Lately, things are going well for me. I am surviving work. I am learning to live by myself more and more each day. I am trying to relax my thoughts and my reactions. I am looking at myself in the mirror again and content with what is reflected back at me. I am deepening my personal relationships. I am making goals. I am taking the baby steps needed to reach them. I am working on my tolerance. I am focusing on my future (one tiny fragment at a time). And I am not feeling guilty for much of anything anymore. That is the biggest step. I have been sad and lonely because I feel guilty for silly things, unimportant things, and things that have passed and there's nothing more that could be done.

I have a lot more to say than this. I just wanted to post an update.

This just in.

Life just IS right now. Nothing too fabulous or tragic to report.

I am Being.

O Holy Night

White Christmas there was not.

There was no egg nog or plump stockings. I didn't open any presents on Christmas Eve or Day. I spoke only to my mother, missing my father and brother in the hustle and bustle of the time zones and functions. There wasn't a cookie jar full of fattening treats. There weren't any children traipsing and tripping through the house (apt.). I had only two presents under my tree that stood only three feet tall. If we are being honest, the day was lacking a blustering thrill of anticipation. Not to mention pumpkin pie and stuffing.

But, there was still the 24-hour "A Christmas Story" playing on TBS. I had three hours of Christmas music shuffling on my iTunes. I put on my lumberjack socks. I made Hazelnut coffee with soy milk and cinnamon. The lights on my tree remained on from 4pm Christmas Eve until I left the house on Christmas night. Christmas Eve consisted of a steak dinner and a private viewing with Chrissy of my all-time-favorite Christmas movie..."Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas!" I can't imagine a more worthy recipient of this invite than Chrissy and he did not disappoint in his appreciation of the film. We each drank a bottle of pinot noir, then breaked with a cup of java, then toasted with Champagne to our budding but bonding friendship from 2006 before calling it a night well after midnight.

Christmas Day began with reluctance. I had to fight the blues away. I wrapped myself in two blankets on my sofa and began my marathon of "A Christmas Story." Since I still don't have kids of my own, I become a kid myself on Christmas morning. This time instead of screaming for more presents and crumpling all the beautiful wrapping paper I'd torn through, I whined a little inside my head. I wanted my mommy and my stocking full of reasons to visit the dentist. Instead I buried my nose in the aroma of my coffee reminding myself to be grateful for all of the simple pleasures of life, including the flurry of holiday text message greetings that bombarded my razor from 9 a.m. on. I waited to hear from the Nurse, as we had planned to spend Christmas Day together regardless of no longer existing as a couple. I was excited for him to see my pathetic but adorable little tree and how clean the apartment was. I also had more things on the wall since last he dropped by. Overall, I felt that my apartment was a cozy place to begin Christmas, even if you were alone.

I pieced together a festive ensemble for the day's travels. The Nurse and I were going to spend some time together at my place first then we would join The Bears for a holiday/birthday dinner. Blake was born on Christmas. I checked movie times for Dreamgirls, hoping to find a time to include that in my Christmas plans. I put the finishing touches on Blake and Joe's Christmas package and waited.

I returned dozens of messages. I swept up any stray pine needles. I poured myself another cup of coffee, then another, then another.

Needless to say, things don't always work out the way you plan. But, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and made the most of what was left of my day. I had honey baked ham and cheddar mashed potatoes. The Bears bought me a Kelly Clarkson concert T that fits perfectly. We watched clips from old musicals and past Tony Awards telecasts. I even took one cough induced hit from the peace pipe that was passed around.

I raced downtown to try and catch a showing of Dreamgirls, but it was sold out. So, instead I saw some movie about the year 2027 and how women by then will have been infertile for 18 years. It didn't matter what movie I sat through. The popcorn and the soda are enough to keep me happy for two or so hours. I mean it too. You should see the way I shift in my seat and make myself comfortable with a giddy and hungry smile stretched across my face during the previews.

I finished the night by curling up with Harry Potter book 3 and my down comforter. My Christmas mix began it's shuffle. Joni Mitchell hummed softly in the background. I have been growing up for years. But, this year was a big reality check. Christmas wasn't ever going to be what it was when I was 10. It didn't hurt-this realization. It made me yearn for something I couldn't put into words. I was melancholy. I may have been a little lonely too. But, I wasn't sad. After all, it was Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year.



Joni sings..."Oh I wished I had a river I could skate away on...."

A song

The thrill of standing in a pool of warm light and the power of a hushed crowd can overwhelm a performer. But, it was exactly those ingredients that made for an amazing flourish of adrenaline that fed my performance last night.

The song was called "Just Like Magic."

It couldn't have been more appropriate.

Last night was like magic. There was magic everywhere. Magical performances. Magical meetings. Magical laughter, applause, screaming and hollering.

I live in a city that is so full of life and character. I work in a bar with so much talent and creativity. I am a part of a community, at a workplace, in a city that makes me proud and happy.

I am so glad I made it out of my small town life, but more importantly my small town mentality. I could stand on that stage last night and be embraced by my audience, my peers, my friends.

It was not always like this.

"I will not take these things for granted."