"What Are You Proud Of?"

"What Are You Proud Of?"
It was a very good question she posed.

"What are you proud of?"

I glanced around the warmly-lit table, littered with appetizer plates and cocktail napkins, earnestly seeking the eyes of my friends as they processed this question for themselves. These women. Each one present at this table, each one here to celebrate the wonderful year we had. A post-Christmas, post-New Years get together, a celebration of all kinds of sorts. These dear old friends whom I trusted and loved and yet, I didn't know their answer to this question. Which means they probably didn't know mine.

What am I proud of. What am I proud of?

"Babies aside, of course," she qualified.

Well, of course. We all had given birth to our first babies within the past 18 months, so that trump card had to be set aside. Which, in all ways, made the question even more challenging. And surprisingly intimate. Having a baby is such an obvious answer to this question, which meant I would have to dig a little deeper to pinpoint exactly what else I am proud of. What made me proud over the course of the past year? What did I accomplish? What did I surprise myself by doing? Other than birthing a human?

Suddenly my answer was very very clear. As I began speaking, my body was pulsed with a kind of euphoria that comes from an incredible sense of clarity. It's what we external processors experience when we realize we are finally coming to terms with something as we discuss it. And I want to share this bit of revelation with you today, because my "ah-ha!" is not an obvious one. It's not a duh, I-won-the-Nobel, nailed it!- kind of answer.

I am proud because about 18 months ago, I moved to New York City and attempted my life-long dream of becoming an actress. And I am proud because I kind of fell flat on my face in doing so.

This might seem like the wrong approach. Like, hello Kristen, did you hear the question correctly? But this is precisely why I am proud of what I did. I set my sights on something incredibly scary. And you know what? A lot of things that I was scared of, well, they came true. But I'm here. I lived through it. I didn't crumble.

I want you to imagine the biggest dream in your heart, ever. The thing you're scared to think, let alone actually voice to anyone. The thing that you're so embarrassed that you would ever even dare to dream. The thing that makes you sweat and tremble. That thing, for me, has always been acting. It might always be acting. It's been a life-long hobby, the earliest desire I can remember, a kind of dream vocation, and last year, it was my number one priority. Until I saw this strip turn pink. Suddenly my life just changed. It was no longer my own. But that's another story. Not the story I'm here to tell you today.

But when I moved to New York (three months prior to the whole strip-changing-pink-thing), I did so without any real connections in the business. I decided to dig my heels into the swirling world of auditioning for television and commercial roles in hopes of landing some awesome gig and then, you know, figured I'd be hitting the Oscars parties later in the year. Just kidding (I mean, only a little.) But I was committed to this dream. I built myself a business plan. Fresh head shots, brand new website, new reel, new business cards, the works. And I put myself out there in a big way. I auditioned for an artist development program (and got it!), landed two agents and a talent manager, and auditioned for all kinds of roles that made me uncomfortable and challenged and sweaty. So sweaty. I carried deodorant and applied it in the elevators on my way up to each audition room. I got lost on the subway, attempting to find my way to different studios around town. Clutching my headshot and resume, and later, pregnancy books and healthy snacks (to keep me busy in the waiting rooms), I did some strange auditions. Once I was asked to portray complete "frailty" and vulnerability by using only my facial features. "No words?" I asked, trembling and clenching the script close to my heart. The script they had given me, the one I had memorized. "Forget the words," the director answered. "Feel the moment. Use your expression." Ummmmm k. Then they ran the camera for 5 minutes of silence. That was awkward. Needless to say, I was pretty frail and vulnerable when I left that audition. And no, I did not get the part.

In fact, that brings me to what I wanted to share with you next. I didn't get the part. I didn't get hardly any parts. I was in New York for just shy of a year, and I don't really have any substantial *wins* to my acting resume from that experience. I just auditioned a lot. I auditioned several times each week. I took a ton of classes, usually along with 2-3 seminars per week. I had private coaching sessions. I met with agents and casting directors and other actors. I made actor friends. I made a fool of myself so often. Each time I stepped out my apartment door, I took a deep breath and knew that I was walking into the unknown. Knew that I could get asked all kinds of strange questions in the audition room. Knew that I had to prepare for literally anything. "Get down on the floor and bark like a dog", could be the direction once I got in that audition room, and I had to prepare myself for that. I pushed all kinds of personal limits and challenged myself every day. I was really, truly, squeamishly uncomfortable for the good part of a year.

And I have very little to show for it. At least on paper.

And you know what? I feel really, really proud of this. I do! I am proud of being a risk taker and going for my dream. So often, people only share their harrowing stories once they accomplish their big dream. I'm here today to tell you that you don't just have to be proud of yourself once a big, monumental, Frodo-esque journey is behind you. I am proud of myself for the strange, semi-awkward, mid-journey swagger of which I am currently toeing the line.

I am a work in progress.

I am not finished becoming me.

I am not finished taking risks.

I didn't become a famous, accomplished actress last year. I did everything in my power, everything I knew to do, even after I became pregnant, and you know what? My dream did not come true. It just didn't. But that's not the end of my dream or the end of my story. I didn't shrivel up and just die.

Instead of the year being all about me and my dreams, it became all about this crazy wonderful unexpected little person named Everett. So even though I invested all this time and energy into my own self, it became entirely about someone else. Him. I became his mom. That was an enormous surprise to me. And you know what's funny? Becoming a mom, well, that's someone else's big dream. And somewhere out there, someone who always dreamed of becoming a mom is probably having the big break of their lives in Hollywood because they just nailed an audition for a killer part. That. Is life. *Cue this Alanis Morissette jam*

Do I question the timing of everything? Sure, who wouldn't. But I want to encourage you, especially if you're mulling over the dreams in your own heart, the personal risks that you have taken, and the supposed "failures" that you've had. If you feel like you fit into one of those categories, I congratulate you. You are awesome for taking a risk and for enduring all the voices who said you couldn't/shouldn't do it. Because that incredible risk you took, well, did it kill you? If you're still breathing while you read this, it didn't. Which means your likely to take another risk in your long, delicately lovely life. And for those of you who are pre-risk? You are toying around with the idea of doing something "insane" to go after your dream? I encourage you to do it. There might be all kinds of "failure" at the end of the rainbow. There might really be. Or there might be an entirely new opportunity that ironically appears like a diamond in the rough. You might realize your dream has morphed. You might realize the dream isn't really the dream. You might realize you embody the person you've always wanted to be, and the dream was just a driver to get you to that personal place of bliss and success.

Welcome to the club. This isn't the club of snazzy do-ers. This is the haven for risk-takers and situation-celebrators. The lemonade-makers, the challenge-attractors and the laugh-instead-of-cry-at-my-circumstance-ers. I am proud of you, and I am proud of me.

Everett Takes Manhattan.

Everett Takes Manhattan.
There it is. My tiny, bubble window frames that triumphant, iconic skyline. It never fails to give me a thrill in my gut, a rush to the head. This vast metropolis is comprised of anonymous multitudes who dream to be known, discovered and found. So much hope and promise pulsing through the subways, rising up the dizzying elevators, and reaching higher than Freedom Tower. I've admired this place from afar, lived in it up close, and today, for the first time in quite a while, am just a visitor. This time, though, everything is different. My arms are carrying the 15 most important pounds of my life and he has no idea what he is in for.

He stares up at me, almost reading my anticipation, feeling the sense of the plane landing. Can he tell what I'm thinking yet? I have no idea if a 3, almost 4-month old can intuit that profoundly. But if any of them could, it would be him. Ha. Thought every parent ever.

I brought my baby to Manhattan. And here is how it went.

We Came.
Last week we took our first family trip to New York City. I'll admit it. My excitement and anxiety for this trip were equally yoked in the days leading up to our departure. I mean, take a baby on a plane? With recirculated air? During FLU SEASON?! Ew. Ah. Oh.

We Conquered. (Not Without Casualties.)
I'll just go ahead and get to the punchline: the trip was sublime. My child did as well as a spirited 4-month-old can. Was he a perfect traveler? Oh no. HE'S A BABY. There were two screaming restaurant incidents that I'd like to pretend never happened. But for the most part, he behaved wonderfully and went with the flow so, so well. It was almost odd, because, as I've shared before, he's not the lowest-maintenance baby. But his plane rides were so good, they were almost uneventful. And our time navigating the city together was actually super sweet and special. It was a delight sharing it with him, watching his eyes widen in awe at the enormity and grandeur and shimmer and grit.

// The foliage was perfect. Gosh I love New York. //

// Top Left: Everett putting on his fight face as we trolled the town, Top Right: Family Selfie waiting while waiting for the elevator, Bottom Left: Us with the iconic Love statue (right next to our hotel!), Bottom Right: Post-screaming lunch with the baby, where an Uber cab ride and a trendy coffee comforted my soul. //

// Central Park was as perfect as I remember //

// I got free balloons! It was really fun to walk around with... until it wasn't anymore. I might have tied them off somewhere in the city... //

// His puffer coat was like a magical cloak of sleeping properties. He yelled every time I put it on him... and then he did that ^. //

// Narnia. //

// Breastfeeding in the park (lets normalize it, people), some cute guy snapping photos, and me with my Everett bus loaded down with practically everything we own. //

How We Played.
What did we do while we were there? Mostly, we just enjoyed the park and visited some dear friends. Ate some rad sandwiches from the deli around the corner (several times :)) Took Everett to FAO Schwartz to pick out a Christmas toy (we ended up with a book.) Had some random girls give us balloons while we meandered through the park (I know - what??) Had a few too many treats from Magnolia Bakery (thanks, Jess!) Did a bit of Christmas shopping on 5th Ave., although this time I found myself wandering through the baby sections and chatting it up with the other moms in the store. It was kind of a surreal weird moment (like, am I old enough to even have a baby??) Watched the Veterans Day parade. Drank coffee and dreamed of what it would have been like if we were still living in our little 1-bedroom on the Upper West Side. As much as I love this crazy mess of a town, I am so glad we aren't living there now.

Sound too harsh? I'll give you an example. Each time I came back to the hotel after spending a few hours outside, I had to wipe a layer of grime off of Everett's face. He literally had a gritty pacifier mark from just, I don't know, the outside air? It grossed me out. When I walked with him in the stroller, I desperately wanted to shield him from the everything-ness of walking down 6th Avenue, where our hotel was located. Just so many people shoving by, jaywalking, cursing, smoking, yelling, cabs honking, exhaust fumes and wayward bikers every which way. It was just a lot. A whole lot. Everett took it in stride, but he definitely had his moments where he was DONE.

Moments That Surprised Me.
I definitely found myself holding my breath as we rode in elevators, anticipating him screaming in an airless, lightless space, squished awkwardly between strangers, but that moment never came. He was calm. I kept him out a little bit late one evening to meet my friend Deb for dinner, and he let her hold him for a loooooong time, so happy and content. I mean, it was like 9pm! And he was just chilling, completely content to be surrounded by the ardent aroma of pasta and pizza. That's my little Italian. And walking around the park with him was honestly dreamy. The leaves were raining down on us with every cool shimmy of the breeze, and in one bend of the path there was a saxophonist crooning, "Autumn Leaves", while we were surrounded by the mesmerizing autumn leaves, and ... well, it was truly a moment I will never forget. Like one of those moments that isn't significant for any obvious reason, but stands out so strongly, you almost lose your breath when you remember it. It was just a tiny slice of our time, merely a fraction of the day's experiences, but I will never forget that bend in the path, with that jazz saxophone, and looking down at Everett's eyes, knowing he was taking it all in.

We stayed in Midtown, which was perhaps a nutty choice (since its the busiest area of town), but I'm grateful that we had such a central location and could go back to the hotel throughout the day when we needed a break. My child, who typically doesn't nap well, took two two-hour naps each day - that's how stimulated he was! (Unfortunately, he was just preparing to turn the tables on me, since we have been sleep challenged ever since we returned home from our trip. No one told me that coming home from a trip is actually the hardest part of traveling!)

Thankfully, we had a lot of friends who came to the hotel to see us - thank you all so much for making those visits so easy! It was so much fun sharing him with all the wonderful souls who were so invested in him all last year, long before he was even born. These are the beautiful friends who celebrated his gender reveal, showered me and Stevie with so much love and affection, and kindly lied to me when I kept asking if I was really as gigantic as I felt. Everett was a lot more relaxed and able to interact with everyone in the hotel room than in a crowded restaurant.

Even though he was slammed with work almost the entire time, Stevie and I had bits of time to enjoy some of the New York splendor, too. We scoured the lower east corner of the park, an area we hadn't discovered much together. We ate really really excellent takeout when Everett was too fussy to go out, but even the takeout in New York is spectacular. We got to see what it feels like to be parents, traveling with a baby, which... let me tell you what, it is DIFFERENT than being all fun and fancy free on your own. Remember these times? It's safe to say those days are over. At least for a while. But it's more than okay, we are embracing this season with with big thankfulness.

// Everett and all his friends :) //

When We Were DONE.
By the last day, Everett had taken Manhattan - and decided he'd had enough. He pretty much lost his mind in a restaurant in the Flatiron area (sorry, Jenna & Tara, for all the stares for all the wrong reasons), so I was happy to take my screaming, wriggling, huffing and puffing child into a cab and call it a day. Overall, I feel proud that we managed to make our way in the city without too many meltdowns.

I'll share more details about traveling with an infant next week. So many of you shared your tips and tricks with me, many of which worked beautifully. With the holidays coming up (and Thanksgiving right around the corner!), I know tons of you will be traveling with your kiddos, and I am excited to share about what worked and what didn't.

Thank You!
Also, many thanks to all of you who offered up such helpful advice about the 4-month sleep regression/transition that we experienced coming back from this trip. We are still in the throws of it, but thankfully the waking up every hour of the night has stopped. Living on a prayer, baby. And coffee. Lots and lots of it.

11/50 NYC Adventures: Opera at the Lincoln Center

Opera at the Lincoln Center.
Have you ever seen the movie Moonstruck? It’s this fantastic little film centering around an Italian family in Brooklyn, starring Cher (yes, CHER) and Nicolas Cage. Way back in the day. It’s this hilarious, overly-dramatic story and just happens to be one of my family’s favorite movies. In the film, Cher gets asked to go on a special date to the Met Opera House, and she gets all done up – hair, nails, clothes, the works. And then she gets to the Opera and just cries and cries because the experience is so beautiful and meaningful to her.

That, my friends, was my grid for what the Met Opera would be like. So when Stevie and I were offered FREE tickets from our sweet friend Ina, there wasn’t even a question about whether or not we would go. Yes, yes! A thousand times yes! So off we went. We went to the Opera!

// Lincoln Center Fountain //

// Walking to The Lincoln Center. Check out my epic photobomber. //

// Just warming up my chords. In case, ya know, they need some back up. //

// Inside The Met //

// Our view from the top. //

// That famous gold-leaf ceiling. //

The Show.
This particular opera was Arabella, and it was entirely in German. Now listen, I’m going to be honest with you. I can be honest with you, right? No judgment here? I was really excited to go to the Opera. I was really excited outside, taking all sorts of fanciful pictures by the fountain. I was really excited when we were ushered to our fabulous seats and got to stare up at the epic gold-leaf ceiling. And I was really excited when the curtain went up and the room darkened, signaling the beginning the show. However, my excitement came to a crashing HALT when the performance started. The Opera is… well, operatic. And it’s not ignorant to say that most operas consist of large women screaming singing at each other throughout the performance. Because that’s pretty much all that happened during the first act. I might have fallen asleep. By might I mean that I definitely fell asleep. For about thirty minutes. Don’t judge me. You said you wouldn’t judge me! I didn’t understand what was going on! I DON’T SPEAK GERMAN.

Let’s Get a Disclaimer Going Here.
I am almost seven months pregnant. I have to eat, drink and pee around the clock. It’s obnoxious to anyone who doesn’t love me (and still grating to those who do, lets be real.) I didn’t know that the opera would be FOUR HOURS LONG. I didn’t know that I should have packed snacks and drinks and prepared for a day-long event. I just didn’t know. So my low blood sugar and parched throat (and measly 5 hours of sleep the night before) could have had a LOT to do with my annoyance/lack of considerate understanding during the first act. However, something changed. Something wonderful happened.

When Stevie started laughing.

It may or may not have woken me up. I look over, and he’s laughing (along with members of the audience), at whatever is happening on stage. There he is, giggling knowingly, as if he’s in on some sort of cheeky joke with the cast. I hissed at him,

“How do you know to be laughing right now?! YOU DON’T SPEAK GERMAN!!”

He just smiled and pointed down, down past the row in front of us, where someone had turned on a monitor with subtitles. Subtitles! Eureka! I didn’t know we had those!

He helped me find the dark button for a secret screen right in front of my face, and suddenly things got interesting. Suddenly, there was a story to follow. Suddenly I was excited again. Thank goodness, right? Because I was starting to feel guilty. You know, for my attitude, my appalling ignorance, and my lack of enthusiasm for this incredibly exclusive privilege. And also - we had two more intermissions and two more acts to follow. It was time to get on board this train. It was time to get into the opera.

The second act had a gorrrrrrrgeous set depicting a ball in 18th-century Vienna. There was dancing and pretty costumes, too. Thankfully, Stevie ran across the street during the intermission to get me fuel. He sneaked in an iced coffee and a Starbucks protein box, and for this I will be forever thankful. He revived me. Woke me from my low blood-sugary stupor. Which completely prepped us for the third act, which showcased a little bit of scandal thrown in for good measure. Wild stuff. We were pretty shocked by the story’s turn of events. And the voices, well, they remained operatic. But they were incredible. So strong, so incredibly disciplined and trained. These people are renowned, some of the world’s greatest voices in their craft. How can someone sing full-out for 4 hours straight? It’s honestly athletic what those people can do.

// This guy. He deserves an A+ in husbandry. And also... here he is reflecting on what we just saw. BAHAHA. //

All in All?
I think the opera is a distinctive kind of experience. I don’t think you can expect to naturally love it the first time. It an acquired taste, like when you first drink coffee or try snails or something. It’s just not an automatic LOVE. Which I hate to admit, because I fancy myself a theater person, so I thought this kind of performance would be right up my ally. But I don’t think we (we, being the broader American people) should be too hard on ourselves. It’s not totally our fault that there is practically zero exposure to the opera in our education system – I mean, we are ignorant to this art form, but should we really be punished for not knowing how to appreciate it? I can’t say that I loved it. But at the end, I liked it an awful lot and I can say with complete honesty that the show was a masterpiece. The kind of masterpiece that you KNOW took a really long, tedious time to create, even though you don’t totally understand all that went into it. Like trying to understand… a really hard math problem? That’s a bad example. But that’s all I’ve got for ya.

Thankfully, my beautiful, cultured friend Ina was totally on the same page. She admitted to feeling similarly about the 1st act. Which made me feel better about my audacious and idiotic lack of initial appreciation. What can I say? We can’t all be Cher, welling up with tears at the creative masterpiece that is the opera. Some of us, well, we’ve got to feel bad for not being in on the joke. We’ve got to be shown how to use the subtitles. And we have to fumble our way through attempting to understand something loftier than ourselves. But that’s just a metaphor for life, right? Mmm see how I turned this around? Now you’re not judging me so harshly, are you?

No. I bet you’re still judging me.

Yeah, I’m gonna have to live with that.

5/50 NYC Adventures: American Museum of Natural History

American Museum of Natural History.
I understand that it's the first day of Spring today. While that's precious news to most of you, I hate to admit that its still 30 degrees where I live. I'm not exactly feeling the springtime yet. And what's a gal to do when its freezing in the city? Visit the zillions of museums! We live really close to the American Museum of Natural History on the Upper West Side in NYC, and every time we walk by, Stevie gives me the puppy eyes. He always wants to go in. Ugh, such a life-long learner.

So a few weeks back, we made a day-date plan to visit and brush up on our, well, natural history. (Side note: Since getting pregnant, I have really been digging the "day dates", AKA, the "I'm too tired by 6pm to even think about going out for an entire evening" date. It's been a really fun alternative to those wonderful days of yore, when we used to get dress up and go out for a cocktail and dinner. Sigh.) But back to the dinosaurs - Okay, I have to admit: It was kind of cool. There are FOSSILS. Of serious dinosaurs. I don't know about you, but I just never think about dinosaurs. Like, I haven't even considered their existence since I heard about them in elementary school. But dinosaurs! They used to roam this Earth! And man, were they BIG. It's actually pretty fascinating. I sound like a big dork right now, so just let me show you:

// Baby got back. //

// Doesn't it hurt just to look at it? //

// That turtle is as big as a VW Beetle //

// I can't even. //

// Why the surprise? Um, they found two cow-sized remains inside the stomach of this dino when they dug it up. COW SIZED. //

// Kind of glad these don't roam anymore. Just sayin'. I'm about to have a kid, you know? //

// JAWS. JAAAAWWWWWSSS. //

// He's cute isn't he. His hair fluffs. //

// It's funny to me that this is a decor trend right now. IT'S AN ANIMAL HEAD. //

// Raar. //

// Stuffed critters. //

Death and All It's Friends.
Huge, right?? And to be honest, the museum itself is pretty impressive. It's beautiful and old and everything you would think about a New York-ish museum. We toured through the gorgeous Akeley Hall of African Animals that inspired Night at the Museum (and for you Friends buffs, also where Ross and Rachel first... well, you know.) and marveled at the impressively real-life looking stuffed animals. No, I don't mean like the fluffy ones you take to bed, I mean like taxidermy. Like Norman Bates.

Exhibits of Nausea.
The other element of the museum that could have been really cool (but maybe not the best choice for 1st trimester pregnant ladies) is the Heilbrunn Cosmic Pathway. This swirling path centers around the Hayden Sphere, taking us on a 13-billion-year historical journey through space, big-bang style. Yeah, it was a little yawny, I'll admit, but not nearly as nauseating at getting to the Hayden Planetarium. Stevie REAAAALLLY wanted to see the 3D Exhibition Dark Universe, which turned out to be a movie that you watch by looking directly up. Like, crane your neck and watch the ceiling for 30 minutes. Tickets to see the film cost $25 a piece, but we thought it would be a really amazing/educational/life-changing experience (oh, stupid advertising). Unfortunately, Dark Universe did not live up to the hype. Cuz it made me want to die. The interactive film moves you through the Milky Way like you're on a ride at Universal. Ugh I get dizzy just writing about it... I had to close my eyes to keep from tossing my cookies. And then, with my eyes happily closed, I couldn't help but drift... off to sleep. Oops. Probably the biggest waste of money we've spent since coming to New York. (Ha, did you believe that?! Everything here is overpriced.) But seriously, that one was a big bummer. And obviously, my opinion is completely skewed because I was still in my 1st tri when we visited. It could have been a better experience, perhaps... if you're into space stuff? I realized that I'm not. And Stevie? Now he wants to travel so space more than EVER. So maybe the Dark Universe charms worked on him.

Ladies in the Snow

Ladies Weekend.
You can't deny the power of a girls weekend. It's the circled dates on the calendar that you look forward to for months. It's the light at the end of a frazzled holiday season. It's the relief, due in part to that glass of wine, but mostly due to just having those heartfelt girls near to you. You can see the warmth in their eyes, hear the music in their laughter, feel their sweet empathy and let go of all worries. You don't have to talk about work. Who wants to talk about that? You can just laugh. Let loose. Be free. For those 48 hours, it's all about fun... probably with a few tears thrown in there for good measure. I mean, we are women, right??

I had some of my best girl friends in town this past weekend, and... well, they just wowed my socks off. Mostly with their wit. But also with their humility, perspective, grace and vulnerability. These girls. They are the lifeline, the lively, the lifers. Isn't it wonderful to know who will be by your side forever? These treasured women flew in from all corners of the earth - Mobile, Al., West Palm, Fl. and NICARAGUA - all to stay in my tiny abode here in New York. What blessed souls. I'm sure they returned home with a new-found appreciation for space. Though I already miss them, I am most thankful for our times together. It's the best Christmas gift. I hope everyone has friends like these.

We traipsed all over this town, even in the midst of the heavy snow that fell upon us all day on Saturday. Hence the wet socks and the necessary trip into Urban Outfitters to buy more.

All photos are taken by these sweet ladies: Natalie at Fresh Life Findings, Alex at The Wonder List and Erica at This Side Photo.

// Washington Square Park //

// It was Santacon in West Village // The big tree in Midtown //

// Central Park //

// Cafe Lalo (remember this from You Got Mail?) //

// Cafe Lalo treats //

// Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree (really tricky to capture) // Radio City Music Hall //

// Fig & Olive, Meatpacking //

// Greenwich Village //

// On the stoop of Kathleen Kelly's apartment (We might have a slight You Got Mail obsession, yes.) //

// Art on my windowsill. //

These girls just made this cold weather a little bit sunnier. I hope you're having a wonderful week, counting down to Christmas!