Thursday, December 22, 2011



perching on the edge of a chair/a life

swallow, hummingbird, dove, wren

light hollow bones
  quick intake of breath
   fluttering heart
    anxious limbs

flitting room to room, branch to branch
a quick hug, don't press too hard

A puff of air
  quicksilver tears
    a nest of down--precarious sleep

soaring, diving, spinning, falling
(yearning, wishing, needing, wanting)

tiny gray bird
  always in flight

Sunday, December 11, 2011


I hit the wall today. When I woke up I realized that I was done before the day had started. I wasn't sick, there was nothing wrong, I was just completely done. This has happened before of course. I run myself ragged as a source of pride. I NEVER give in. I feel it, and then go for a 5 mile run followed by a dance class. Today, I gave in. It was a new experience to just be with the exhaustion, the overwhelm and the fatigue of the season. At 12:30 pm, I was still in my pjs, had made a pot of soup for the week, superficially cleaned the house (which is tiny) and had surfed the internet. As the day progressed, I added in a novel and an episode of "Revenge." That is it. I did have several commitments today: parties, theater conferences, people to see. As the day passed, and I realized that even opening the front door was going to be too much, I systematically texted my apologies. Now, what was unique in this slamming up against the wall was my calm acceptance of it. I didn't have a panic attack because of the quiet. I didn't berate myself for the bowl of soup that I ate without a workout to balance it out. I simply let myself feel the exhaustion. It was justified: I taught 30 classes this week, had the most important (and most successful) audition of my life, dealt with numerous student melt downs, bureaucratic shenanigans, and the daily stress of traffic in Los Angeles. That is a lot of energy to put out and, for maybe the first time ever, I allowed the fact that I had put out much more than I had taken in be ok and gave myself a day to recharge. It feels a little like a miracle.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

When things start to change.....it's blustery and uncomfortable and amazing and terrifying and exciting and impossible to hold onto. When something amazing happens, I want to grasp that moment, the very moment when it's perfect, but I can't. Moments are just that, fleeting. So I'm learning to take a deep breath and move into the next. I'm in a place of movement and growth and expansion. Expansion is a HARD word for an anorexic girl to embrace. I have spent years and years with these two competing intentions: Please see me. Please don't look--I am invisible. No more. I want to be seen now. I want, more than anything, to be solid and present and real in this world now. I'm shifting each and every day and it's scary and uncomfortable and I keep hitting walls, but I am changing and allowing myself to say all of those verboten phrases: I want. See me. I am here. I am hungry -- for life, for love, for success, and even, every so often, for the simple pleasure of food. And I'm reaching for the stars.

photo by Weiferd Watts