The One about My New York Trips.

Before I go into the ramblings of my latest thoughts, I thought I'd share what happened this weekend:

PUPPIES!

Mary Jane had NINE puppies on Saturday night - all healthy, and ALL adorable.

See?!

Now...

In lieu of a recent status update I posted on Facebook, the change in my blog layout (didja' notice?!), my first search (online) for an apartment, and with graduation approaching in a little over a month, I think the subject of this post is more than appropriate for today. The first time I went to New York was in July of 2004. It was in between my junior and senior years of high school, and I went with a small group of friends in the theatre department. We stayed in a hotel in Newark and took the tour bus to the city each of the four days we were there. We saw a few shows and visited museums, shops, and restaurants. The trip was planned for me, and 95% of the time was spent in our group. It was a lot of fun, but it was sort of a whirlwind of packing so many activities into so few days. It was all so fast, but really the perfect way to spend my first time there.

The next time I went was in October of 2005. I lucked out with the chance to go with my mom on a "business trip" to New York for a five-day stay. This time, we were picked up at the airport by a chauffeur (who held a sign with our name on it... like in the movies...) and dropped off at The Benjamin Hotel, just seven blocks from Times Square. With this arrangement of my mom having to work while we were there, I understood that I would be spending the time during the day by myself. For whatever reason, this didn't scare me one bit. Instead, it excited me.

The nights were absolutely reserved for the adventures my mom and I would have (like when she showed up with sixth row tickets for opening preview night of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Woman In White or when we ran into Aaron Lazar on the subway immediately after seeing him in The Light In the Piazza and gabbed with him for a half an hour). That still left so much time for me to explore the city on my own. I was 18 at the time and, even then, I knew that New York was where I wanted to be when I finished my college degree.

I don't think I've ever made myself more aware of my surroundings than I did as I roamed the city during those few days - I took in the smell of the city and the taste of the air and I watched how different people acted around me - tourists and residents. It wasn't hard to distinguish the two, of course. As I walked the streets on that first day, I studied the residents and paid close attention to how they carried themselves. They seemed busy and bored, in a hurry and frustrated. Quite frankly, I became a bit disheartened. Stone-faced robots walked the streets of the city that I was dying to be a part of.

On the second day, I went out and about with that little heartbreak still tugging at me. I didn't want this excitement I felt being there to be simply because I was a tourist. I wanted it to be a part of me always.

Then, perhaps, a tiny (even silly) unspoken prayer was answered. It was a Wednesday morning, and I was just trying to decide what show to see for the matinee a few hours later. Somewhere along the way, I got a bit lost. My getting lost led me to Carnegie Hall and eventually to the Lincoln Center. My feet were a bit tired by this point, so I got a muffin and sat down on the ledge of the fountain. When I sat down, I noticed two people sitting just a few feet away - a boy and a girl - talking about "only 16 bars." Of course this piqued my curiosity as this is common audition lingo, so I listened more closely.

As I said before, the difference between the residents and the tourists was clear... but this was different. They had a business about them, yes, but the excitement they had as they discussed a recent audition came as a surprise. Their knowledge of where things were in the city and of future arrangements was impressive, so I came to the conclusion that they had to be residents. Their eyes were bright and they were completely personable, I could tell, even though I had no interaction with them. I only heard about five minutes of their conversation before they left the fountain, but during the time they were there, I wanted to go sit right down next to them and let them tell me everything they knew. Every secret. Every story. Every reason why they were still so optimistic.

Needless to say, when they left, the heartbreak I felt for the residents of the city was healed in a sense. I don't know the story of those people. They could have only been living there for a very short time. They could have only been extremely experienced tourists. They could have been students. I really have no idea.

And truthfully, I don't need to know. What I saw in those few short minutes was business and pleasure. Mixed together. Just like I hoped my career would be, just like it should be.

If things go as hoped for, in a year and a half or so, New York will be my home. With graduation approaching in December, the heavy preparation for this move has begun. I have to figure things out financially, emotionally, and logistically.
I know I talk about it a lot. I know there are people who will roll their eyes at the cliché. I know it seems a bit far-fetched and dreamy to some. I know that so many people go there with the same aspirations as my own. I know that it won't be easy. I know that it's going to take serious discipline, time, dedication.

"New York remains what it has always been: a city of ebb and flow, a city of constant shifts of population and economics, a city of virtually no rest. It is harsh, dirty, and dangerous. It is whimsical and fanciful; it is beautiful and soaring - it is not one or another of these things but all of them, all at once..." - Paul Goldberger

I know that it could, at times, lead to some heartache. I know I have to take some bad with the good, the business with the pleasure.

I know that if I don't at least try, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

But most of all, I know that I have never wanted for something so much in my life or worked so hard. And that's bound to get me somewhere.

Oh, and of course I can't forget...