The One at the Library.

Ever since I was little-bitty, I have been full of emotions. For a long time, the only emotion that really reared its head was tearful or sad. I think I remember sharing once that I cried everyday of my life until I was fourteen years old. I remember very clearly the day that I didn't cry for the first time, and I remember almost crying because I was so happy that I didn't cry that day but then I didn't cry because I wanted it to be the first day that I didn't. (Didja get all that?) I gave my parents a hard time from day one.

Over the years, my emotions have remained strong, but they have taken on many forms, more than just tearful or sad: cheerful, overjoyed, excited, giddy, anxious, nervous, angry, frustrated, glee.

I remember having a conversation back when I was 17 years old with my then boyfriend: "Why do you do this to yourself? You make your life harder because you put your heart out there for anyone to mess with." That comment led to an argument, of course, which led to me crying about it. Maybe he's right, I thought.

I've gotten a million times better over the years with the crying, fortunately, and now I look at my emotional capabilities as a blessing. I will not apologize for feeling things as deeply as I do. It allows me to fully experience things as a completely invested human being. I'm not just talking about crying, you must understand. I'm talking about watching a movie or show or reading a book and feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my chest because I can't wait to see or read or hear what happens next. I'm talking about getting cast in a show in a dream role and feeling like I could take on the world. I'm talking about hearing from or seeing my friends or family and wanting to squeal with glee because I love them so much. I'm talking about those types of things. And I don't think I'm alone in this... right?

Now, I suppose there are some people that are the opposite and who look at their lack of emotionality as a blessing, and that's fine. And occasionally, I wish I weren't as invested as I tend to be. Sometimes, it might be easier or less tiring to just not have to worry about feeling so strongly.

At the beginning of this week, I ventured to this beautiful place.

Yes, this picture is from my iPhone, and YES, it really is that beautiful.

You may have seen this facility - whether it be this room or the building's exterior - featured in such films as The Wiz, Ghostbusters, Sex in the City or The Day After Tomorrow. I have been meaning to head this way for some time now just to see the place and finally did. I've also been meaning to apply for a library card (since I have a NY address), so I did that, too. As the receptionist handed the card to me, she said with a smile, "As a New York resident, your library card is good for three years. Enjoy."

Three years. Holy crap.

Then it dawned on me: it's been over three months that I have lived here. I've said it before and I'll say it again: THAT'S IT?!

I have gone to 21 auditions, whether I've been seen or not. I have moved into my first place, moved out of it, and moved into my new place. I have walked hundreds of miles, I'm sure. I have performed at a bar twice. I have worked and worked. I have played. I have explored. I have eaten. I have worked out. I have sweat bullets. I have trudged through the rain. I have gotten sunburned. I have gained far too much leg-muscle. I have had far too much pizza. I have spotted celebrities. I have gone on dates. I have gone on adventures. I have seen so many shows and concerts. I have started building my website. I have pulled videos for my demo reel. I have made friends. I have climbed thousands of steps. I have ridden hundreds of trains. I have had picnics. I have gone to parties. I have karaoke-d the night away. I have spent a week with my best friend.  I have watched sunrises over Manhattan. I have watched the sun set. I have played games. I have had heart-to-hearts. I have missed my Utah friends more than I ever imagined. I have missed my family more. I have been a tour guide. I have pretended to know my way around. I have I have laughed so hard I could cry. I have gotten phone calls informing me that my apartment building caught on fire. I have lived through my apartment catching on fire. I have been misquoted, misunderstood, misjudged. I have cooked. I have cleaned. I have slapped a pigeon. I have learned that cereal can be a food group. I've memorized subway routes and bus schedules. I have watched movies, independently and with friends. I have been followed home, once by an evangelist and once by a creeper. I have explored rooftops. I have watched puppet shows in Central Park. I have stopped to pet hundreds of dogs. I have bawled my eyes out. I have gotten so mad I can't see straight. I have felt lonely. I have felt fulfilled. I have been overwhelmed. I have had the highest highs and the lowest lows in just three months.

You get the point, I'm guessing.

It never seemed like time passed so slowly when I was living anywhere else. It seemed like it just flew by so quickly.

And I think I know why. It's the emotional investment. I realized this as I was walking to the library earlier this week. I am LIVING life fully every single day. This place won't let you do otherwise. To walk across the street can be an adventure, let alone ride a train crosstown. Living life fully can mean a lot of things, I'm learning. It's not just about walking outside and breathing in the cool air and just living optimistically with a big ol' smile plastered on your face. No, it's about just experiencing each day and each second as it is meant to be felt, and that can mean whatever it means to you. Sometimes things can really suck. I mean, that's a fact. But you're going to feel what you feel. And as a friend said to me the other day, "Don't feel bad for being sad. Feel it, nurture yourself, learn something from it, and then when you're ready, be happy."

Did you know that, at an individual-occupant-per-home percentage of 50.6 (with more than three-quarters of that fifty-percent being under the age of 65), Manhattan is the capital of people living alone?

I'd also like to add that it might be the capital of people living lonely. We pass new people on the streets daily and make no connection with them. Customer service is practically non-existent. Cordiality between two people is even hard to come by.

Before I moved here, I didn't understand the lyrics in the age-old song, "New York, New York," sung by Frank Sinatra: "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. It's up to you." But I get it now. I absolutely 100% get it. The loneliness.

I'm not an unsociable person, but I'm not exactly a social butterfly, either. I'm a people-watcher over a talker. I enjoy listening to people rather than talking, but I very much enjoy the company of a good group of people. And I suppose I've made some nice friends here.

But, again, I don't have my closest friends here or my sweet family. I have me. And that's pretty much it. This place is a very "me" place, a very selfish city. I moved here for me, to further my career, so that I could pursue performing. I just never expected the loneliness to be this strong. I find myself living for moments with friends that live here that I knew before I got here. I think the best way that I can explain it is this: I love to just be able to be Angela without having to explain who Angela is. While I do know that I can and am allowed to be myself around people I meet, I just don't like feeling like I have to explain my quirks, weirdness, personality traits, et cetera and so on and so forth and yadda yadda.

So yes, here's the truth: I'm lonely.

Lonely in this mecca of 8.245 million people, and I am feeling it fully. It is making me more grateful to have the friends and family I do, I will say that much, even if they are far away. It's hard to imagine that when my library card expires in three years, I will have a circle of loved ones here that might be just as strong as those far away. Part of it is about finding the balance of being myself and somehow putting myself out there at the same time. It's about allowing myself to make the friends instead of just dwelling on missing the ones that are far from me. It's about, again and again, patience.

Everything about this place is about patience: patience to audition, patience to walk behind tourists in Times Square on the way to work, patience to let friendships grow the way that they are meant to grow and not push them along or aside, even when the patience is running low.

Lonely or not, I still know that I am in the right place. It's a terrible, wonderful city, this New York, and I really don't think I'd have it any other way.