Number 12: Write your acceptance speech for your "Woman of the Year" award

Fall is my favorite time of year. The leaves change and fill the sky with warm colors to counteract the sudden chill in the air. Fall means the start of a new school year, apple picking, Halloween, my parents' anniversary, sweatshirts and scarves and tights. It means shopping for that new pair of boots and pumpkin flavored everything.

The the last two weeks of September leading into the first two weeks of October is my favorite time to be in Berkshire County, Massachusetts. I love taking a drive along Route 7, seeing the colors from up high as I travel North, or winding through the oversized homes surrounded by the lush foliage in South County. But somewhere in the middle, lies Pittsfield. My home town. And there, amidst the memories of pillaging the leaf piles in my front yard, lies some beautiful memories of two beautiful women.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Jewish calendar, the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, occurs in the fall. It is a time to celebrate the sweet things in life, like family. As I suddenly find myself farther from home than ever before (minus my brief stint in England), I've thought of two women that couldn't deserve a Woman of the Year Award more than my two grandmothers. We have many traditions in my family, but no tradition is as great as that of love and acceptance. When my parents were married in October 1983, it would have been easy for Sylvia Geller and Cecelia Rainka to become family in title only. Their children came from two long standing sets of traditions -- my father from a faithful Jewish family and my mother from a devoted line of Polish Catholics. I can't imagine how scary it must have been for them to compromise some of their traditions so that their children could wed. From what I know, the two families didn't immediately run to each other with open arms. But it took some extreme bravery and a whole lot of love to put aside their basic differences and discover that when it came down to it their traditions were not all that different -- they both loved their families more than anything, and that made all of the difference. Despite what prejudices they might have had 29 years ago, as a child, I never knew that my grandmothers were not always friends.

With my paternal grandparents in Florida, Winter 1988(?)

Holidays in my house are a well-rounded family affair. My maternal grandmother sends out cards for Rosh Hashanah and attended our Passover seders and my paternal grandmother never missed a Christmas Eve dinner. And without knowing it, I learned things from them both. From Sylvia, my dad's mother, my "Grandma," I learned the importance of picking up the newspaper in the morning. That staying informed about the world will always serve you well, whether it is in passing conversation or making an important life decision. She taught me that you are never too old to make new friends, or learn new skills. Grandma was a Netflix member long before I was, and waking up for an 8 am Friday class in college was always made a little easier when I had an early morning email waiting from her in my inbox.

With my Baba

My mother's mother, or my "Baba," was the one who cared for me before and after school as a child. She taught me how to poach an egg and darn a pair a jeans. She gave me an appreciation for how hard both my parents worked. To this day when I go home, I try to do small things around the house for my parents, whether it is loading the dishwasher or switching over a load of laundry because the words, "Your mother works hard, help her out when you can" always echo in the back of my mind. Baba also taught me that remembering the small things, even someone's name can go a long way in making someone's day. And from them both I learned the importance of independence. They were both widows for the majority of my lifetime, and I watched these two fiercely independent women host holidays, mow lawns, pay bills, and take care of their families. Sometimes when I will myself to do something brave, I think of Grandma and Baba, and I try to imagine what they would tell me to do.

My grandmothers, with my brother.

When Grandma passed away in August 2008, Baba mourned not just as an in-law but as a sister and a friend. And that's when I learned the most important lesson of all. Love. Love always comes first. No matter how different you might think you are, a sense of love and compassion for those around you, especially your family, will always carry you through. And for that, I thank you both. You both lived through so much, and I've never met two stronger or more beautiful women in my life. (Unless you count their daughters, among them my mother, who also inherited my Baba's strength and ability to love fiercely.) I miss you both in different ways every day, but I'm comforted when I can feel you next to me. Grandma, I was missing you last week so I made my first ever batch of matzo ball soup -- and it turned out okay! Baba, every time I give a stranger a smile and they smile back, I think of you, for you are the kindest woman I've ever met.

Fall reminds me of both of you in different ways, but mostly because it makes me think of home, and that makes me think of you. I'm grateful for all that you've give me over the years, but without you, I most certainly would not be where I am today, or WHO I am today. Happy New Year, Everyone. May you be surrounded by loved ones as the seasons change. And to my grandmothers, thank you. Shana Tova. Sto lat. I love you.

Matzo ball soup now, pierogies to come next!

Number 63: Walk a mile in someone else's shoes

 Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them, and you have their shoes.
-- Freida Norris

I know what it's like to be a Harvard Student.
And a teenaged heroin addict.
And an apple.

Kind of.

From an early age, I liked to play pretend. Sometimes, I miss the early ages. Believing was easier back then. But playing has always been easy for me. As a nanny, my favorite part of the day was story hour. (Well, that and Lego Zoo building time. I'm a beast at making habitats. Just ask my four year old co-architect.) Actors, if you've never tried reading aloud to a group of small children, I highly recommend it. You'll never understand the effect you're having on an audience better than when you're trying to hold the attention of a group of toddlers. There is no questioning when they're bored with your tactics -- they just get up and walk away. (And sometimes you have to chase after them through a crowded Barnes and Noble. But that's a whole other set of issues.)

I'm about to hit the four month mark in Chicago, and in two weeks, I will make my Chicago stage debut. Which makes me realize, it has been a long time since I've taken a walk in someone else's shoes. (Almost two years, really.) And I miss it. One of the best things I did since moving here is sign up for an improv class at Second City. It was terrifying at first, but the more I do it, the more fun I have, and the more I think that I'm actually kind of good at it.

Which brings me to my next order of business. In having a conversation about this crazy career path I'm walking, a good friend asked me, "Do you want to be the best?" I didn't know how to answer. And the question has been frustrating me all week. Because I don't know what that means. That's a heavy question. Everything about this business scares the shit out of me. I've gotten used to making sacrifices for it - whether it be missing events with friends, or family, or sacrificing a relationship for a rehearsal. And sometimes, that's frustrating. But when all is said and done, I've always tried to make the best decision for me at a given time. And sometimes you have to walk a mile or two before you figure out what the best decision actually is.

I know I want a happy future. I honestly don't know if I want a family, but I want the option. And I think it can be hard to have a family when you have such uncertain hours and uncertain paychecks. Do you want to be the best? I don't know what "the best" means. There's no finite barometer. Does the best mean being the highest paid actor out there? Or does it mean you're the most decorated? As an actor, you can't measure yourself by being the first to the finish line, because there is no finish line. There's just another race, and one more hurdle. In acting, there is no come from behind stroke that wins you the gold medal.

Do you want to be the best? I want to be happy. And as much as I loved my job this summer, it didn't make me happy like being on stage does. Do I want to be the best? That's not how I think about it. Because I have to do this. I want to win the part -- I always want to win the part. Does that count? I want to keep training, does that give me a few points? At 22 years old, I started my own company because no other company was letting me have the kind of fun I wanted to be having on stage. Where does that leave me?

At the end of the day, I'm not sure I care about being "the best." What I care about it, is working  hard. And showing respect for those in the theatre scene with me. And staying true to myself. In the words of Terry from Kaufman and Ferber's Stage Door, "I can't just walk up and down my room and be an actress. They have to let me." I love that quote, but that's not my mantra. The harder you work, the further you'll get. The longer you run, the stronger you'll be. Mathematically, I'll probably never win a Tony. But, that's okay. If your only goal is to win a shiny paperweight, what's the point in doing this?

Suddenly, after months of staying behind the scenes, I'm about to hit the stage again. And the audition circuit. And I'm probably going to get discouraged a few times. But it's what I came here to do. And I'm sure as hell going to do the best work I can do. I'm going to work myself as hard as I can. And I'm going to make sure I surround myself with enough people and activities that make me happy. Because at the end of the day, no matter how miles I walked in my character's shoes. I'm still Erika. And my size 6 Converse are the ones that matter.

Because I'm not a Harvard Student:

Or a teenaged heroin addict:

 

Or an apple: 

I'm just me. Any these babies have carried me several miles already. And I have a feeling, we've got a few more to go. I don't care if we're the first to cross the finish line, as long as we don't give up on the way there.

Number 59: Send a thank you letter to a mentor

There's a reason we named you Papa Bear. To be honest, I'm not even sure how that started or who started it. I picked it up from K (I've got you to thank for that too!) and it has always made sense to me. To us.

There's this thing that's always been a part of me. This ridiculous thing I'm passionate about. This thing that makes sense to me when nothing else does. This thing that motivates me. This thing I understand better than anything in the world and can't stop doing, no matter what. There was a time when I couldn't figure out how to MAKE THEATRE. (If I'm really being honest, when this story starts, I didn't even know what that meant. I just knew it was the only thing I had ever cared so much about.)

In September 2005, eighteen-year-old me went off to college thinking that everything would be easy like it was in high school. And it wasn't. I wanted so badly to be on stage my first semester, and I didn't get to. And it had me second guessing myself... until January 2006 rolled around. You did a simple thing. Something that could have turned out to be nothing.  You cast me. You said the part is yours. You are the right fit for this. You fit with us theatre folk. And that was it. Because that one little thing started a domino effect. Because this....

Turned into this:

 And SOMEHOW, two years later, THAT turned into THIS:

Although, it was chance that the first time I flew to Chicago was for your wedding... it seems oddly karmic, or at the very least, appropriate considering how things have turned out. I've been "the big sister" my whole life, and it was nice to realize that I had a big brother watching out for me. Because although you've given me some amazing advice over the years, it was often what you didn't say (I know I deserve more "I told you so's" than have been uttered), that led me in the right direction.

And so I'll say something I've said before, but I can't say enough: THANK YOU. Thanks for that one little part. Because that part introduced me to a whole new world of theatre. And in that world, I met K. And K introduced me to ML. And without those introductions, I never would have ventured out on the scariest thing I had ever attempted to do. And if The CoLab had never happened, I never would have had the courage to do the second scariest thing I've ever attempted to do, pick up and move half-way across the country. I know what you're thinking, and I promise I'm not over-embellishing. I know I'm here due to a lot of hard work, determination (sometimes to be mistaken for pigheadedness), a dash of stupidity, a little magic, and a whole host of other wonderfully supportive folks; but there was something about that first play at Brandeis that shaped me.

I've learned so much from you as a director, an actor, a theatre professional, and most importantly, as a friend. When I make my Chicago stage debut this month, I'll say it again. Because sometimes I forget how much I love what I do. And I was reminded this week of how much the theatre is not just a part of my life, but a large part of who I am as a person. So Papa Bear, thank you. For everything.

(And let's face it, after this post, there's no way any of the five of us can blame you for aiding us towards our collective future as a FAMILY of starving artists.)

Number 18: Dance On Top Of A Bar

Sometimes your wife comes to town and you just let loose. (Wait for it -- yep, you read that correctly.) Remember that post where I went and did a crazy thing like [pretend to] get engaged to my best friend? And before that I jumped out of a plane with that same friend? Well, sometimes Ms. Em Elle comes to Chicago and I do crazy things like dance on top of a bar. This post could probably also fall under the category of Number 19: Forget what your mother would think, but I'm sure I'll do something equally as ridiculous at some point in time so we'll give this the proper title it deserves.

Our evening started out the right way with classy $14 martinis at the top of the Hancock Tower. If you haven't been to the lounge there yet to check out the view, I highly recommend it. (In fact, add it to your Chicago Bucket List right now.) The view is absolutely stunning and while the drinks were pricey, it was cheaper than had we paid to enter the oberservation deck only a floor above us. Plus, my drink was yummy. So there. But, if one wants to have a fun evening and still pay rent the next month, one cannot survive on $14 martinis alone. So, we decided to walk and see where the night would take us. Being in a semi-unfamiliar area as far as the night life was concerned, our party of four decided to go into the first place that looked decent. And by decent, I mean decently cheap. A bouncer overheard our discussion and promised us free shots with our first round of drinks. Well, Dan The Bouncer, we accepted your challenge. And things could only get awesomer from here. (Or move downhill. Whichever. I choose awesomer. Barney Stinson would be proud.)

And this is how we wound up at a bar called Shenanigans. I've never been quite so confused by an establishment. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the crunch of the floor -- they keep baskets of shelled peanuts on the tables so the area around the tables looks like Fenway after the seventh inning stretch. WHY would you do that? I bet the cleaners hate you. The next thing we noticed was the terrible 90s rap playing throughout. I'm not talking about terrible-wonderful, I'm talking terrible-terrible. On a Tuesday. (Oh yeah... this was a Tuesday. #relivingcollege #didnteveractuallydrinkontuesdaysincollege #brandeisproblems.) Other features of the establishment: basketball hoops, tacky sports memorabilia, a lawn sized Jenga game (this was actually amazing), a beer pong table, bros, bros, questionably clothed ladies, MORE BROS, and the piece du resistance -- two different stages complete with stripper poles. One of which, was behind the bar.

If you'll allow me to take a detour for a moment, I had a great college experience, but it was not like college in the movies. My Brandeis experience was pretty tame. So, when encouraged (or liquid couraged), I can definitely muster up the audacity to do things at 25 that I should have done at 18. So, after partaking in free shots, peanuts, beer pong, the most kick*ss game of Jenga imaginable... Britney Spears coaxed Em Elle and I to the bar for a duet. So there you have it ladies and gents, I, Erika, danced on a bar. And we were so coordinated and artful that the clientele showered us with praise and the bartender presented us with a free bottle of their worst champagne for our efforts. We're naturals - what can I say? It was an experience. One I don't think I'll ever repeat, but an experience nonetheless.

 Now you may be saying to yourself, where is the photographic evidence of this epic event? Well, it exists. But, you never know what major office I'll run for some day, (or how many family members will read this post) so those will stay off the interwebs. So, you'll have to suck it up and enjoy the Jenga pics for now. I'm pretty sure we set a record for tallest tower - 27 stories!

I suppose there should be a moral of this story -- and if there is, it's this: I'm not a bar-top dancing gal, but if I ever apply for a job at Coyote Ugly, I'll at least be able to check the box that says I have prior experience. Shenanigans isn't on your MUST SEE list for the Chicago area, but it was worth the laughs. And the story. I declare Number 18 -- COMPLETE.

Signing off,
E

Number 26: Go Skydiving, Part 2

 Hello Faithful Readers, I apologize for the month-long hiatus of the blog! But I'm happy to say that I'm back in action! You may ask, "Erika, what have you been doing that has been keeping you from blogging for us?" Well, friends, you'll have to wait a few more days to find out about what fun and crazy shenanigans I've been up to... but for the time being, I'd like to tell you about what I did ONE YEAR AGO this very week...

It was very appropriate that ML was visiting my in Chicago this week, because one year ago this Tuesday... the two of us did something rather crazy. We jumped out of a plane. What? Okay. So shortly after I received the book that inspired this blog, I received a Groupon offer inviting me to jump out of a plane. So I purchased two vouchers. Six months went by and I still hadn't used them and they were about to expire, so we made a date to go. We drove up to Pepperell, MA, in totally great spirits, not really thinking about what we were about to do. Until we pulled into the parking lot.

The place is literally a huge field at the end of a dirt road with random, low buildings scattered about in between collections of old furniture. And dogs. There were dogs everywhere.

Because of weather conditions, sometimes you have to wait around a bit before you take off. So while we waited to be outfitted in the sexiest looking gear you can imagine...

We still had plenty of time to get nervous.

But after watching so many people go up and down, our names were finally called. We took deep breaths, got strapped to our instructors. And started to board the plane. Which was... slightly larger than the one my Barbies rode in as a kid.

Our tandem partners were amazing though. Mine was named Taco, and was much more competent than The League character who bears his same name. When it's time to go, you really don't do much. You are completely connected via harness to your instructor and they do most of the work. You walk to the edge of the plane, put your toes on a line, and before you know it, you're airborne. Free falling is the worst part because there is so much wind, but after I pulled the cord on the parachute (which Taco said was one of the smoothest first timer pulls he's ever had... yep, I'm a natural!), gliding to the ground is incredible. We went on a really clear day so you can see for miles. Taco knew a lot about the landscape so he pointed things out to me - like small towns in MA and the NH border. One of the craziest things about descending is that you can feel the heat rise as you get closer to the ground. We went on a disgustingly hot day and it was downright cold when we jumped, but we were back to sweating once we landed on the ground. Besides the experience, we got a really sweet looking certificate proving we were crazy enough to jump into the sky... and a story we'll never forget.

Funnily enough, two days after that... (if you're counting that's one year ago today) I boarded another plane. This time I didn't jump out of it, but that story ends in a giant leap as well. When that plane landed, a little town called Chicago. I guess you know how that story ends...

Happy Friday,  Readers!
xoxo,
E

Number 33: Write a scathing Letter to the Editor

Hey Blog World - what's shakin'? I'm going to level with you guys, this letter isn't scathing. But I've been thinking about this article for the past few weeks and I've got a lot to say on the matter. So here we go with Number 33 - Rebecca Novick, you don't make my blood boil (and I won't argue with everything you have to say), but I disagree with you. Here's why.

For those of you in the arts world (or friends with someone who is on Facebook) probably at least saw the article, "Please, Don't Start a Theater Company! Next-Generation Arts Institutions and Alternative Career Paths." It's a solid read for anyone looking pursue a career in the arts, and an even more important read for those who are thinking about starting a company. And the first time I read it, the title really threw me off - I was a little angry at it. Reading it a second time proved that I agreed with a lot of what Novick has to say about why the model of, "Yep, we're going to start a company and then get famous and then make a living doing this" doesn't work. But, speaking as someone on the other side... someone who recently disbanded her company, I can honestly say that I do not regret a thing, and starting The CoLab is one of the most formative things I could have done as a young artist in Boston.

2009 was a terrible year to graduate. Really effing awful. But in all of the research I've done on "graduating into the recession" and all of the advice that's out there on the interwebs, no one is giving advice for the theatre major. (Well, except for maybe Ms. Novick.) And why would they? We graduate with the idea that we will be working some sort of "survival job," waiting tables or answering phones, something to pay our bills while we fulfill our dreams nights and weekends. We are the weird girl in the office that looks haggard and awful for a full week every few months with our only excuse being the mysterious phrase, "I'm in tech."

Let's break down the article. The first section of the essay, "What could we build instead?" urges artists to consider different models of theatre companies with different "organizational structures." She gives a few examples of companies that pay their actors to do administrative tasks and other companies that are able to fund themselves by getting grants for specific small projects. Well, that's great, but to even get to that level you have to start somewhere, and that means getting experience! (Which she later says, is exactly what she got out of starting her own company in her twenties.) And I'll tell you, there aren't too many organizations who want to PAY someone who graduated three weeks previously with a Bachelor's in Acting to work in the arts world. Sure, there are plenty of box office jobs that pay $8/hour (who can subsist on $8/hr?!) and plenty of unpaid internships, but as someone who had to pay her own rent, neither of those things were going to cut it during my first year out. So when one of my friends suggested we start our own company, I said sure, let's do it. I can do it on my time, at my own speed, and I can actually work on the type of theatre I'm interested in. And off we went.

The second section of the article actually describes some of what we did at The CoLab. We set ourselves up with specific goals and didn't plan our second one until we were sure we could accomplish the first. When we first produced play. in 2010, we were putting up ensemble-devised work, which literally no one else in Boston was doing. We took things one step at a time until the company started to grow larger than ourselves - we needed more money, more time, more manpower and it was going to take a lot to acquire all of these things. And we didn't have it in us to keep going (and accomplish all of the individual things we wanted) - so, we went out with a bang, and this momentum has carried each of us into the next phase of our lives. (Read our goodbye blog here.) Novick encourages that we operate this way, and not under the title "company" with a specific infrastructure and five year plan, but I say, having that is important. It ties everyone in to one specific goal, even if at it's basis, the goal is "to produce art."


But, it's not the inception that matters the most - it is the drive to push forward. To create. To produce. To know that in a world where they tell us the arts are dying - new groups are springing forward, and saying, "yes, we believe this can work." The final section of the essay asks that the change to support paid fellowships and apprenticeships for actors, playwrights, producers, etc. starts with the larger companies. Yep. Agreed. But, I've heard a number of companies talk the talk, without walking the walk. As Novick says, "It's discouraging that the holy grail of a living wage from satisfying artistic work, attainable for only a few in the current system, doesn't look too much more likely in these newer models."

And I agree -- it is sad. And I recently attained a job that will pay me to work in the theatre, but I'm convinced I would not have gotten my foot in the door if it wasn't for The CoLab. Because it is that drive that proves to these larger, more established companies, that yes, this person is worth investing in. Look what they started at 22 years old. And maybe all of these thoughts make me a dreamer or an idealist, but I'm proud of that. Because as a wise man said to me recently, "I like this. I don't want to become jaded." "You will at some point," I replied. And it's true, we all lose some naivete the longer we stay in the business. But then that same wise man replied, "I just like to play." And that made me realize - that is what we said at one of our first CoLab meetings - "Let's start a company so we can play." So, until we are able to transition into this phase of trickle down support from large to small, I think we've got to keep listening to a different wise man, "The play's the thing." Yeah, starting a theatre company is naive in many ways (and stupid in many others), but not starting it would have been the biggest mistake I ever made.

So, here's to an underfunded, overpopulated, we're-spread-too-thin world of theatre. And the next generation of artists to keep it going. Because, Ms. Novick, no matter how misguided our attempts may be, that desire to start ourselves off on our own two feet, the ability to figure out how to fund a play, the audacity (to quote an equally "naive" woman) to throw eight actors on stage in a church hall and call it a show, and the passion to say, "This is my work. I built this from the ground up" is what is driving this so-called dying movement in America. And I'm damn proud to be part of it.


Here's to the next company to start and fail. Because it we don't fall down, we'll never figure out how to climb a little higher the next time.


And scene.
E

Number 20: Try on engagement rings, even if you're not in a relationship

ENGAGED?! WHAT?! Well, I may not be engaged strapping young gentleman (and I'm not planning on it any time soon either!), but nine months ago I entered into a Facebook relationship with a friend that I fondly refer to as my wife and on this blog will call Ms. ML. One fateful retail-therapy shopping trip led to this montage. We hope that you enjoy.

Mary-Liz pops the question!

Examining the rock...

Getting nervous! 

She seems pleased!

Number 9: Own something leather, besides a coat or gloves

Needed a new belt.
Purchased a new leather belt.
Number nine complete.

And there you have it, ladies and gentleman. I'd like to thank the academy, H&M, and my old brown belt for wearing down. Without you, this post (and that haiku) would never have been possible. And now, to go out and explore Chicago. With secure pants.

Check out my excellent taste in low cost belts. And my super pretty bedspread.

Number 48: Borrow a motorcycle and take the driver's seat. (Or don't. Here's why.)

When I was a little girl, I vividly remember there being a blue matted, silver framed photo of a man's silhouette on a motorcycle hanging on the wall in our den. I remember my mind being blown when I discovered that it was my father! How could my dad have ever ridden a motorcycle? My silly, sweet father on a motorcycle?! No way! Well, as I grew older, the idea of my dad's motorcycle riding days shocked me less and less. He is a fun loving, free spirited man who was once in his twenties too.

Whatever the reason he decided to sell his bike, I'm sure glad he did. I did some research this week, and I discovered that from 1994-2008, motorcycle fatalities increased every year by a staggering amount. Fortunately, due to a number of new laws that made motorcyclists pass a safety class and wear helmets, motorcycle deaths have decreased significantly between 2008 and 2011. But here's the kicker -- all of the laws, facts and figures I could track down regarding motorcycle fatalities, put the cyclists at fault. But, for all of the safety precautions you can take (the lessons, the helmets, the speed limits), there are so many factors that you can't control.

And here my friends, is why I won't be completing Number 48 on my list. Last Saturday night, I received a heartbreaking phone call. A good friend of mine was driving home on his motorcycle and was hit by an oncoming car. The car was headed in the wrong direction, in the wrong lane and hit Dan and another car. Dan did not survive the crash. Getting the call that a loved one has passed on is about the most surreal thing you can experience. You hear the news and it doesn't feel real. I guess this is the shock - the tears and the grief come later. I was in South Bend, IN, when I got the news, less than two hours away from my new home in Chicago, and too many miles away to head home for the funeral. The idea of being so far away from home hit me then. All I wanted to do was give my best friend (and Dan's first cousin) a hug and I was unable to do so. I've been grappling with how to deal with the news for the past week, and it wasn't until my third or fourth phone call to a high school friend about the news that it hit me -- in a beautifully sad way, Dan was already bringing us all back together from above. In receiving, relaying, and trying to make sense of the news, I spoke with many people I had lost touch with in the past years. And Dan's passing made me realize something very important, life is so short, and you can never predict what is around the next bend, all you can do is live in the moment and appreciate the small things.

To those bikers out there, I'm not trying to scare you. And I'm not starting a crusade against motorcycle riding. Dan traveled across the United States on his bike and enjoyed only open road and beautiful memories. This was an unfortunate, isolated incident that happened within a few minutes of his apartment. But what I say to you all is this, (and thanks, Uncle Mike, for letting me paraphrase you -- my mom relayed your eulogy to me), life is a story and you never know what part of the story you're living. So live it proudly and fully. Dan Haley was one of the kindest people I've ever met. He was always there with an encouraging smile, a joke, and a lending hand. To honor him, I ask you that you do one nice thing for another person this week. Just one small thing. Whether it's calling an old friend, giving a stranger a compliment, or telling the man sitting next to you at Starbucks that he's dropped his glasses on the floor and is in danger of stepping on them (This just happened to me five minutes ago - he was so gracious and thankful!) -- do one thing today, tomorrow, or this week. It will make you feel good and it will make someone else's day better too. And above all, please be careful when you get behind the wheel, mount your bike, or cross the street. You never know who is traveling along with you and you can't control the actions of other people.

Sending love to you all, near and far today. xoxo.
E

Saying goodbye to Emma's basement, Aug. 2011. RIP DH. We'll always remember the good times. xoxo.

Number 62: Head to the airport and fly - anywhere

Hey All -

Welcome back to my blog. When I started this blog (quite some time ago), I thought I would accomplish 62 tasks in 365 days. Well. That didn't come anywhere close to happening. When I decided to make the move from Boston to Chicago, I considered creating a new blog to chart my adventures and keep my friends and family (on the East coast and otherwise) up to date on my life. Taking a page out of the books of fellow bloggers, (like JF and Rachel Bertsche) I've decided that instead of creating a brand new blog, I would simply give my current blog a facelift. Because, let's face it, you guys still want me to complete some of these adventures, no? :)

So. Let's start with Number 62. "Head to the airport and fly - anywhere." 

 

Five days ago, I picked up my entire life and moved it to Chicago, IL. (And okay, we didn't fly. We drove. But I said I'd be making some changes to the blog. Deal with it.) Some people thought I was crazy. Some people thought I was doing it for all of the wrong reasons. And some people (fortunately) were very supportive of my decision.

Here are the facts:

1. I will admit this to you – I’ve probably never thought about anything more and less at exactly the same time. I’ve been mulling over the Chicago move since I visited almost a year ago this June. (And that time I flew!) Or really since 2008 when I had a  pipe dream with two wonderful gentleman I left behind in Boston. But the details were always fuzzy. All I had was: I’ll find an apartment, I’ll find a job, I’ll make a life.
2. Everything is easier said than done.
3. I’m a little scared. This was a hard decision and I’m sad to have left behind a large number of people on the East Coast.
4. I strongly believe that everything happens for a reason. I’m here for a reason. I just don’t know what it is yet.
5. I’m excited.
6. There are many cupcake shops here.

No matter what age I am, no matter what I’m going through in my life, I’ve always coped with change through writing. I love to do it, always have and hopefully always will. So here I am, experiencing a huge change. And here you are, reading about it.

So far... I have good news to share.

1. I have a job! I was recently hired by The Chicago Park District to work at Theatre On The Lake, an outdoor summer theatre festival. They (we -eek!) will put on eight plays in eight weeks. I'll be working in the box office as well as helping with some publicity and community programming. I couldn't be more stoked.
2. Wait for it -- I have a second job?! That's right ladies and gentleman. Tuesday was a good day for hiring me here in the Windy City. I'll also be waitressing at Frances' Deli on Clark. Thanks, CCF. You were instrumental in getting hired. I'll say though... wearing jeans and sneakers is a step up from wearing my whites. No big deal or anything though.
3. My apartment is adorable. I'll choose my vocabulary wisely because well, the entire apartment is about the size of bedroom back in Allston BUT it's all mine! It has some quirks... I have to stand on a chair to reach my microwave... but hey, maybe this will make me cook more! Or you know... just invest in a really cute step stool. :) So all you folks looking to come visit, I'm ready to snuggle with you! Come on over!

And that's what I've got going on so far. You know, a little of this and a little of that. So stay tuned as I stir up trouble in The Windy City. Looking forward to adventuring with you!

XOXO,
E

Hanging out with Mom and Dad (and Patrick?) at Navy Pier. See? Trouble already. :)