Keep young and musical

I'm starting to understand what people say when they tell you to enjoy being young. I think it's because I'm feeling young. Yes. On the eve of my 24th birthday, it occurs to me that I have learned in the past year how to keep young.

Yesterday I went to—what I would call—my second real concert ever, my seventh overall. Spice girls was my first concert ever at the Meadows in fourth grade. Backstreet boys came next in middle school. My then-boyfriend took me to Dave Matthews Band junior year; I was so freaked in the midst of all the drunk high schoolers on the lawn I didn't  even realize I was at a concert. (This I consider the real concert, because it was outdoors on a lawn full of music fans high as kites.) I saw Frankie Valli and the four seasons once and Billy Joel twice. So concert-going experience level = novice. 

But I was invited to go to the Global Citizen Concert in Central Park sponsored by the Global Poverty Project. On the bill: The Black Keys, Foo Fighters, and Neil Young. 

A few of my friends won tickets through the online lotto, and we all went as a big group. Now I know why people love to go to concerts. 

I had such a blast. There I was, in Central Park with tens of thousands of music fans, dancing on the Great Lawn and jiving to some of the best bands in the world. 

Can I also just say that guitar players are sexy? The lead singer of The Black Keys was just too nice to look at. It's something about the crisp white tee and middle finger ring that just makes a girl sigh. 

But aside from admiring the band members, I also realized that rock and roll is kind of awesome. It turns out, this Broadway girl just loves good music of any genre. I could totally see myself rocking out to some Black Keyes at home. In fact, I think I'll buy a CD of theirs. 

But I digress. As I stood in the crowd, I noticed that a lot of my fellow groovers were parents who brought their kids with them. One guy—it was the cutest thing—bobbed his head to the beat in time with his toe-headed three-year-old. This guy, a dad and all, was still working it out at a concert and teaching his kid to love music. 

That's when it hit me: music keeps you young. There is something about it that feeds the soul. People have wedding songs and prom songs and "first kiss" songs because music holds a power to bring us back to the moment. Music is presence and nostalgia all in one. 

As further proof of this: I went to see Pitch Perfect as an early birthday treat with my friends Elena (who I sang with in college) and Rebecca. 

Go see this movie. It is hysterical and l laughed out loud at Rebel Wilson the full hour-and-a-half. While Elena and I cracked up at how all the a ca-politics were just childishly silly and terribly accurate, we were taken back to our college days. As a perk, the a capella arrangements had me jamming in my movie theater seat to song damn good music. Nostaligic and present.

Music. You feel it. You live it while it plays, but it also brings you back. Yesterday, jumping around at the Global Citizen Concert (whether to keep warm in the chilled night's air or to enjoy the music is anyone's guess) I thought to myself this is what it means to be young. This is what it is to enjoy New York and life. Then at the movie, I just sat there and swayed and grooved. I had nowhere to be but enjoying myself.

I was always a stressed out kid and my parents would say "Ruthie, just relax and have fun." It may have taken me 24 years, but I think I've learned how. 

Change is comin'

Last week I was home for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. On day two, one of our former rabbis delivered the sermon.

Rabbi Lazowski taught that shanah does not only mean “year” in Hebrew, (rosh being head, so head of the year) shanah also means “change.”

In what has been almost a year of writing this blog, I've done a lot of reflecting. I've done a lot of exploring. And now, I look back at the extensive life research I've done and work to draw some conclusions about where to go from here. As the new year kicks off, I’ve begun to truly think about what I want to change in myself, hopefully for the better.

Listening to the Rabbi speak, he spoke of change as a journey, "If we are not changing, we are not growing. And if we are not growing, we are not living." The old adage says that you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but according to the thickly-accented words of this Holocaust survivor...sure you can. You can teach any dog who is willing; anyone who is still living.

Of course, you have to train this dog. Change does not happen over night. Rabbi urged us to set manageable goals—a philosophy my yoga instructor, Amanda, echoed in my Saturday night class. Don't expect yourself to go full throttle from the start. If you want to become more educated in religion, aim to study five minutes a day, not to read the Bible in a week. If you want to become more fit and focused, aim to come to yoga once a week for three months, not three times a week for one week. Ease into change.

Rabbi also warned that change is not always for the better. Sometimes you make a detour down the wrong path. He told the story of a married couple: A husband and wife got into an argument, screaming at each other, unable to compromise. The husband quipped, "You should have married a better man." The wife answered, "I did." 

Not all change is good change; it is up to each of us to choose our course wisely.

The most important thing I can change is to be more open-minded. If you know me, you know I've got opinions and I'm stubborn. Writers tend to be this way; we always have something to say. But more important than hearing the opinions of others, I hope to be more open-minded in situations.

I often have difficulty adjusting my mindset once I enter a situation. I remember in high school, I was in my AP Psych class—which was deemed the "easy AP." The kids in the class ran the gamut of intelligence. My peers who asked dumb questions (because dumb questions do exist) drove me insane. And if you asked a dumb question, the next time I spoke to you, I was bound to just think you were dumb and probably keep the conversation super short. Rather than give the benefit of the doubt that my classmate just "had a moment" or that she could be smart in other areas of life, but lack common sense, I judged her. I would not amend that judgement. I reacted based on that judgment.

That's pretty horrible. To be so inflexible in my impressions of people AND to behave towards them based on that stiff opinion? This is what I need to change.

As Yom Kippur approaches with each click of the clock, I ready myself to delve into deep reflection and to emerge ready to take on a path towards change. 

I don't care if you're Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Sikh, atheist, agnostic, or what the hell you believe. Introspection is always difficult, but always important, and always worth it.

So while the Jews of the world prepare to fast, atone, reflect, apologize, forgive, and ultimately, change, I hope that you will also gradually aim to be better.

New York Moment: Odd Jobs

New York City is home to the greatest eclectic array of people in the world. I feel comfortable stating that as fact. It’s more than the size of New York—the city of 8 million people. After all, you never hear anyone ramble on about how much they love Shanghai even though it holds the largest population in the world—clocking in at over 23 million.  

It's more than the skyline, or even the food.

There is a reason why everyone comes here and immediately considers which I <3 NY shirt to buy. 

I’m convinced that it has something to do with the crazy spectrum of person New Yorkers lie on. There are bums buried beneath bags of Coke cans; actors working three jobs (sometimes none of which are acting); recent college grads wandering the streets trying to find purpose; high-power executives jabbering to themselves on their Bluetooths; random celebrities blending in. We all use the same subway. We all walk the same streets. It’s insane how such different people exist in the same environment.

Thanks to the these harrowing gaps in New York society, there is a strange surplus of odd jobs and a city's population of people to fill them. It’s not that there aren’t odd jobs in other cities. What feels different about New York is the variation in the type of task and the elevated demand for people to fill these stints. My grandpa used to joke that I would never be poor, because I could always find a random way to make a buck. 

But this isn't just about the extra dough. The unique aspect of a New York odd job is the opportunity to make connections.  After all, I do know someone who ended up as a runway model in Isaac Mizrahi's Fashion Week 2011 show just because he tended bar at the right person's swank apartment.

Well last week, I achieved a new high of fitting odd jobs into spare time. While working my daily 9-5ish awesome day-gig, after work I filled my week waitressing a private dinner party, a freelance writing project, and babysitting.

I never worked for a caterer. I never held a job at a bar or in a restaurant. But the colleague of a friend of mine was hosting a Tuesday night dinner party at her schmancy apartment and needed some young blood to do the heavy lifting (or in this case the light lifting of wine bottles and the heavy washing of a seemingly endless parade of dishes). While some extra cash is always handy, I actually signed up to be cocktail-waitress-for-a-night because there were bound to be some pretty important media moguls in the room and I wanted to meet them.

The guest list is what made this party so New York. You might get asked to bartend some couple’s 50th wedding anniversary in Massachusetts, but I highly doubt that one dozen CEOs of notable companies like HBO and the like will be in attendance. So, as the upper echelon discussed the upcoming election and the fate of our nation, I served gazpacho and refilled their wine. 

I didn’t get a formal introduction, as the hostess had intended, but at least I tried (and I hope I made a positive impression on the hostess herself).

After that night, I definitely needed to recuperate. Warning: if you spend five hours on your feet serving food, worrying about spilling said food, and then drying dishes that held that food you will be absolutely exhausted. Don’t make big plans afterwards.

Wednesday evening (post cocktail-waitressing) I had packed with two events, both work-related, though not work. I attended a Campbell's event at the Met on behalf of Parents. There is a special Andy Warhol exhibition that just opened and I was invited to preview the art and taste new Campbell’s products. What goes better with Andy Warhol than tomato soup? 

My makeshift dinner-by-tasting was the precursor to my make-up’s night out at Fresh for an Urban Girl Squad event—the organization I blog for. I dabbled in face creams and lip gloss before spending my hard-earned cash (and more) at Loehmann's! With the Jewish holidays in full swing, I needed a wardrobe to match. And therein lies of the beauty of making extra money: no extra guilt.

Before heading home for Rosh Hashannah on Friday, I squeezed in another odd job Thursday night by visiting my second family. By visited, I mean babysat. I’ve been babysitting for the same family since my freshman year of college and they truly are family at this point. I hadn’t seen them in four months and I think I squeezed little Ellington for five minutes before I let go. 

The beauty of New York is that there are odd jobs galore. In fact, you could make a career of odd jobs and live a surprising, spontaneous life if you wanted. But more important than the money, are the opportunities and the people you meet. You never know if the woman whose child you tuck in at night will turn out to be your second mom and confidante. You never know if that woman you poured wine for will want you to star in her upcoming television series (I can dream, right?). 

You just never know.

The Dog Days Are Over

The weather cooled significantly this morning. All the little children are back to school. Rosh Hashannah (the Jewish New Year) hits in just one week. It seems that autumn is upon us and summer is making an exit.

Fall Fashion Week is here, all the New York publications have released their Fall Previews. It’s time we’ve face the inevitable and realize that the dog days of summer are over. I certainly lived it up this past weekend, in what seems like the final bout of summer warmth. At the same time, just because the weather is breezier doesn’t mean that our carefree, relaxed, fun-chasing attitudes should float away with the season.

This past weekend kicked off on Thursday—as all good weekends should. My friend Wesley and I went to see the new Channing Tatum movie 10 Years after I won the Urban Girl Squad contest for some free tickets. A cute little film about a ten-year high school reunion, the movie was nothing brilliant, but it was so fun! Wesley and I went to high school together. Although we were not really friends until undergrad, we had the best time laughing about who each character matched up to in our class and reminiscing over the shit-show that was our five-year reunion last Thanksgiving. Sometimes a movie is just more fun when you see it with the right person.

Friday night I went to a farewell Shabbat dinner for one of my friends who returned to Boston for her final year of law school yesterday—you may recall said friend from another recent post. The dinner was awesome. The food was incredible and we had a blast chatting around the dinner table of 12, in no rush to go anywhere. Some of my favorite times are meals in which you just sit at the table when you have nowhere else to be. The lack of pressure feels incredible and I can truly devote my time and attention to the people I am with. I call these instances, Morrie moments because in Tuesdays with Morrie, the title character emphasizes the importance of being fully present while you spend time with others.

For all you Jews out there, have a Shabbat meal with friends. If you’ve been on Birthright you can even host your meal for free through NEXT Shabbat. For those of you who aren’t Jewish, a meal is a meal. Go out to dinner and make no plans afterwards so that you can linger at your table. Host a home-cooked meal for you and some close friends.

The next day, Super Saturday began at 12pm. For those of you thinking, "Ummm there is nothing political that happens on a Saturday," you are right. Super Saturday is the day of the US Open when the tournament airs back-to-back Men’s Singles semifinals and top it off with the Women’s Singles Championship in primetime. I parked myself on the couch and watched an amazing match between Andy Murray and Tomas Berdych, before the second semifinal match and women’s final were tornado-ed out. That’s one I never thought I’d hear in New York. I mean, there is a reason why I don’t live in Nebraska. (Well, there are many.)

So instead of cozying up to watch my boy David Ferrer, I warmed up at yoga before getting ready for a night out. Mayanot Birthright (the trip organizer for my July Israel trip) hosted a reunion for all Mayanot trips at Lexicon. While I was hoping that a bunch of people from my trip would go, I ended up heading over by myself. My fellow birthrighter, Craig, met up with me later on. The DJ was playing great music, but no one likes to dance alone on the floor. So I walked up to this girl that was dancing in a group and asked if I could join. She was totally cool about it and I ended meeting some fun people at the party. The one thing I will say about the impending temperature decline: I do NOT look forward to coat checks and freezing my butt off on my way to a club before actually getting inside the always sweaty and overheated scene. I relished one of my last nights sans jacket.

But Sunday was the cherry on top. My girlfriends and I ventured to Atlantic Beach for MATCHBOOK’s Summer Olympics day on the water. The beach (as in all beaches) is amazing—and I won’t be back to one for a while. We dove into the water, which was so warm after a full summer of sun-heating, and jumped waves for hours. We started up an epic game of beach volleyball. I learned to throw a football. General romping around in the sand and smores roasting made for a phenomenal day. There were plenty of people at the event who sat on their beach chair, in clothes, and didn’t do much of anything. This is what separates the fun people from the not fun people.

Even though beach weather will bid us adieu quite soon, there is no reason to become one of the not fun people. There are still plenty of things to see and do even in a season that is not summer. Autumn brings apple-picking and pumpkin decorating, foliage hikes and mulled cider. Football season is back—I know how excited most of you are about that. Go to a game! Plan a weekend away in the woods!

If there is one thing I learned this summer, it’s that weekends away are so worthwhile. I used to fear missing out on activities in the city when I was gone. The truth is: if you had fun away, you didn’t miss anything.

I plan to live my year the way I lived my summer. After all, now that I’m not in school, one day pretty much looks the same as the next in terms of daily routine and scheduling. Why not live autumn as if it were summer? The dog days might be over, but there is certainly much to look forward to.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It is upon us, my friends. My favorite two weeks of the year: the US Open. When anyone asks if I like tennis I say two things 1) my dog’s name is Wilson and 2) the US Open marks my favorite two weeks of the year. Do I play? Not since I was about 12 years old. I wasn’t very good, but now that I have become obsessed with the sport over many years of focused watching I really would like to pick up a racket and re-learn.

The US Open is two weeks of excitement, intense competition, enthusiasm, celebrity, sunshine and late nights. The players love it here, describing the crowd as unlike any other—electrifying, full of heart. 

I have been going to the Open in Flushing Meadows since 2000 (missing only the summer of 2006 when I was in orientation week at Barnard). It’s gone a bit too commercial—this year expecting to attract about 700,000 visitors in 14 days. I still love it. 

This past week has not just marked the kickoff to a FANTASTIC tournament, it has also been a week full of New York antics.

Last Monday night, my friend Emily and I went to go see Jimmy Kimmel in one of those 92Y moderated talks. We got the tickets on the cheap through Time Out Offers. Now a moderated talk might sound boring, but it is still Jimmy Kimmel, after all. I laughed just as much as I do at 12:05 when I tune in to his show. Bonus: his life story is actually pretty cool. As the story goes, he never aimed to be a host in late-night TV. 

It wasn’t his dream, he just sort of fell into it. Nothing against achieving your dreams, but I found it both interesting and comforting that Jimmy did not always have a BIG plan. 

Apparently, Jimmy let life happen—watching the late night shows when he was in high school and moving into radio for the local college station, falling into writing, working on Win Ben Stein’s Money, falling into hosting a game show that never got picked up, until one day he had a conversation with a producer about late-night hosting and was given his own show.

I don’t mean to make it sound easy. He was very clear that he was a workhouse and broadcast radio was no joke. But his talk also demonstrated that life connected the dots for him. Leave it to Kimmel to tell jokes and teach lessons. 

Wednesday my mom and I took the the 7 to Mets-Willets Point in Queens to the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center. We hopped off the subway onto the wooden bridge, highlighted Schedule of Play in hands. I love that bridge. I get pumped up just walking towards the tennis center. We watched tennis from 11am until 8:30pm. AMAZING day. 

It started out right: a great match between Kevin Anderson (South Africa) and one of my favorites, David Ferrer of Spain. After a tough three sets—and a lot of screaming in Spanish on my part—David won! I ran down to get his autograph on my oversized Wilson tennis ball...and he didn’t sign. What? But they always sign. And I was in the best signing position. 

Well, I am an experienced professional when it comes to autograph-hunting. I know where they escort the players: through the tunnels beneath the stadium and out. So I ran to a stairwell where I heard some “wooooooos” which meant that David had just passed by. I bolted. I nearly killed an old man running towards him and then pushed past his HUGE body guard screaming “David David! Por favor la firma!” (No one every said I was normal.) He grabbed my pen and signed as he walked and I exploded “Muchisimas gracias! Buena suerte!” He took a peak through his bangs and smiled. VICTORY!! I knew it would be a good day.

Then my mom and I watched Isner play in Ashe, Ernests Gublis and Tommy Haas play on Court 17, Jurgen Melzer and Bradley Klahn, and Kohlschreibber and Llodra play on a side court. For those of you who just thought “who the hell are these people,” don’t worry. These are names for the tennis fans. Though, Isner (as in John) you should know. Now that Andy Roddick is retiring, he’s going to be carrying the flag for American tennis.

Saturday, I took a little break from tennis. I woke up early to rush One Man Two Guvnors on Broadway. The show closed on Sunday and I had heard amazing things. So I got my butt to the theater at 8am, preparing for the box office to open at 10am. Well...a few people were a bit more enthusiastic (or desperate) and got there at 5am. Insanity. So I ended up buying a ticket at the TKTS booth for the matinee performance. 

Tony-winning James Corden was hysterical. The show was really great. It’s in the style of Comedia Dell’Arte, which is seemingly spontaneous where the actors break character on purpose and speak to the audience (breaking the fourth wall). It’s pretty funny to watch actors playing a character who plays a character. It was really silly and totally fun. 

Sunday, I decided, needed to be another day of live tennis. Andy Roddick was slated to play the day session. Damned if I wasn’t going to see him live at his last tournament ever. 

Once again, for my first match of the day I cheered on mi amor nuevo David Ferrer (Rafa is out hurt) before taking seats to watch Roddick in Ashe. The weather was perfect. The tennis was CRAZY. I do not know how the networks chose a Shot of the Day because the shot-making on Sunday (fast forward to 37:30) was unbelievable. 

Perfectly timed with the US Open, my week was full of New York energy. Fueled by the Open, I set out to enjoy multiple avenues of New York culture. Having been so tired since Israel, I had been limiting my activities around the city and just trying to sleep. But now, I feel like I’m back on track. 

Even though it is past Labor Day and summer is “over,” don’t let that prevent you from exploring NYC. If anything, push yourself to try new things, revisit old favorites. Whatever you choose, there is a reason that international tennis stars are drawn to love New York year after year—they can't resist our unique passion and contagious energy and neither should you.

Love the one you’re with

Yesterday I went out to Westchester to enjoy one of my friend’s suburban backyard pools. It was a perfect day in terms of weather, and her backyard was like a little flowery oasis with perfect-temperature water.

As we floated around the pool, she began to talk about how she’s sad to leave New York and go back to law school because all of her friends (all located here) are going to be doing all of these fun things without her. Yet, in the next breath she talked about her winter term trip to Australia and her class weekend ski trip and her spring break plans. 

Ummm, THAT sounds super fun. Most likely more fun than I will have here. At the very least, more adventurous.

But it’s not necessarily about what you do, it’s who you do it with, she defended. It’s not that going to Atlantic Beach [where a bunch of us are going afters she leaves for school] is amazing. It’s that you’re all doing it together without me.

Touche.

I get it. 

This is actually something I had to learn. You can go across the globe to, say...Argentina, but without the right person or people to share it with, the experience can lose some of its luster. (Don’t get me wrong, I had an AMAZING time when I went to Argentina—even some valuable time alone—but some of my best experiences were when I was doing something exotic WITH people I really enjoyed.)

Some of my favorite nights have been sitting around watching YouTube clips with my best friend. That’s just it. I was with my best friend.

Maybe that’s why this past weekend was so great. It was my first full weekend in New York since before Memorial Day—you may recall the epic Vegas extravaganza weekend that kicked off my summer.

Friday night, one of my best friends from Barnard came over for Shabbat dinner. I had originally hoped to throw a big dinner celebrating my new job and my New York weekend, but so many people were going out of town for their last licks at summer. So it was just the two of us. I cooked. She brought wine and dessert. We ate delicious food, and then sipped Moscato while we caught up. And then...we topped off the night with a viewing of Beauty and the Beast.

I love Disney. I love Disney more with a friend. I love Disney most with a friend who loves Disney and can recite all the lines if the moment arises. It was such a simple evening, but 100 percent enjoyable.

Saturday I slept in and then planned to do some quiet reading on the roof. Not so according to plan, I got invited to the park after I was comfortably settled in my lounge chair. But I hadn’t seen these guys in a while, since I’ve been away every weekend. I packed up and headed to the Great Lawn. 

Even though I read while they played catch, and I ducked some frisbees—they really should learn to aim better—it was great to be around them. Casual, cool, just hanging out. It was so much nicer to be in the aura of a group, laughing and joking about other people in the park (and said terrible aim).

Saturday night, I went to a housewarming party for my friend at his new awesome penthouse apartment on Central Park West. Now before you start thinking all Plaza Hotel on me, calm down. It’s a two story apartment, with exposed brick and lofted spaces and balconies. Awesome by young New Yorker standards; not quite as elegant as Gossip Girl or the Upper East Side. The party had an awesome eclectic vibe; all three guys went to Brandeis, so there was a large Brandeis showing, but one guy used to live in the East Village (bringing some downtown flavor to the Upper West), and another guy just started Columbia Business School (recruiting some of the ethnic, brainy crowd). 

My friends and I turned one of the rooms into a dance party, taking breaks to cool off on the airy balcony (really makes me want a balcony). At the end of the day, it was an apartment party. We were drinking from Red Solo cups, accompanied by a Songza playlist. But it was awesome! We didn’t need a crazy club that night because we were just having fun with each other.

Topping it off with Sunday’s rest and relaxation by the pool, my future-lawyer friend has a point. I would never stop planning random outings or forego the opportunity to do something uniquely New York, but I will say that I have definitely learned the value of the people I choose to do these things with. While I do not negate my earlier post about going it alone, variety is the spice of life. I mean, it’s nice to love what you do, but it’s satisfying to love the ones you’re with.

Decisions, decisions

One of the hardest things for me to do is make a decision. 

Since I was a child, I’ve always struggled with decisions big and small. It took me forever to decide what to order at a restaurant—as if whether to have macaroni and cheese or pasta with marinara was a life or death decision. I waited until April 30 to make my choice for undergrad, as the check was due May 1. (Arguably this was a bigger decision, but I had agonized for months over that one and still it came down to the wire.)

Friends and family would try to help. What do YOU want? they would ask. But I didn’t know. If I could feel what I wanted, and discern that from what others wanted, I would be able to make a decision. But I couldn’t. 

Often, I was trying to please someone else. Or, I was paralyzingly afraid of making a mistake, so it was easier to do what others said.

I have a friend who, during undergrad, made it his mission to help me with decisions. Baby steps, he said. So he would make me decide what flavor ice cream I wanted in a time limit, or force me to choose if I wanted to go out or rent a movie. 

Practicing decisions helped, but I think it was when I went abroad to Argentina and I spent so much time with myself and my own thoughts that I learned to hear my own voice. I learned to hear what I want. Following that voice is another story, but for the first time in my life I felt like I possessed that “gut” everyone was always telling me to listen to.

This past week, a few decisions came up.

Monday night. I was exhausted from yet another weekend away. (Fun, but draining.) I was beginning to lose the fight against the tired and I had woken up with a scratchy throat in the morning. My friend had invited me to join him and his friends at the HBO Bryant Park Film Festival to watch All About Eve (Indiana Jones is their final movie of the summer if you want to catch it today, August 20). 

I had gone to the film festival last year. It’s super fun if you’ve never been (which is why it made the summer bucket list even though I’ve been before). New Yorkers pack the lawn beginning at 5pm. They drink and piacnic until the movie starts at around 8:30pm. I especially love seeing old black and white movies on the big screen; it makes me feel like I’m transported to a different era, before everyone could just watch the movie on their own DVD player.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go, knowing that the movie was so long and I was fighting off sickness. So, I decided to go to the movie and just leave whenever I got too tired. I know this doesn’t sound revolutionary, but it was to me. The idea of leaving before a movie ended, or separate from the people I picnicked with...bizarre. But I did it. Because that is what I wanted. 

Thursday night I drove into New Jersey for my cousin’s engagement party. The plan was to stay in Jersey by the beach after said party and just enjoy a Shabbat with extended family and some downtime. 

My brother, who has been up in New Hampshire all summer working at summerstock, missed the engagement party because he is currently in A Chorus Line. My parents had seen the show during the week. I had sadly accepted the fact that I just wouldn’t be able to make it to this show of my brother’s. It was running only one week. I couldn’t catch a ride with my family to see a weeknight show because of work. I couldn’t get there over the weekend because I was in Jersey with no way to get to Meredith, New Hampshire.

A Chorus Line is such an iconic show, as it is the story of an audition for the chorus of a Broadway show in the 1970s. It so true to life, so deeply moving. Of all the shows my brother was doing this summer it is the one I wanted to see the most and the one it was impossible to get to.

Well, Friday morning my mother (who had been at the party Thursday night) texted me with a proposition. Would I like to ride home with them to Connecticut, take a car, and drive to New Hampshire in time for the 7:30pm show? I had about 15 minutes to decide.

Oh that was so NOT the plan. And my cousin was so excited for me to spend the weekend with her. And I had been looking forward to the beach. And my body was so tired I couldn’t even imagine all of that traveling.

But when I looked ahead to the weekend, and visualized those days, I saw myself in New Hampshire. I saw myself in the audience supporting my brother. So I hopped in the car and began a long day of travel to make it in time to see Joseph in the most important show of his life so far: his first A Chorus Line.

I made it just in time. I had a terrific seat right in front of his spot on the “line.” I cannot even describe how phenomenal he is. The show was amazing and there was a LOT of talent. But to watch my brother do a show he’s dreamed about doing his whole life...it was a gift. 

To watch someone do what they are born to do is a powerful thing. Each time I see him perform, my brother inspires me. And when the cast sang “What I Did For Love” I sobbed in my seat. He does what he does for unbridled love he feels for his craft. I drove 8 hours to get to him because I love my brother. 

My decision was absolutely the right one. I did what I wanted to do, without feeling like I had to follow a plan or live up to the expectations of others. My choice was definitely not a mistake, in fact I changed plans again and instead of driving the leg home to Connecticut on Saturday night, I drove home Sunday morning. 

It felt silly to me to be driving in a car alone when I could watch my brother (and all of my new friends) on stage. Plus, I was having way too much fun spending time with all of the theater kids!

Now I’m home in New York and about ready to pass out. I definitely need my rest, as I start my new job as an Editorial Assistant/Assistant to the Editor-in-Chief of Parents magazine. That was another decision of late: do I stay in my position or do I explore an editorial opportunity? I decided to explore—which really wasn’t a decision—and during the exploration process I had to take an edit test. 

It was while I was completing the tasks for my test that I felt in my gut—yes I have one of those!—that I was doing something that I love. So as I make the move to editorial, I only hope to perform as well as my brother and to continue making choices based on my own logic and my own feelings. 

It was a fantastic weekend, which I only hope foreshadows the coming days. 

If you ever have a problem making a decision, think about what it is you truly want deep down. Don’t think about the pressures of others. Don’t think about expectations. Don’t worry you will make a mistake. In an isolated world, what do you want? What do you see yourself doing?

From what I’ve found, even if you can’t always get what you want...you get what you need.