When you live in New York City, you see just about anything, and after a couple of years, I’ve become accustomed to looking a little deeper and discovering the beauty in the face of strangeness. Sometimes, you have to squint your eyes, but eventually, you see it.  

Across the Hudson River, we sometimes take a ferry to Hoboken and enjoy a park with a large lawn and the small-town feel of their downtown area. On our last few summer visits, we encountered a woman wearing a rain poncho and surgical gloves standing amid a large flock of pigeons. With her arms outstretched, the birds would land on her body, and she wouldn’t flinch. A smile expanded widely across her face as each bird, one by one, found a landing spot. Even as I witnessed that grin, I would instantly think about hygiene and how bizarre this behavior was. It felt shocking because it was something I would never do.

My first reaction was judgment. 

Yesterday, on my morning walk with Sami, a young man was sitting on a bench with a pigeon on his head. Upon closer inspection, I witnessed several birds surrounding him – they were sitting on the bench next to him, down on the ground at his feet, and some on his lap. He was as still as a statue. His hands rested in his lap and were cupped, holding what I can only assume was bird food or seeds. 

My reaction –  judgment. 

I continued my walk but changed my tune within seconds as I experienced an epiphany. The creature I was walking, my beloved dog, gives me the same pleasure that this man or the Hoboken woman receives – just different animals and relationships with those animals.

The way I see it, we are all longing for connection. We are all longing to be seen. We are all longing for some kind of peace. We are all human.

And then I couldn’t help but wonder – can we see each other in these seemingly more insignificant interactions and shape the trajectory of humanity? I won’t suggest that relinquishing judgment in these minor scenarios is the answer to what is currently and horrifically plaguing our world. That seems a bit simple. But, what if we each took these small acts of kindness – even the ones that are unspoken – and eventually, we could change our hearts, our minds?  Every moment we offer peace and love, resist the urge to judge, and extend ourselves to human connection, we come that much closer to changing the frequency and vibration of the world. 

And, finally, about the title of this piece. I am not a religious woman. I don’t find myself deep in prayer very often. However, I consider myself spiritual and believe we can alter the world by doing good, aiming to be good, and encouraging others to do the same. I googled the phrase “On a wing and a prayer” and discovered it means “only the slightest chance of success.” When reading that, you might think there is very little hope – I know I sometimes feel that. But, when there is still any amount of hope, there remains a chance for success for the world to change. And, so here is to the people who stand still, arms and hearts outstretched, amid the fluttering wings of pigeons. Here is to the people who see them and recognize the beauty in the world. And, my friends, here is to the people experiencing heartbreak, heartache, and profound, devastating loss. 

Here is to humanity – may we experience change on a wing and a prayer.

Recently, on FaceBook, I shared my perspective on how navigating the streets of New York City can feel akin to being inside a video game where the objective is to avoid obstacles like puddles of mysterious liquids, electric delivery bikes buzzing down the sidewalks, and even the unpleasant surprises of long-forgotten poop bombs. However, this is not my everyday experience when I am out and about, especially on my many walks with my beloved Shih Tzu, Sami. At times it can be downright beautiful!
You see, our apartment is located between the urban landscape and a lovely bit of nature. Just behind our building runs the flowing Hudson River, and we often walk along the Battery Park City Esplanade, which can be a peaceful and serene escape from the city’s hustle and bustle. It’s an idyllic respite within a relentless urban environment. More often than not, I am thankful to live in this calmer neighborhood that provides a getaway from the more energetic parts of the city.
New York City embodies both sides of human nature, with its blend of creativity and destruction, beauty and reality, and good and evil. As a hub for innovation and art, it attracts the best minds and talents from around the world. However, it’s also a place that has seen its share of tragedy and devastation.
Despite this complexity, I find myself fascinated by New York City, as it offers an unrivaled richness of experiences and perspectives. I have no desire to live in a place where everything is one-sided or stagnant. Instead, I value the dynamic and diverse energy of the city, which constantly challenges me to learn and grow.
However, I also recognize that the city’s complexity comes at a cost. I long for a more just and peaceful society, one free of violence and inequality.
Living in this city, I’ve come to appreciate the unpredictable nature of each day. Some days, I need to be alert and mindful of the unexpected surprises that await me on the bustling streets. On other days, I can slow down and take in the breathtaking beauty of nature that unexpectedly reveals itself.
Despite the challenges that come with city life, I am grateful for the grit and energy that New York City embodies. It really is the place that never sleeps, where there’s always something happening, and where you can find people from all walks of life. This constant stimulation and diversity have broadened my perspectives and enriched my life in ways I could never have expected.
In essence, living in this city has taught me to appreciate both the good and the bad, the beauty and the grit, and the highs and the lows. It’s a reminder to stay open and receptive to all of life’s experiences, to be present in each moment, and to never take anything for granted.
And so, I’ll continue taking my daily walks with Sami and breathe in the city for all it offers. And I’ll also keep my eyes peeled for potential little surprises – after all, I don’t have a hose to wash off my shoes!

Thirteen months ago, I was gearing up for two occurrences. One much bigger than the other. CBDC’s 5th Annual Boulder Contemporary Dance Festival was going live and in-person for the 1st time since 2019. And, the day after the show, we would depart for our 3rd act – moving to New York City! These were equally time-consuming. If you have ever produced a live performance, you know the work that goes into every single detail. You will almost undoubtedly hit some bumps and curve balls thrown in your direction. One can usually expect the same from moving – whether within your current town or a massive relocation. 

The show was beautiful. Filled with some of my favorite Colorado-based dance artists and friends, it was a fitting end to my dance career in Boulder. I was striving to help build the community and felt successful in my efforts. 

Just like in theatrical productions, life can sometimes offer hiccups. The next day we packed our home in the mountains and took leave to the east. On our way to the airport, we received notice that our flight had been canceled. Rolling with the punches, as one must sometimes do, we asked our driver to turn around and take us back to Boulder. We proceeded to go to our favorite brunch spot for eggs and mimosas! In just a few short days, we made it to the city. 

I am recapping these two events to say that bumps, hiccups, and curve balls will inevitably come our way. There is usually nothing we can do because, more often than not, some situations are out of our control. 

This past year has been challenging as I dodged, ducked, and was occasionally clobbered. I applied for jobs and gigs, and the number of rejections felt astronomical. I was defeated. Was that festival in October the final performance of my career? Was my beloved dance company a thing of the past? 

Somehow, through tears and heartache, I continued pursuing an artistic life here in NYC. I’ll stop here to say that I realize how dramatic I must sound. But, again, if you are a working artist, you will relate. Being an artist is not just what I do – it is who I am.  I am persistent, I’ll give myself that! Finally, about ten months in, that determination paid off.

But now, let’s fast forward to this lovely 65-degree day in New York. I just finished my first cup of coffee and began contemplating the difference a year (and one month) can make. This evening I will show a piece at a festival with a cast of beautiful dance artists. We have been in the studio for the past few weeks, dancing, laughing, and getting to know one another. As we had our final rehearsal a few days ago, we all felt “show ready” and confident that the performance would go well. I stepped out of the studio in the crisp air and sun-kissed sky, and the sheer happiness I felt was overwhelming; I had done it, I thought. I am about to premiere CBDC in NYC, and all feels right in the world! Don’t get me wrong – I am no Pollyanna – I am well aware that life is ever-changing, ever-unknowing, and ever-fleeting. But, at that moment, to feel that happy – well, it was beyond refreshing. 

So refreshing that I let my guard down and forgot to be on the lookout for those curve balls and bumps! Uh oh – Duck!! One of my lovely dancers phoned me yesterday to tell me that an injury would prevent them from performing in the show. I had a brief moment of “whaaaaaat??” that soon became a moment of concern for him. I don’t want anyone to be injured and experience pain. His devastation was felt through the phone, and I quickly tried to realize that his pain trumped mine. I wished him a speedy recovery and offered hope and assistance if needed. After we ended our conversation, I was surprised at how quickly I knew we could adapt. Humans are nothing if not resilient – a lesson I’ve learned in my years. It saddens me that he cannot perform, but I have hopes he will bounce back and be in our next show – and yes, I have a “next show!” But I also know this show must go on, and the remaining cast will be stunning! We duck, we dodge, and we try not to get clobbered. 

In the end, we discover our strength and endurance. And sometimes, we find a mimosa! 

What A Difference A Year Makes

Today I celebrate one year in New York City. And what a year it has been. When I mentioned to Ashay and Sami, who admittedly was still snoozing, that we had made it one year so far, Ashay listed much of what has transpired since our Big Apple arrival. 

In just one year, we encountered the Omicron variant, layoffs at Ashay’s company (though, very luckily, he remains employed), more rejections than I could possibly count, reconnecting with old friends, some breathtaking Broadway performances, thousands of steps each day, and delicious restaurants (well, some were not so delicious, but what are you going to do?)! 

And, in these twelve months, I found myself in deep despair as I searched for my place in this city I had dreamed of living in all of my life. But now, here I am, teaching dance in a school and preparing for the debut of CBDC – the NYC era! The applications for residencies and employment will continue to be a large part of my existence as I continue the hustle necessary to keep it all going. 

As for writing – I’m working on making that a more constant practice in my life. More to come on that! 

But for today, I will count my blessings. I will acknowledge this moment of gratitude for all my loved ones who believed in me and encouraged me to hold on to hope that, in time, all will work out! 

And to NYC – here’s to the next year – and more to come! 

You know when you see two people walking together, and somehow they just fit? Or a piece of a puzzle, when you automatically find the exact spot where it should slide? It feels right; there is no jamming it into place. It moves unobtrusively together as if they should have never been apart.

I’m not sure Ashay and I initially fit that description many years ago when we first met. He was fresh and beautiful, the epitome of tall, dark, and very handsome. I, twelve years older than him, was small and pale, sad, and broken.

Somehow, in an off-chance way (and the best meet-cute story I’ll ever be able to tell in my entire life), we found each other. Our eyes met, our hearts locking almost in an instant. And from that moment on, we never looked back.

Today we celebrate 24 years of marriage. We have moved steadily through the vows we took….

~ in good times and bad

~ in sickness and in health

~ richer and poorer

~ loving each other as long as we both shall live

~ This past year has presented its own set of challenges, heartache, and hard times, but together we have been moving through those in partnership and love. Stronger than ever.

We made a life, and we made a family. Life has become fuller and ripe with possibilities. We move together like two pieces of a puzzle. Somehow, we fit.

And he is still the most beautiful tall, dark and handsome man I’ve ever seen!

Happy Anniversary, my love!

This past week I traveled to Ohio to visit my parents. They had recently moved from my childhood home to a condo. In my urban mind, a condo is an apartment you purchase, maybe a townhome. But, in the midwest, and I suspect other locations, a condo appears to be a ranch-style single-family home with the amenities of someone caring for everything outside. Strange as it was to visit a house I had never stepped foot into, I found it to be a lovely next act for my folks. With their belongings and furniture neatly curated and tucked into the interior of the walls, it still had a familiar sense of home. And, when all is said and done, I believe it was a sensible and timely move for them. 

One of my favorite activities in their previous home was to take a cup of coffee in their backyard oasis and contemplate life, as I am often wont to do. This time, I situated myself, early in the morning, on their back patio, which looked upon a small forest of trees. There, as the winds blew the leaves and the chimes gifted to my parents just after my brother’s passing, I listened intently to the bell-like tinkling and the whispers of the swishing gusts. As I was sipping my coffee and missing my brother fiercely, I started thinking back on childhood, lost youth, and remembering the dreams manufactured in a way only a hopeful young person can. 

During this visit, I somehow found myself walking the halls of my high school, a building I don’t think I’ve entered for many years. It hadn’t changed a bit, and though this might be an odd thing to say, it even smelled the same. I can’t quite describe it, but it just did. This is the school I was attending when I could not wait to leave and be on my way to New York City. I stepped into the auditorium and focused on the first actual stage I had been on. Instantly I was transported back to the plays, musicals, and variety shows. It reminded me how deeply connected I feel to theatres and stages; they feel like home. 

And as I traversed through the halls filled with lockers, my mind was flooded with memories – of meeting my friends to walk to class together, the boy I had a massive crush on teasing me or the way I didn’t really feel like I fit in. It all came back. 

I was fueled by this visit as I sat in the wrought iron chairs on my parents’ patio, finishing my coffee and thinking the thoughts only a seasoned woman in her fifties can. I embraced the memory of the young girl who believed she would be a star, artist, or something beyond her wildest dreams. I revel in knowing that I have achieved a life as a dancer, choreographer, director, and writer. In some ways, I can honestly say I did what I set out to do. But I also feel reignited. I suppose the old adage, “It ain’t over til it’s over,” definitely rings loud and true for me. I’m not finished yet. There is still so much to accomplish. And I couldn’t find myself in a better place to continue living life, making art, and loving this world.

And, to this town, this little town in Ohio, I’ll be back. Not to live, of course, but to visit. There is a peculiar sweetness when I return to my hometown. A place I never quite felt I belonged in but understand more than I like to believe.