My Year of Hopefulness - A Room (or Two) of My Own, Eventually

Tonight I went to a session offered by Mindy Diane Feldman, a Penn alum and SVP at Halstead Realty, on the ins and outs of buying an apartment in Manhattan. It is a complicated, cumbersome process and the current economic downtown has heightened the complexity considerably. The session lasted almost 3 hours and we just barely scratched the surface. It is not an undertaking for the faint of heart! While many of the other alums left feeling a little dejected and depressed how complicated the process is, I felt lifted up. I felt like I was armed with a little information that would help me to move in the right direction of finding a room (or two, or three) of my own on this tiny little island that I love so much.

Some of my friends are surprised by my desire to stay in New York after this September. I can understand the confusion. I had the opportunity to just pick up and go somewhere new after losing my last apartment and most of my belongings. Realizing how much I don't need in the way of material belongings, why would I ever want to be tied down and own my own tiny place?

I don't have a clean answer. All I can say is that the thought of leaving New York never crossed my mind. In fact, I feel it's even more important now for me to know my neighbors and my building and my neighborhood by owning an apartment. I am so tired of starting over. I've done it every year since I was 18 years old. I've had enough moving and transience in my life. A temporary dwelling is no longer appealing to me. And while I'd love to work abroad on an assignment and travel extensively, I finally found the city where I feel most at home. After so much looking and so much loss, the comfort of calling someplace a real home brings me a tremendous sense of peace.

I won't even attempt to cover the 3 hour session in this blog post. I can't even list all of the highlights in a reasonable amount of space. Here are the top 5 pieces I found most useful in my decision to begin working toward buying my own place:

1.) There are huge differences between co-ops, condos, and "condops". Each has its positives and negatives and determining which one is the right one for us takes extensive research and soul-searching.

2.) Unlike with rentals where I find most brokers to be a little tough to handle, when we buy a place, particularly in New York City, our real estate broker is our very best ally, resource, and champion. Interview them. Ask A LOT of questions, and go exclusively with 1 broker (and tell them that you're doing so.) If they know that you've committed to them, they will be committed to you. They are the lynch pin to helping you go from being a renter to an owner.

3.) There is actually a triumvirate of allies that are critical to buying an apartment in Manhattan: the real estate broker, an established, private residence real estate attorney, and a financial broker. The real estate broker is the pilot of the entire transaction and the other two are the co-pilots.

4.) The savings process and the purchase process are long affairs. Mindy opened the session by asking who was interested in buying an apartment in the next 3 years. That was the shortest time horizon she asked about. With today's climate and for the foreseeable future it takes much more money than it ever has before to buy an apartment. It is a serious investment of time and money. At first I thought it was foolish for me to go to this session because I am several years away from being able to purchase an apartment. Mindy helped me realize that planning now, years out, is the best thing I could possibly do!

5.) I'm one of those people who is always out in the world looking for opportunity. With the economic downturn and the real estate crash, I've been wondering if I should buy now, even if I'm not really ready. Deals abound so shouldn't I take advantage of them? Mindy's answer was an emphatic "no". A home is not our retirement or our 401K. It is an investment on a very different level. There is a psychological, emotional, and financial investment wrapped up in one and it needs to be treated with greater care than any other investment we make. To buy when we aren't ready, financially or emotionally, is a huge mistake. Gaming the economic situation is not a good idea. Buy when you're personally ready.

Given the value of this session, I highly recommend getting in touch with Mindy should you be interested in learning about the apartment buying process in Manhattan and determining if it's the right thing for you. She can be reached at 212.317.7887 or mfeldman@halstead.com.

My Year of Hopefulness - Demolition Depot

On Saturday I took the bus up to East 125th Street to a place that's fascinated me for some time. About 6 months ago, I was coming back from LaGuardia Airport on the M60 bus and went by a store with a strange looking sign that read "Demolition Depot". At first I thought it may be a construction (or rather destruction) company. I imagined backhoes and front-loaders and items like that inside. But the shape of the building didn't seem to fit that kind of business. I went home and Googled it to find that it is a place that houses dismantled building treasures from 5 continents. It is the dream house of many a film art director, or a writer like me. This is where old New York (and every other major city for that matter) finds a home for what remains. Inside its wall are thousands of stories waiting to be told.

I went up there today on a little writing adventure. I've been working on a fiction piece and thought that a trip to Demolition Depot may help jog some kind of inspiration. It did not disappoint. It reminded me of an old, 4-story barn. The smell of the place brought a smile to my face - musty and oddly comforting. I picked up a clipboard with an inventory form just in case I found some artifact that I wanted to take back with me.

My favorite spot of all was the garden, an area out back that houses giant gates and doors and wrought-iron screens - exterior pieces that on the street we would have to admire from afar. Here I could get up close and examine their details, every twist, turn, and adornment. Gargoyles and ornamentation and stained glass windows that took my breathe away. Who lived among these items? Where did they go? What did they do? What did they learn?

I felt as if I was walking through someone's house, as if I was trespassing and wasn't supposed to be there. I just loved it so much that I couldn't turn away. I just spent hours weaving through the four floors and the garden. Taking pictures, making notes, even sitting at some of the table settings, two of which I immediately loved and wanted for my home.

The trip accomplished exactly what I had hoped. I walked away with images and ideas that will be cropping up in my writing for many months to come. I understand that material items are of little value when compared to the value of personal relationships in our lives. What I appreciate about the one of a kind items housed at Demolition Depot is that they have borne witness to extraordinary and ordinary events of the lives of thousands of people. People passed through those doors, looked out from those windows, told time by those great giant clocks that now lay in wait for some lucky new owner. A majestic treasure trove of history just waiting to be remembered and re-told.

My Year of Hopefulness - The History of Where We Live

I crunched along on the few fallen leaves on Columbia's campus walk yesterday and smiled wide. A perfect fall day took me back to being a student in Philadelphia, the tall, impressive buildings lined with names like Sophocles, Vergil, and Plato reminded me of the joy of academia.

Late in the afternoon I was on my way to see Inna Guzenfeld, an archivist at the Avery Architectural and Fine Art Library at Columbia. The papers and drawings of Emery Roth, the architect who designed and lived in my apartment building, are housed there. During the 1920's Roth was the busiest architect in New York City, and many regard him as one of the founding fathers of the art deco movement. Until I moved into my building two weeks ago, I'd never heard of him and now I think of him and thank him every day.

"No bags, pens, no flash on your camera, touch the plans only on the edges, and we close at 5:00 sharp," said Inna. She had everything laid out for me in perfect order, and all of the materials exactly as I had asked for him. She is the hallmark of efficiency.

There was an architect there doing research. Maybe in his 40's, Elvis Costello glasses, lean, and intense. He looked up at me with some interest.

"Are you an architect?"

"No," I fumbled. "I'm a writer."

"Why are you interested in that building?"

"I moved into it two weeks ago."

"Who's the architect?"

"Emery Roth."

"You live in an Emery Roth building?"

"Yes."

"What floor?"

"Top floor."

"Really?" he said as he quickly removed his glasses. "You know those buildings are stunning. I've had the chance to work in a few of them. Are they doing work on your building?" he asked.

"No, it's actually perfect," I said.

"I'm not surprised," he continued. "That man was a genius."

And then I knew I was on to something.

I have been having architecture dreams, dreams where I feel my way along passages in my building, curling around dark corners to find some secret way through to the light. I've found myself waking up in the middle of the night with complete clarity and scribbling down notes as fast as I can before the images fade from my mind. So it was with great excitement that I learned that the actual building plans, made on linen, were preserved just 15 blocks north of my building by Inna and the team at Avery.

The Archives were freezing, a preventative measure to preserve their contents as well as possible. I peeled back the plans one at a time, pouring over dimensions and lines and descriptions of the very walls I wake up in every morning now. Their pungent, historical smell reminded me of the Fischer Fine Arts Library at Penn where I spent many hours studying and reading as a student. To this day, Fischer is still one of my favorite places on Earth. The floor on my side of the building remains exactly as it was then, in 1924. These were the maids' quarters.

Inna also provided me with the autobiography of Roth, which I quickly devoured, and a book about his work entitled Mansions in the Clouds. Closing time was fast approaching so I was running through the text as fast as I could, continually fascinated that Emery Roth and I share some striking similarities, from the tone of our writing to our family lives as children. His writing style is so relaxed that I felt like he was reading to me, telling me the story of his life. I wondered why an architect committed such personal thoughts and feelings to paper while I also wondered if it was possible to fall in love with someone through his writing, someone I've never met who passed on decades before I was even an inkling in my mother's eye. And then I was reminded of Thomas Jefferson and my affection for him as I read everything he ever committed to paper. Yes, love through writing is possible.

In the final 5 minutes of my time at Avery I found the gems I was looking for. A "Tower Room" was designed for my building, though I have yet to find it. What could someone house in a Tower Room? My mind is reeling with possibilities. Roth lived on the very floor where my current apartment is, on the other side. I found the plans and photographs of it. I believe it's still in existence, exactly as he had designed it for himself. There are numerous references in his autobiography and in his drawings about his desire to build fire-proof buildings - it was of critical importance to him to protect his work from going up in flames. Chills ran down my spine.

What's more, the building where I live provided the pinnacle of happiness for his wife. He designed the penthouse specifically for her. It was the living space she dreamed of, and then a sad set of circumstances set in for her in that very space, and she was never quite the same. The writer in me has been working overtime since leaving Avery. The fact that there were so many photos and that Roth wrote personally about the space in my building where he lived left me with a feeling that there is a story here that can and should be spun out and told.

As I packed up, Inna asked "did you find everything you needed?" "Absolutely," I said, "thank you." The architect next to me looked up and smiled. I suppose my giddiness at my findings showed, and he understood them well. The places we live house special meaning. They aren't just a collection of walls and doors, but they contain intense, personal moments that define our lives. This new space is a new chapter for me, in my life and in my writing.

The image above is not my own. It depicts the lobby of Devonshire House, a building in Greenwich Village of New York City, that was design by Emery Roth in 1928.

My Year of Hopefulness - Living With Less

My friend, Laura, and I have made a pact of simplicity, a promise to keep each other on the path of less is more. My apartment's furniture consists of a yoga mat, my friend, Jamie's, air mattress, and a couple of IKEA plastic chairs that I plan to use on my little patio. It's sort of like camping indoors. I lie awake at night staring out the windows at the beautifully illuminated view, and I say a little prayer in the hopes that I will always feel this content.

I don't know that I've ever been happier with the decor of an apartment. In my old apartment, I was in such a rush to get it "perfect". I actually made that statement out loud several times and each time it felt wrong. Now that I think back on that old apartment, there was always something just a bit off about it. I felt shut in despite all of the space. Now with less room in my new apartment and fewer belongings I feel a freedom that I don't think I've ever felt before at home.

On Tuesday I saw my first sunset from my patio. I face west toward the Hudson River and my view is dotted with those beautiful water towers that are found everywhere in New York City if we turn our gaze upward. The sky was a deep ruby red and lined with puffy clouds that took on a dusty blue hue as the sun sunk down behind New Jersey. There's an odd, comfortable feeling of belonging in this new space. I can't explain it except to say that it feels just right, imperfect and unfinished.

My life prior to this most recent move was too full. I felt too obligated, too burdened, a little claustrophobic and over-committed. I just didn't know how to simplify, how to free up my energy and my time. Now that I am through the stress of the most recent events, I am searching for every bright side possible. I'm too grateful for today, for every day, to not look for the bright sides. I'm turning over every stone to make sure I find as much happiness as possible.

In the past few days, I've found myself more relaxed and at ease, reluctant to rush or buy much of anything, reluctant to give away my time and space for anything less than those people and things that I truly, truly treasure. It's a sweet feeling to be surrounded only with what fills us up with joy.

My Year of Hopefulness - A New Lease on Life

Today I went into my old apartment for the next to last time. I was there with the insurance adjuster and the movers. I marked what things I hoped they could salvage, they boxed it up, and took it away for cleaning. At first it was a routine exercise though I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up a little. It's a difficult thing to see all of your belongings damaged, things you worked so hard for, things that have sentimental value, things that connect you to people you love and times long ago. The severing of that tie, despite its materialistic nature, can be hard to bear.

The dry cleaners were supposed to be scheduled for today as well but there was an appointment mix-up so I'll just meet them tomorrow. They'll be there at 10:30 tomorrow morning and once that piece is done, I'll close the door for the last time on an apartment that I had high hopes for. I imagined dinner parties with friends, out-of-town guests, a little dog livening up the place. I'd be cooking in my eat-in kitchen, writing away. It was to be a little den of creativity for the next year. Instead it taught me the lesson of a lifetime - how precious and short every day is. We so often live close to the edge and don't even know it. One minute, I'm writing on my computer, buying iTunes songs ('Landslide' by Fleetwood Mac was downloading at the time the fire broke out), and then my kitchen floor is crackling and heaving the next moment. Life's funny that way. So unpredictable.

At 1:00 this afternoon, I signed the lease to my new apartment and by the kindness of the building managers I can move in immediately. The building was designed by Emery Roth, a renowned architect, whom I'd never heard of until this afternoon. He lived in the building for many years, just down the hall from me, in a 9-room apartment (much larger than mine!). He designed many well-known iconic residential structures in New York City including the El Dorado, the San Remo, and the Warwick Hotel. His firm, Emery Roth & Sons, continued on long after his death and designed many well-known New York City buildings including the World Trade Center (a little spooky that on 9/11 I'd sign a lease at a building designed and inhabited by the man whose firm designed the World Trade Center), the Bronx High School of Science, and the Hemsley Palace Hotel.

As the leasing VP if my new building said, "it's almost as if you were meant to end up here rather than your other apartment." At first I thought she was just saying that to make me feel better. Now, I'm wondering if there's more to her comment than just that simple, surface sentiment. According to Wikipedia, "The extensive architectural records and papers of both Emery Roth and Emery Roth & Sons are now held in the Department of Drawings & Archives at the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library at Columbia University." Once I am settled in, I will have to pay that library a visit. There's some kind of story here, and now that the wheels of my mind are turning this way again, I know I'm well on my way to being my old self again, with an even greater appreciation for life and all of the mysteries it holds.

The photo above is not mine. It depicts the San Remo designed by Emery Roth. It can be found on Wired New York, an on-line community created by Edward Sudentas for people who love New York City art and architecture.

My Year of Hopefulness - Cleansing

It's the middle of the night and I'm having a tough time sleeping. I've become accustomed to insomnia as I've had it off and on for most of my life. Tonight is a little eerie though. I'm awake because of the wind. It's keeping me up long past my bedtime. It's so gusty that as I was walking back to my friend, Amber's, apartment, I could feel the weather bearing down on me. For a moment I almost lost my footing. You'd think this was Chicago in the winter the way the gusts are going. We rarely have wind like this, especially at the beginning of September.

I can't help but think that this odd wind is a way for the greater universe to say to me that my life is being cleaned out, and it must be this way as tough as the circumstances may be. With these gusts will go all of the bad energy from the fire. And with that energy will go the fear as well - mine, and my neighbors', family's, and friend's fears, too. Rather than it being a disturbing wind, perhaps it's trying to be of great use at a time of great need. Maybe a strong, forceful wind is exactly what's called for in times of stress. At least I'm hoping that's the case.

As I headed from The Empire Hotel toward the subway tonight, for a second I thought "damn, all my warm clothes might be ruined. I have nothing to wear!" And then a second later I started laughing, out loud. Who cares? So I will have to buy some new warm clothing now that Fall has arrived. I stopped for a moment right by Columbus Circle and looked up at the sky, the clouds faintly swirling and swishing in the very dark sky. I said a prayer to whatever and whoever is up there looking down on me, blowing all the smoke away so that I might see and think a bit more clearly. "Thank you," I said. "I'm glad I'm here to witness this." And I've never meant any 9 words more in my life.

The image above is not my own. It can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - A Lucky Place to Lay My Head

My friend, Liz (another unwitting angel), was able to connect me to a friend of hers regarding an apartment. Her friend sent me the management company's contact info. I emailed them right away and they were able to show me a studio apartment that's available immediately, in my same neighborhood, in my price range. This story is miraculous enough with just these details though the other coincidences are striking.

My apartment building caught fire on Saturday afternoon and by tonight, I have a new place to live. It's a pent house studio with outdoor space, lots of light, a dishwasher, full-size appliances, a very large closet, doorman, elevator, laundry in-building, art deco building, only one month security, no broker fee, beautiful view of the skyline and the Hudson River. Skeptical? Me too. It gets better.

It's one of the first buildings in New York City that takes American Express as a form of payment for rent. And until this morning, the apartment had been listed as having an application in. It's been that way for weeks. However, the application fell through some time ago and the list did not update for some odd reason until this morning.

Tomorrow I will get two checks for the realty company and at lunchtime will hop uptown to sign the lease. This apartment hunt all wrapped up in less than 48 hours and I got a space where I feel safe. Life changes so fast. All we can do is be ready - for good luck and bad luck. Both are bound to turn up in our lives at one time or another. And while I hope I have seen the later of these for some time to come, I'm so abundantly grateful that during this difficult transition I've still been able to find, receive, and recognize blessings.

My Year of Hopefulness - Honest conversations

This morning I broke down a little. After the initial shock of the apartment building fire, I went into panic mode when considering the legal binding agreement of my lease. Could I be held accountable for the remainder of my lease? If I didn't pay it, could I be sued? I wound myself up, immediately firing off emails asking for advice. I even talked to a personal friend and family friend who are attorneys. Then I met with a broker who showed me a few apartments and he wound me up all over again. By the time I sat down at 11:00AM my head was hurting and spinning.

So I took it to the extreme, my usual MO when trying to calm myself down. Okay, what's the worst that could happen? I wouldn't get my deposit back. I wouldn't get my September rent back. I'd be held liable for the remainder of my lease or be taken to small claims court. That's the worst. And it sucks, but as I learned this weekend, it just sucks.

So rather than continuing to wind myself up, I decided to pick myself up, cart myself off to my own apartment, and meet with my landlord, explaining that I just cannot stay. And I took LOTS of photos. It's just not livable and it's not safe. The whole subway ride I just kept repeating to myself, "I just want out of that place and into some place safe." And I could swear someone said "okay".

I took a deep breathe and explained my feelings to my landlord. I choked up a little bit and was mad at myself for that. He looked at me with a bit of surprise. He couldn't believe that I even thought he would hold me to the lease, keep my deposit, and keep my September rent. Not at all. He released me from the lease, will return my deposit, and refund my September rent. Of course. No problem at all. My lease is null and void and his insurance will cover the lost rent and deposit.

That's all it took - an honest face-to-face conversation and knowing exactly what I wanted and why. Sometimes the stories we tell ourselves are far worse that what actually comes to be. Far better to get it all out there in the open than bottle it up. The result is likely to be better than anything we imagine.

My Year of Hopefulness - Go the Other Way

I went to the US Open today. It was a welcome relief from yesterday's chaos and the fallout that is about to ensue. I'm not at all pleased with the landlord's response to the fire in my building. There will not be any additional safety measures taken to secure the building and they will not do any cleaning of the units. In his words "You should probably feel safe living there." Thanks, for nothing. So as soon as possible, I'll be on the move again and in the mean time I am grateful, as always, for the amazing friends in my life who are helping me out through this difficult time. I am blessed to be alive and surrounded by so many incredible souls.

At the US Open, I was watching the Del Porto vs. Koehlerer match. It was an amazing competition to watch. I was sitting next to a few young kids, probably high school age, who wanted to get the wave going. They tried in one direction and got barely any traction. After a few unsuccessful attempts, they gave up, and then someone from a section in the opposite direction told the high schoolers to pass the wave over to them. It caught on like wildfire, and went all the way around the stadium, several times, including through the section that hadn't taken it up when the wave was passed directly to them.

Fun to watch, the wave helped me adjust to my changing situation. I was getting so upset about my apartment, about not having a place to live, again, having to crash with friends, again, and the general attitude and lack of concern from my landlord. Keith put things in perspective for me. My apartment building is not safe, and I'm so disturbed by the lack of concern that my landlords are showing for their tenants that I'm never going to be comfortable there. So better to just adjust, pack, and go someplace else. "Yes, it sucks," Keith said. "But that's all. It just sucks. You're okay, a lot of your things are okay, and all you have to do is move."

I have accept that this change has happened, and now I have to change, too. Getting frustrated and angry at the situation won't help, no matter how angry or frustrated I get. Just like the high schoolers and the wave, I need to go in the opposite direction. It's the only way forward. So here I go again...

My Year of Hopefulness - Fire

Today I was more scared that I've ever been. I'm blogging tonight from the a comforting home of a friend, smelling soot and ash from my laptop that is likely ruined. My apartment building caught fire today.

I'm fine. Most of my belongings are fine. At around 1:00pm I heard the floor of my kitchen crackling and the floor began to heave. I grabbed my keys and went downstairs to tell my neighbor to stop doing whatever he was doing. And then the stairwell filled with thick black smoke.

I couldn't see anything - it was as if I had a blindfold on. I got as low as I could, scrambled down three flights, and yelled as loud as I could. Apparently my yelling helped some of my neighbors get out of the building. No smoke alarms went off, or at leas none of the ones I pass on my way downstairs.

It was a curious thing. I felt like I was flying down those stairs, as if someone was carrying me. My apartment is largely untouched, despite that most of my neighbors around me have apartments that are virtually destroyed. And just this morning I was talking about the importance of renters' insurance and how I'd never had anything like a house fire happen to me. It's all a bit eerie. I'm worried I may never feel at home in that apartment again and yet, I'm also very much aware that someone, somewhere was and is protecting me.

My greatest fear was that I'd pass out on the stairs, dying from smoke inhalation. And even though I got a face full of soot, I never once felt like I was suffocating. I only had the fear of suffocating. Very different. Truthfully, I came out that front door with a scratch, bump, or bruise on me. I was just fine. Only shaken.

And now I wonder if this one event is enough. As if I weren't already painfully aware of time passing by, now I think I might be turning a corner, again, in my quest for a whole, joyful life. It seems that now I really don't have any reason to be afraid. That there is no time like the present to grab ahold of everything I ever wanted to do or be. A few more minutes in that building, and the ending of my story could have been much different. I might not be writing this blog post tonight.

We're all always on borrowed time. Now, it seems impossible to me that I could ever forget that. And for this borrowed time, I am most grateful. I learned today that I really don't need any possessions I have. All I needed was my health. I just needed to be okay. The rest can be replaced. All of it. Amazing how it takes something so traumatic to truly know something so basic.

Already I feel the gloom lifting and the light settling in. Already I know that I will be more than okay, that today I begin never, ever looking back. Today I start moving forward with a new energy to build the greatest life I possibly can. And again, I feel like I am flying, as if someone is carrying me. And I know they are.

My Year of Hopefulness - Writing Peace

"We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand. Choose a place...and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine." ~E.M.

Forester, A Room with a View Yesterday I read a post on Theatre Folk that talks about how the physical place where a writer is located effects the quality of the writing. So often, we think writing is some elusive, muse-like magic that just shows up when it's good and ready. I'm still waiting for my muse to walk through the door, so I figured that while I'm waiting I should follow the advice of E.M. Forester and hang out in the sunshine.

Right now as I'm writing this post, sunshine is streaming through my living room window, dappling the keyboard. My apartment faces into the courtyard (which sounds lavish, but I can assure you it's not) so I can see the goings on of all my neighbors if they're at their windows. This also means I avoid a great majority of the street noise, though because I'm on a higher floor, I also get the sunlight. It's a win-win for me and my writing. There are some trees and butterflies outside right now. The blue sky is swirled with clouds and the breeze in gently blowing. It's a peaceful kind of place.

By my desk I keep three things taped to the wall. One is a card with the quote from Thomas Jefferson, "The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do." The art of brevity and good editing. The second is a card that has my 2009 to-do list. I wrote it up in December of 2008 and so far, I'm doing pretty well. I'm actually on track to complete all 10 by the end of the year. They are things I am really interested in, and just needed to dedicate the time to them. For example, I wanted to cook more, get a new apartment, and expand the reach of my writing. Done, done, and done. The third thing is a card with a simple quote by John F. Kennedy: "Peace is a daily, a weekly, a monthly process."

I used to think that peace was a destination. An achievement. Since I was a teenager, I made one simple wish on birthdays, when I'd see the first star at night, whenever I'd blow an eyelash from my fingertip. I just wanted to feel at peace. Sounds like such an easy thing to have. Just stop worrying and feeling anxious and scared and stressed, right? Right. And all of that was very hard for me. Much harder than I wanted it to be so in addition to feeling all of these things I also felt frustrated. Where was that damn peace of mind hiding?

Now I know that peace wasn't hiding at all. In order to access it, I had to go out into the world and live. Peace doesn't have a permanent place at all. It's an active, living, breathing way of life that moves with us, within us. It's accessible at any and every moment. And just because we feel it at this moment, doesn't mean it will be readily apparent the next. It is a state of mind that we must continually commit to, and share with others. And eventually, it just becomes a part of us. We will, with time, patience, and practice, be a living vessel for peace, and I hope my writing takes on that form as well. Though to tell you the truth, sunshine on my keyboard certainly helps.

The photo above is the view from my desk in my living room, where I do most of my writing. If you look closely you can see my reflection in the bottom left corner, snapping the photo.

My Year of Hopefulness - Dream Reality Dream

"Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living." ~ Anaïs Nin

The set-up of my new apartment is nearly complete. It's beginning to feel like a home, so to celebrate I took myself for a stroll around my new / old neighborhood. Even though I only moved four blocks north, it feels like a whole new life here. Somehow, even my old haunts look different, refreshed from this vantage point.

Everywhere I looked there were signs of new life: business springing up on every corner, new restaurants that were bustling, sidewalk artists, musicians on the streets, fresh fruit vendors. One hair salon was having a day of gratitude, thanking customers for their loyalty during these tough times. It was enough to make me giddy. Maybe we are going to be okay.

All of this new activity got me to thinking about dreams and how I'd like my life to be going forward, starting today. This year has been filled with great lessons on the power of intention. Hoping and praying for something to come to pass has its power, though on its own it's not going to get the job done. While I believe in the energy of the universe, I believe that energy is there for us to use, not admire. I'm beginning to question this idea of what we're "meant to do". We may just be meant to do whatever we set our minds and hearts to.

There is a peculiar play between dreams and action. I've found that I have some dreams that are filled with so much passion that it would be impossible for me to not work on them. And that work is what brings them to life. And seeing my dreams brought to life begets the confidence to create new dreams. And on and on we go. This cycle enables us to live to our full potential.

Someone recently told me that she's afraid to work on her dream because she's actually afraid of achieving it. A part of her just wants to put it away in a little box for safekeeping so that it always stays in her mind's eye, exactly the way she envisions it. This sounded so strange to me. Who actively doesn't want their dream to come true? And then we got to what she's really afraid of: if she achieves her dream, then what will she do after that? What if there isn't anything else? What will she do when she's run out of dreams? Will she just be hanging around waiting for life to go by?

There is another beautiful layer of truth hidden in Anaïs Nin's quote that speaks to this fear. She's saying that deeply embedded in every dream is the seed to a new dream that's activated when we see the first dream become real. In other words, having a dream, going after it, and achieving it guarantees that a new dream is on the way. There's no need to hold back. No need to give only part of the energy we have. Pour yourself into your endeavors, all of them. The well of strength and possibility is deeper than we could ever imagine. The dream you have right now, at this moment, is only the beginning.

The photo above can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - New Home, Sweet Home

Moving day! Once again, I had a stellar experience with Flat Rate Moving and got some much needed, much appreciated help with my own bags from the past weeks. When arriving at the apartment this morning to see the new renovations, I had the impulse to skip from one end to the other. I actually hugged the new kitchen countertop. This apartment is such a huge improvement over my last place that I can hardly believe it's mine!

While packing and unpacking are tough chores, I do relish the feeling of a fresh start, a new beginning filled with possibilities. My home isn't just where I get some sleep and store my belongings. I do most of writing here. I practice my yoga which in akin to a religion for me. It's a place where I laugh and cry and dream with my friends, where I have multiple out-of-town guests. The rest of my life springs from these walls, and with new walls, in some sense, I get a new life.

Once the movers collected my last signature and quietly closed the door on their way out, I did do a run through the maze of brown boxes that now lined my new place, and at the end made sure to do a little dance of gratitude: to my friends, Rob and Linda, who took me in for two weeks when I really needed a place to stay, for the movers who took such good care of my belongings from beginning to end, to the wonders of Craig's list that made finding this apartment possible. I was so happy that I wanted to give the world one great big hug, and I wanted to make sure that I took a moment to remind myself how good this world and our experience in it can be.

Now I'm collapsing into bed with a wide smile. My feet haven't been this tired in years and my legs aren't used to the three flights of stairs just yet. And yet none of that matters. I'm home again.

My Year of Hopefulness - While You Were Out

Today I went to pick up all of the keys for my new apartment. At 9am tomorrow, I'll be happily skipping around my new, renovated, larger, cheaper apartment a mere four blocks from my old one - a very positive, unintended consequence of the recession.

I was too excited sleep this morning, so I was up and out the door early. I missed my old neighborhood, even though I've only been gone two weeks. I wanted to take some time to walk around before meeting my new landlord.

When I hopped off the train and walked a few blocks, I was surprised to see how much has changed. More store fronts have closed up, and a few formerly vacant ones are now occupied. A 10-story condo building is going up a few doors down from my new digs. The 96th Street subway construction looks like it may actually be finished some time relatively soon. And two blocks away, I'm not just getting a Whole Foods (which has me smiling widely) but an entire retail complex called Columbus Square (get it?) that includes a Crumbs (gasp)! I may never have to leave my new little haven of hope.

I'm one of those folks who's always surprised that any place I've been changes while I'm away. The way it is in my mind at last sight, is the way it remains frozen, captured in time. Like my friend, Brandi, I should be walking around with a camera at every moment so that I can quickly snap images of our ever-changing world. Tomorrow everything could be different.

My experience today makes me realize why exhibits like Camilo Jose Vergara's beautiful tribute to Harlem are so powerful, poignant, and necessary. Just as we are always in a process of becoming, so are the communities where we live. Just as we want to tell our own stories, so do our cities.

The image above was taken by Ruby Washington/The New York Times.

My Year of Hopefulness - Seized Engine

The movers from Flatrate Moving have arrived! Only about an hour late - though very nice guys. I'll take late but nice; far better than on-time and cranky. They were late because they put the wrong fuel in the truck, or someone at the company did. They had to go get a Budget rental truck to complete my move. I can't imagine how nerve-wracking it is to be a mover.

I thought I was anxious about the move because I would watch all my stuff being carted away - off to storage for two weeks - hoping I'll see it again in some decent form. Turns out I was anxious for an entirely different reason which I only realized while talking to my sister, Weez. I was worried I'd disappoint my movers. Did I pack the boxes incorrectly? Did I not use enough tape? Did I pack too much in them. Are they going to be cursing my name and playing catch with my belongings?

As Weez pointed out, this is ridiculous, especially considering that I triple taped every box, put my initials and box numbers on at least 3 sides of each box, and set them out in numerical order. (I feel my OCD coming out.) They had their engine seize and were late - they felt badly about it; I was worried about the packing of my boxes and I felt badly about it. We worry so much about disappointing one another; as it turns out, the cure to disappointment is forgiveness and understanding - something we can all do.

One of my movers looked around at my things and said, "this is it?" "Yep, minus the lamps - I'm giving those away to goodwill this afternoon." "Don't worry," he said. "We plan for everything - it will all be fine." Were my nerves showing?

And then my landlady, Ann-Marie stopped by, to inquire about the keys, my forwarding address, etc. She gave me a hug, kissed me on the check, and wished me well. Since I'll still be in the neighborhood, I'll be seeing them around. She and her husband, Joe, have been very good to me, and I appreciate everything they did to help me in my transition back to NYC two years ago.

30 minutes after their arrival, the move's almost done. The wondrous sound of packing tape are the background music for this post and it's music to my ears; maybe my triple taping wasn't enough. No problem though, the movers have me covered. The knots in my stomach are finally beginning to disappear.

My Year of Hopefulness - A Sea of Brown Boxes

I'm writing to you tonight atop of a sea of brown boxes containing the tangible contents of my life. The sorting and packing processes are complete. Everything's taped up, awaiting the movers who arrive bright and early tomorrow morning at 9.

Because my new apartment's renovations won't be complete until mid-August, my belongings are headed for the world of storage for safe keeping. I'll be staying with friends with only two suitcases and a backpack. I still think I've overpacked for two weeks. (Do I really need those pink espadrilles for the next 14 days?)

To give myself some peace of mind, I started making an inventory of what's contained in each box - just a general overview - in the event that my things get misplaced during the move. Trouble is that I thought I could remember what they contained after I'd sealed them. Turns out I haven't the faintest idea of what's inside about half of them. Now this could be because it's nearly midnight and I'm tired. It could be because I'm in post-packer's coma, and more than slightly incoherent after a long, long day of packing, cleaning, and tossing.

It would be nice to use a logical excuse here to explain my forgetfulness. Truthfully, I know why I can't remember what's in half these boxes - because it doesn't matter. I'm not a "things" person. Why do I need 25 brown Home Depot boxes packed to the gills and sealed with duct tape? I don't - and even though I sent a lot of my belongings out to retirement, I still have much more than I thought I did. And much more than I actually need.

Too late now, though. Flatrate Moving will be ringing up my Amex card around 10am tomorrow for a larger amount than I ever imagined I'd pay for movers. My bed is calling me for one last rest within this apartment that has been an incubator of creativity and exploration for me these last two years. It's been a fun ride. New adventures in a new space are already calling me, and being a person who is unable to turn down adventure, I must answer them.

NY Business Strategies Examiner - Interview with Lee Lin, co-founder of RentHop

It's moving time again! I've been thinking a lot about the moving process and the hunt for apartment lately. I'll move into my new digs next month and the movers arrive this Thursday. I can be a stressful undertaking, especially Around August 1st when the rush of students and new college graduates is hard to miss!

Looking for a little sanity in your apartment search? Enter RentHop - an innovative new service that allows would-be renters to browse free, no -fee listings in the New York City area. I had the opportunity to speak with Lee Lin, co-founder of RentHop.

For the full story, click here.

My Year of Hopefulness - The doors we close

Today I started packing up my apartment. I'm moving blocks down the street to a large, renovated apartment for less than I pay now. Go figure - one of the positive side effects of the recession. Rents are dropping in New York City like never before.

Packing up for a move is a curious activity. It begs the question, "what things do I really want to keep." I packed up a few big bags this morning and hauled them off to the Salvation Army. Even though I do my best to combat clutter of any kind, things still accumulate. For me it's mostly papers, magazines, and materials that relate to my writing that clutters up my apartment the most.

As many times as I've moved, I still get a little sentimental about leaving an apartment. Though my new space is much better than the apartment I currently live in, this apartment in particular has really meant something to me. I started my post-business school life here. I went through a job search, found my voice as a writer, and began my path to entrepreneurship right from this couch I'm sitting on. I watched President Obama's acceptance speech and his inauguration here. I mended a broken heart and fell in love with New York again inside this tiny studio. The stock market crashed and the economy was driven to the brink as I watched CNN. Friends and family came to visit. My little niece, Lorelei, took her very first Manhattan step over the threshold of this apartment. It kept me safe, sane, and calm in the midst of a very busy city.

Any home is a lot more than just four walls and a roof. It's a place where memories are built. Where great moments, big and small, take place. Everything in our lives stems from where we lay our heads at night so it's only natural that there would be a little emotion in saying good-bye. After all, when we move, we are passing through a door that will close behind us for good. It's a place to which we will never return and the only choice is to move forward.

So while I'm looking forward to being totally packed up and moved into my new four walls, I want to make sure I take the time to look back, just for a moment, and count the blessings that my current four walls housed. As Stephen Sondheim said, "This is where I began, being what I can."

My Year of Hopefulness - Love is all around us

Yesterday my friend, Ken, called me with an incredible story that's too good to keep to myself. Last Fall he lost his mom to a terminal respiratory disease that she had managed for a number of years. Ken was very close to his mom and he's a rough go of it for the past 6 months. One of his friends gave him a gift certificate to a nearby greenhouse and nursery so he could buy a tree in honor of his mom to plant in his yard.

When Ken was a teenager, Evita had just opened on Broadway and the song "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" was the mot popular song around. Ken's mom used to crack herself up by changing up the words to "Don't cry for me Sargent Tina..." She'd sing that all the time, making everyone around her laugh.

Ken was at the nursery yesterday with a friend, choosing a tree to honor his mom. They were specifically looking for a crabapple tree because of their beautiful flowers and found one they really liked. Variety: the Sargent Tina Crabapple. Maybe a coincidence...

Ken and his friend, Linda, get back to Ken's house and plant the tree in the yard. They place the last shovelful of dirt around the tree and head back inside the house. Just as they get into the house, the song Hold Me Kiss Me Thrill Me was on the radio. That song was the only song Ken's mother requested for her memorial service when she and Ken were choosing the music while his mom was in hospice. Coincidence, I think not...

Losing people is hard, though experiences like Ken's remind me that we don't ever lose the ones we love. They just cross over, and they'll be there when we cross over, too. We'll be with them again, and while it's hard to accept that they don't exist in the form in which we knew them and loved them, their love is still very much a part of our lives, always. Their love is truly all around us.

The photo above depicts the blossoms of a Sargent Tina Crabapple and is from http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2072/3534629428_bef4ba6e37.jpg?v=0.

My Year of Hopefulness - Mr. Ayers and Mr. Lopez

I've been developing a habit of reading and listening to inspirational stories. I need to keep my courage and strength up in these tough times. We all do. On Sunday, I watched 60 Minutes because President Obama was speaking. I planned to shut off the TV and go through some of my weekly reading that had piled up as soon as President Obama's interview was complete. Instead, I spent the remainder of the hour glued to the TV, getting to know Mr. Ayers and Mr. Lopez. 

Meet Mr. Lopez, a columnist for the LA Times. A good guy whom you imagine might be your neighbor, a fellow parent at your child's school, if you're lucky he'd be your boss or colleague. Now meet Mr. Ayers, a homeless man in LA. He suffers from the disease of paranoid schizophrenia. And he is a brilliantly gifted musician. Cello, violin, and trumpet. Gift enough to be admitted to Julliard. Gifted enough still to keep up with the LA Philharmonic whose members now rehearse with and provide lessons to him when he visits them at the concert hall. 

After his first year at Julliard, Mr. Ayers went home and began showing signs of his illness which was rearing its ugly head inside his wonderfully gifted mind. As a last ditch desperation move, Mr. Ayers followed the advice of psychiatrists and subjected her son to electric shock treatments. It is a barbaric treatment that was at one time, not all that long ago, accepted as a viable tool to manage the disease. Instead, it sent Mr. Ayers into a downward spiral from which he has never returned. 

Mr. Lopez and Mr. Ayers met three years ago. Mr. Ayers was playing his cello in a park as Mr. Lopez roamed the streets trying to come up with a story for his looming deadline. What struck Mr. Lopez in addition to Mr. Ayers's virtuosity, was that he wasn't playing in the park for money. He was just playing his cello for himself. Mr. Lopez would learn that Mr. Ayers played to forget, to chase away the frightening effects of his schizophrenia. He needed to, wanted to drown out his deepest, darkest concerns. Thus began a 3 year friendship that continues and flourishes so much that it caught the attention of Universal Pictures and has been turned into a movie, The Soloist, featuring Jamie Foxx and Robert Downey, Jr. The movie will open in theatres on April 24, 2009.  

My father was a clinical psychologist so I know a bit about diseases like paranoid schizophrenia. I can tell you that it is a heartbreaking disease to see and experience up close, and it is even harder to see the strain the disease places on families and loved ones of the person who has the disease. To hear the story of Mr. Ayers, to hear his incredible musical gifts mixed with his equally incredible demons, we have to believe that in all people, regardless of circumstances, there is good and not-so-good. 

It was a reminder to me that too often we cast aside the mentally ill in this country as if they have nothing to offer society. They are hidden away, forgotten, ignored. Their basic needs like healthcare and shelter too often go unfulfilled. In our society, they have very few vehicles to raise their voice, to come together, to stand up, and to be counted. Let's hope that The Soloist is not just another feel good story at the box office but that it actually raises awareness that inspires action. On the movie's website, there are links to help you get involved in the efforts to end homelessness and help those with mental illnesses.   

To read the 5-part series written by Mr. Lopez about Mr. Ayers, click here.

The above photo depicts Mr. Nathaniel Ayers playing the violin. I found the image at: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEMyNvHNE6ArdPb410-0LsA_zWh3uMNun16sJP39qWipP8Nnyr8oGucKpzvTNkF6Fy0CJRFMnfMN3ODh-2J90NcSiqpA-kQmxcNSQyH6CNk_0T4msoYcARYhAmiwNFB0bn-BBkNEhevot1/s320/1865563850_9f4c68c464.jpg