Transition

This blog has been live for a little over 3 years and, while I can't knock something that has given me an outlet to express, work out, fight out all that's up in my head and my heart, I can't deny that it's time for a makeover. Green and leaves remain warm associations for me, but they don't necessarily reflect my flavor in the now.

In doing research on what I'd like Zana-DO to look and feel like, I have come across some pretty fresh work. Today I found this video by graphic artist Takuya Hosogane. The color is off but I love, I adore, I perk up to this music. "Le Petit Prince" by cubesato. Take a listen and a look. I do like how Takuya emphasizes the beats with the graphics and vice versa.

Enjoy this beautiful day of snow to sun.

Vanishing Point from Bonsajo on Vimeo.

I'm Off

On this very day last year, at this very time, I was perched somewhere over the Southern hemisphere, zeroing in on Buenos Aires. I remember my first impressions of the city. The landing strip was overrun and so we hovered for some 45 minutes. Buenos Aires lay all lit up below, ominous and inviting at once. I sat, a bit paralyzed by the size of it, struggling to identify points of recognition as we looped again and again. I wondered where my particular place in that city would be. Would I find it warm, welcoming, inviting? Would I find my nest?

Today I sit in Newark Airport with the same anticipation, this time awaiting a departure for Paris. I'm not sure what it is about the 15th of October, or whether I was aware of its significance when I chose this date back in June. We shall see...

Almost...

I just came from a failure of a lease signing. A failure in the sense that it ended in no signing, no exchange of money, no turning over of keys - just a torn up lease and the landlord's screams bouncing down the hall behind me as I fled his temper tantrum. I was weary of his personality from the start - agitated, evasive, nervous - but I was willing to look beyond it for the apartment. A gorgeous parlor level of a brownstone with 25' ceilings, original detail and very, very good vibes. When I say I've dreamed of the place, I truly have. It's appeared in my meditation and creative visualization exercises (another blog entry all together). So beautiful that I'm contemplating whether I should have accepted his unfavorable terms and volatile temper. I shouldn't have and I am glad I didn't, but now I have to start all over again.

Todays rain doesn't help matters. My fingers are not yet unthawed from the hour I spent stalking up and down 5th Avenue, phone clenched in hand, relaying what had just happened in exasperated, short breaths to family and friends. After another hour spent at the farmers market buying ingredients for an impulsive, domesticated evening of cooking (probably to offset the rootless frenzy), I arrived at my temporary post on Rivington and Clinton, content to meld my feelings of defeat with the grey, insistent drizzle. But I've just received an email from a friend, reminding me of the true attributes of rain. "Rain is necessary for all life to exist," she says, "so we might as well give thanks!" She's right. We need it to thrive and grow; to round out the cycle; to stop, reflect, realign and rest up for the next period of sunshine.

So I sit here now with the window wide open, welcoming the rain and letting it wash away whatever just happened today. Flush it out, make room for the new. And I'm giving thanks - for the life lesson, for the cozy apartment I'm in right now, for the apartment that's on the way, for the understanding that all will work out exactly as it should, for the wine I just uncorked.

Just Be Thankful

This morning I gave all the money I had in my wallet to a woman on the C train. $2.00 and change. She had shuffled on at High Street Brooklyn Bridge and began her plea for help with the requisite nicety, "I am sorry to bother you...". She said she had been homeless for 2 weeks. The shakiness in her voice made me break the barrier many New Yorkers use as their first line of defense against crazies and other nuisances. I made eye contact. She wore grey soiled sweatpants and dragged a small cobalt blue suitcase on wheels. The heavier baggage she carried under her eyes, which were dark and sunken. As she accepted my money, she avoided my eyes.

My decision to react was voluntary yet automatic for, last night, I experienced the panic of not knowing where to lay my head. After a whirlwind of unexpected interviews, I now have a job in New York. I received the offer last Friday and started this Monday, leaving me little time to find an apartment or gather my things from DC. Because I am blessed, a friend has lent me her couch for a few weeks until I find a place. Yesterday evening, exhausted from acclimating to a new job, I came "home" with a plan for a shower and a savory meal. Instead I found an apartment undone. The exterminators had been there, leaving the air murky with chemicals and the couch where I sleep damp with the cold air rushing in from the warehouse-sized window above. It was 9:30, I was exhausted and feeling disoriented. My friend and I realized that we might not be able to sleep there. I slid down the wall into a crouched position, reviewing my options. I made a few calls, no one answered. I sent a few texts and finally a blanket email, apologizing and asking whoever could help to call me asap. In the end, we started cleaning and righting the apartment. I threw 3 sheets under me to absorb any dampness, we ordered a pizza and I passed out thinking that, if this was the hardknocks welcome back to NY, I was going to grin and bear it and eventually conquer it. I slept and woke up surprisingly well. I'm sitting here at work, 15 minutes early, realizing that what my friend said last night is cliche but true. It could be much worse. And it is for many people.

Soon after the woman moved from our car to the next, another person in need asked for our attention and our aid. Though he didn't tell us his story, it was clear he had been homeless for many more weeks than two. The plastic bags he wore and carried had transformed him into an amorphous, monotone blob of ash and grit. The salt and pepper sprigs on his face clung together into a matted beard, his skin was rough and prematurely aged. I had no money left, but I said a silent prayer for him as my gaze met his.

As I walked to work, I checked my email and found a myriad of responses from friends offering their homes. Feeling spoiled, it was very clear that I need to do more for those in need. To whom much is given, much is expected.

Here's a song for today...

Birthing The Beast

I haven't been able to write for weeks now. Not sure what's going on, probably the stress of not just having to look but really needing to find a job. My Stepmother told me at dinner tonight that I should take advantage of this time off to be creative, to craft something for myself that I truly love. And I have. I have for almost 6 months. But, as real life worries and their ominous shadows grow bigger and bigger, I find my creativity pool is drying up. And my self-criticism is growing, particularly with regard to my writing. There is many a half-baked blog post on my dashboard. Ideas I haven't been able to fully form, that are far from post-worthy in my opinion. And that just creates more anxiety and more criticism and, worst of all, stagnation. In an effort to birth the beast and move on, I have decided to free write and post tonight, whatever comes out. Here it is.

When You Go...

This morning I'm on the road again. Winding through the tunnel made rhythmic by the divots in the pavement, now spit out on the Jersey side. New York has welcomed me, talked fast and enticed me to jump back into her double dutch game three times since I've been back from South America. Each time I have found myself here. Leaving, and more and more aware that NYC is not where I am supposed to be right now.

The question is where am I supposed to be? For now it's DC, a city that holds both my origins and so many unknowns. I was born there, but didn't stay. My family is there now so that's where I'll be, too. In many ways it feels like a rebirth, a reinvention of self. New neighborhoods to explore, new communities to form. Perhaps even a new career as I suspect politics, international relations and lobbying trump creative advertising. Again, a return to the root. I majored in Political Science.

When I gave up my apartment and loosened many ties here back in October, I was prepared to let NYC go. I have been surprised to find myself back here so soon and have questioned whether enough time has passed. I don't think so and, unfortunately yet thankfully, the retracting economy has confirmed it. I'm still on that adventure I began last year. And, though I didn't imagine it would bring me back to this continent, that I would be navegating my way in this language, I am game. I believe that it'll lead me to exactly where I am supposed to be, and that the reward will be great.

My last week in New York has been sweet, a tender time of intimate conversations with old friends, aimless city walks, birthday toasts, teary-eyed hellos and goodbyes, lots and lots of love. Yesterday I ducked into the IFC Theatre for a showing of the Oscar-nominated Best Live Shorts. The last one stuck in my mind, and in my vocal chords. It's called Manon Sur le Bitume (Manon on the Asphalt). Madeleine Peyroux's soulful and bright rendition of "You're Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go" plays throughout. What struck me is the way this song, along with the color and sound treatment and the intimate flashbacks and peeps into this woman's life, sweetened what should be a sad good-bye. My good-bye is far from a death, thank goodness. But, in certain respects, I feel the same melancholy for times past, gratefulness for having lived them and acceptance of what is now. Sadness and gratefulness and acceptance in one. Passing smoke stacks on 95, humming this song.



See the short if you can.

This Moment

My last morning in this swooping city, brisk in both temperature and speed. Thankfully, I have such a warm, supportive nest in the form of my best friend's apartment to house my thoughts, my worries, my search. These past few weeks have been full of questions and, though I hate to admit it, a bit of angst. New York has whipped me back into reality, asking questions of me I am not sure I know how to answer yet; making me feel an insecurity I have not felt in a long time. The absence of that poisonous sentiment was mostly due to the all-encompassing, warm chest inducing thought of my recent adventure, which I could look forward to, boast about and further plan out when life steps seemed fuzzy and uncertain. That done, I am pawing through my thoughts and my spirit to plant my next goals and figure out the best, most fertile path by which to arrive.

There are two tiers I am maneuvering at this point. Long term goals, which involve setting myself up to work and live anywhere, everywhere in this world. A long-standing dream that was confirmed for me in my charmed months of warm weather, economic favor and mobile freedom in Buenos Aires. Writing could afford such a lifestyle, but it's not an easy life. Intellectually and emotionally stimulating, the money-making turns it torturous, so I'm told. But it's still on my list for this year, and I have pledged to myself that I'll work to eliminate the fear of its pursuit.

And then there is the short-term, which is much more practical. The need to pay bills and re-ingratiate myself into the working world. My past two weeks here have been dominated by this. Following friendly leads, making cold calls, pulling together work samples, going on interviews. While I feel so incredibly grateful for the opportunities that have presented themselves, following the one that's popped would be a complete departure from what I have done, another exercise in starting over. And, as I approach 30, this seems less and less appealing to me. I would like to stay and continue to grow in the realm of art buying and photography. And, if I start over, I'd love for it to be in pursuit of writing. But, in this economy, should I just take anything? No matter its nature and how it relates to the bigger picture? Questions we have all asked ourselves at some point, I am sure.

In the end, I am fortunate. I must give thanks for it everyday, and remain open in the belief that the universe will align itself exactly as it should. That's how BA was born and made a reality, that's how my next steps will form and play out as well. So, instead of waking up today and worrying about money and strategy, I pledge to practice gratefulness, practice love, and live in and appreciate the moment. The latter is hard for me. But my first few weeks back, spent caressing the past or obsessively plotting the future, have left me stressed and empty. Living in the now is looking good.

What is the right now? The joys and comforts of this apartment on generous loan. Soothing bossa nova undulating from the old school sound system; Persian and Uzbeki rugs layered one over the other in dark, earthen maroons, burnt oranges and forest greens, brightened with azure, mustard and other smudges of rich color; a maze of dainty couches and stately armchairs in the style of 18th century France, covered with various tapestries from the East; Orisha gods frozen into bronze and stone statues; an entire wall of bookshelves weighed down ceiling to floor with knowledge; the NYT and a home-made cappuccino in hand.

Happy Birthday, Zana-DO

Today is my birthday and, while the 1st of January officially marks the start of the year, this has traditionally been my day of new beginnings. On January 8th last year, I made a pledge to align my life so that I could go to Argentina. One year later, that dream realized, I am sitting here answering the ever-present question, for myself and for all those who love me or are even slightly curious, "What's next?"

In conversations, I can sense my listeners desired response. "I loved it, I am moving there forever" - simple, inspiring, happily ever after. But my return and the internal processing of my experience have harvested more complex developments and emotions, which I am working through now. And which make my prepared soundbite of an answer a bit more involved.

Subconsciously, I was hoping I'd find something in Buenos Aires that would change everything. Another go at making my life in a foreign, exotic land - an opportunity I gave up almost 5 years ago to stay in NYC. It was Barcelona then, it would be Buenos Aires now. And I was ready to stay this time. I gave up my apartment, forwarded all important mail and went down there open. Ready to be moved in some awe-inspiring direction. And I was. I met wonderful people and was presented with promising opportunities. It was actually the belief that I could survive there that gave me the idea to come back early for the Holidays. I'd surely return.

Ironically, the most rewarding discovery made in Buenos Aires has taken me further from her, for the moment. It was there, wrapped in a cocoon free of financial worries and blessed by her favor, that I felt confident enough to finally admit it. I like to and I want to write, professionally. (I've said it on my birthday, I want to write!) Maybe I'm wrong, but I feel like I need to be in "the real world", aka NYC with all of its stresses and yearnings to strive, to pursue this. To research, to converse, to fight the demons of doubt and insecurity that have always encircled this deep-seeded dream. Perhaps the lack of these pressures I experienced in Buenos Aires makes it the perfect place for me to continue to grow in my writing. Who knows but, as of today, Buenos Aires reveals itself as the catalyst, not the final destination.

I've been scared to put my thoughts on the blog because, per the tenet of this sounding board, once I say it, once I write it here, I have to DO it. Plus, isn't it silly or greedy to think that 2009 can be as good if not better than 2008?

Seems I've found my challenge for this year;) I vow to embrace it with open arms and heart and mind, regardless of my fears. Happy Birthday, Zana-DO.

Since I Arrived...

The biting cold that taunted me at 3am upon my arrival at JFK and the crazed commercialism of the American holiday season aside, I am happy to be home. Very happy, in fact. It's even been fun to layer and bundle up. All sorts of new wardrobe concoctions and combinations to try. And this is a good time of the year to return; family and friends who are happy to see me, hug me and kiss me have simulated, if not eclipsed, the warmth of the Southern hemisphere from which I come.

Here are a few things that have made me chuckle and smile in my first few days home...

I discovered the benefits of traveling with a cane and shamefully gave in to its allure. The cane, a gift for my Grandpa Gus, was too long to fit in my suitcase and so I carried it in hand. That stick spoke silent volumes, resulting in airport security offering me the short line reserved for handicapped travelers and pregnant women, flight attendants carrying my bags and an empty seat next to me on the way to DC. I swear, I didn't do it on purpose. I rejected the first few offers, but then my bag got heavy and the guy who wanted to share my seat on the bus was a little too friendly. So I shut my mouth and let the cane speak for me. New Year's resolution #1: no more omissions of my physical abilities, least I go to hell.

I spent my first night back stateside at Carolina's house. She wasn't there, but her spirit and our memories were. I showered and fell into a deep slumber in a place that's always felt like home. The next morning I read the NYT in hand for the first time in 2 months. I made coffee, cruised channels in hopes of catching up on holiday flicks and prepared a delicious lunch. Octopus and artichoke in a garlic tomato sauce over saffron fettucine dressed with fresh parmesan and parsley. A bit of a mish mash, but delicious. Gotta love having a foodie for a best friend; who else would have these ingredients in a fridge they just "emptied"? It was the perfect welcome.

I awoke on Christmas morning to the smells of my favorite breakfast, blueberry pancakes and sausage. My Mom's bb cakes are legendary, from the slumber party circuit to the ex-boyfriend files. Those perfectly round little cakes full of berry bursts, the salty sausage in perfect harmony with buttery maple syrup. Hmm, makes your mouth jump. Everyone knows that the secret is in the skillet. And so I smiled to see my Mother using the same one I burned myself on when I was 7 or 8 while trying to learn how to flip those brown medallions. My smile deepened as I saw that our faithful skillet had lost its legs but was still in use, propped up by a dishrag so as not to burn the marble countertop. No way anyone in my family, or anyone who has tasted one of these scrumptious treats, would throw that skillet out. Pure treason it'd be.

I have let myself get lost and found in family time. Today I went to my 11 year old cousins tennis match. She is amazing. Made me think about my 11 yr old days, what I was into, what I wasn't, what I would have thought of 5 older cousins coming to watch me play (and kick booty). So nice to see her do her thing. Afterwards we all came home to my Mom's house for some Argentine wine - I'm surprised there is any left! I watched my Mom, who I call Shamoosi, bustle around making sure everyones glasses and bellies were full. She is so gracious, so giving. One of her gifts to us is a digitized collection of our baby and childhood photos. This morning I chose some of Mom looking fly and on high in the 70's, pictures of my parents when they were together, my older sister, my sweet brother. And little me. Having gone far from home, it's quite appropriate and also curious to revisit these photos. To see how far I've come from those days when I had two little afro-puffs on my head and two little hands on my hips. And, at the same time, to understand how close I still am to that person and how much the story makes sense. Have you ever looked at a photo of yourself as a small child and wondered how you've transformed into what you are today?

For better or for worse, our families have played a huge part in our stories. Something we shouldn't and can't forget. And, if we do, the Holiday season is there every year to jog our memories.

Happy Holidays.

Buenos Aires, mucho gusto

My first day in Buenos Aires and this linda ciudad has already proven my instinct a reality - Buenos Aires really does have buenos (good) aires (airs). And its arms are wide open to me :

Tengo "una peluca beeella" that people here are dieing to touch (for the first time, I'm not annoyed)

I met a fabulous man in Palermo who owns a vintage clothing store and offered me a little rooftop apartment in the house of a designer friend of his, I'm going to see it tomorrow

I felt and then found my yoga zone, in the heart of Palermo with a spa and a cafe attached

I've been invited to a party on Friday night, one of the guys there is looking for a flatmate

It's 10:55pm and I've just been invited on a last minute trip to Uruguay tomorrow, why not, scratch the latter half of #2 ;)

The place where I'm staying hosted a "parillada" tonight, the people around the table comprise a mini UN. I swear the world's best and most sensitive minds are on extended vacations around the world. Imagine a foreign policy system led by this group of world citizens.

I met two wonderful women at breakfast this morning, one from Ireland one from Israel. The former has handed me her suggested travel route through Argentina, I think I'll follow it.

I have seen more "guapos" than I know what to do with (hmm mmm)

I have absolutely everything I need, and there's more on the way.

Good Night, Argentina, ya te quiero.

Thursday, October 9

I am so grateful right now, sitting in Central Park in the plaza near the Boat Basin on an absolutely gorgeous October afternoon. It's so sunny and in the circle here people are rolling up their sleeves and pant legs to catch their last tans. There's a quartet playing jazz directly across the fountain - funky stuff. Spores from the tree over my head keep slipping down the back of my shirt. I don't mind, the sun has slipped behind a cloud, allowing the creases around my eyes to relax for a moment.

A woman walking by has my Mother's laugh. I already miss her - our last time together was good. Exploring DC and talking and mostly laughing. Her courage and ability to see beyond the immediate into a glorious future is what's inspired me to go on this journey. I love her so, and my Father, too. His spunk and spirit I admire. I'm so happy to see him mellowing out and making love supreme in his old age.

This circle is full of people lounging, relaxing, laying about - some overdressed, some just perfect for a scorcher. Typical of Fall in a world where the sun gets closer everyday. I am one of these people - the loungers. Have been since August and will be in Argentina. An interesting, singular experience for me. It took me a minute to learn how to relax and enjoy it. So sure I was that I should be "doing something." But now, it's just right. And I realize I am doing something. For me. Contributing to the path I am on. Living in the moment, learning to absorb and be inspired by my immediate surroundings. Striking the perfect balance between having a plan and letting life as it occurs move and guide me. That's my goal for the next few months.

Damn, it's hot, I love it.

Warnings

"In my dream I was there making dinner. And he brought home another woman. Ugly, less intelligent, less elegant than I. How silly they can be, even in dreams. I let the pot boil over, silently."

That's an excerpt from a dream I had last night, how vivid and frightening they have been lately. Or, should I say, revealing. Almost like warnings of what would happen if I let my current obsessions take precedence over my greater plans for the future. In this case, an obsession over a potentially budding relationship here in Brooklyn. A relationship with no future according to my dream.

I let the current almost rewrite the future right before I left for Spain 6 years ago. I thought of one million reasons why I should stay and not venture out into the world - a crush I had on Brown’s biggest playboy, the 9/11 attack and the idea that "Americans weren't safe anywhere but home." When even my mother, who loves to keep her babies near, told me I was talking nonsense, I knew I was inventing problems. And I sense myself performing a rendition of that ritual now, days before I leave for Buenos Aires. Not so extreme, and with the underlying knowledge that I am doing the right thing for my life, but I'm still having doubts.

What's the root of this questioning? Perhaps it's disbelief that, after almost 2 years of planning, this is actually going to happen? Disbelief that I've pulled it off responsibly? Worry that it was too easy and, therefore, when will the hard times roll in? Will they be nice, will I find a home, a job if I want one, will I find love? What balance should I strike between going with the flow and purposefully carving out an experience for myself? Ah, the Capricorn in me is forcing me to put some more meat around a plan I have allowed to be loose until now in order to avoid unmet expectations. I am trying to keep her at bay now still, but she's fierce and smart. And I have to admit the positive side of her interrogation - I am getting my act together.

But there is a negative side to the questioning, and I know its root is fear. Fear of letting go of what I've built here, fear of missing something good, and perhaps fear of leaving no trace of having existed at all. Like I said in a previous post, it's amazing how quickly I packed up and shipped out my entire life in one afternoon. And how my phone rings only once every three days. All signs that it's time to go. But the ease with which I've ushered myself out makes me look back and want to cling and re-root from time to time.

I recognize that these fears are unfounded and not a good enough reason to stay. Actually, they are all the more reason to go. Life has taught me that the things I’m most afraid of often turn out to be the most rewarding. So, I'll keep moving forward and embrace the change. And, while my dream last night was a bit disconcerting, thank my subconscious for warning me against changing the plan. Especially for a man ;)

Peace and have a blessed day.

Home

So I'm officially "trekking" - on Saturday, my Dad and a circle of friends helped me move out of my bird's nest in Fort Greene. It's amazing how quickly one can break down one's life into 12 boxes. While I'd been preparing myself for the emotional and spiritual effects of leaving this place, a space I always claimed was temporary but was truly a space of healing, dreaming, preparing, loving and growing (a space that I had to pass through to get to where I am now), it didn't really hit me until I handed my keys over. I almost cried. And in that moment, I realized how good I have become at making anywhere my home, at truly connecting to a space and making it meaningful. I think we all are, it's only natural. And that was a comfort.

I'm going to need that instinct as I embark on this journey. For the next 2 months I will be between my parents' homes in DC, friends' homes in CT and couch surfing in NYC. And then I'm off to Buenos Aires, to look for a new place to sink some roots. Sometimes all of this moving around seems daunting - with a lot of here, there and everywhere, might I end up feeling lost, exhausted, homeless? What part of me dreamt up this idea? More importantly, which part of me decided to go through the motions of making it a reality? A brave part for sure, a part that my weaker bits scorn at times yet admire. But I'm doing it, and I'm glad.

My goal over the next 2 months before I depart is to make them fruitful - happy, fulfilled, whole. In the rat race that is NYC, fruitful has often had a monetary tone for me - equating to job security, paychecks, saving, spending. My main objective now is to prepare "my house" - which is my body, my spirit, my mind - for travel. To make it strong, grounded, adaptable, comfortable, curious, open, loved, loving, giving, able to receive, dependable, wise, constantly growing and creating. So that wherever I go, whatever I see/do/experience, whether I have a lot or a little, I feel good, I feel "at home."

Isn't that a lovely thought? That our bodies/minds/souls are all we need? That if those elements are in line, the rest will flow forth naturally? That we can be "home" anywhere?

In Earnest

I have been freelance producing here in NYC - advertising campaigns, a few independent projects. As I've said before, this is the manifestation of a goal I set for myself a year and a half ago and it's been quite affirming to see it come to fruition. I'm at the point now where I'm figuring out where I'll take it next. And I'm having mixed feelings.

As Producer, I've been responsible for pulling together the resources needed to make others' creative visions a reality. While I've enjoyed it and have learned a great deal, I sometimes feel something is missing. Through talking with a friend about it yesterday I realized that, in producing, I have subconsciously discounted myself as the creator. Been so focused on being the facilitator, the logistics maven. With my freelance production gig coming to an end 2 months earlier than expected, I find myself hesistating to update the resume and line up more production jobs. Though my pocket probably begs to differ, I'm trigger shy. Why?

I'm leaning towards tapping back into the creative me, facilitating my own creativity. That means dance and meditation and yoga. And music. I'd like to find an outlet to further develop a few melodies and lyrics I have written over the past 6 months. Not sure where to start on this, and I'm not sure why I'm so shy about it. But I'm making a pledge to myself to push past that shyness and go after it in earnest.

So, there it is. Like the sole Zana-DO rule demands : I said it, now I have to DO it;)

Have a blessed day.