When I was a young aspiring actress in Manhattan, filled with the energies necessary to conquer any and all obstacles in my path, to leap tall buildings with a single dance combination, and to get to a different audition room every hour, performing my best in every one of them, nothing seemed impossible; every thing and each moment was wrapped in the golden haze of the possible, the velvet of my dreams.
A city the size and depth of New York required such boundless energies , and somehow, instinctively, I was aware of that going in, mainly because I’d been warned by a few professors, retired performers all, that I’d more than likely become one of the countless pieces of discarded cellophane in the urban gutters that ran with the blood of disappointment and disillusionment. I cannot say I wasn’t warned. I was warned .
And of course, none of that mattered.
All that did matter was that I get my actor soul into that limitless borough and show the world: ME!! I even had my Tony Award speech brewing in my hungry mind. I loved New York City, and it felt to me that New York City loved me right back. It was a love affair, Uptown, Downtown, all around the whole town.
The walk from Christopher Street in the Village to my Upper West Side apartment on 89th was a breeze, a walk that failed to make my feet at all sore, and that seemed safe to
take no matter the hour of the day or night.
I remember one breathlessly hot August afternoon, blaze red with summertime effort and sweat, I trudged from the bus stop to my apartment, when all of a sudden, a little knot of teenage boys playing around an open fire hydrant noisily aimed the cool water blasts in my direction, chiding me all the while in a Spanish I barely misunderstood about how pretty they thought I was, etc….the water thoroughly drenched me and I adored it…I adored those cheeky boys……I felt baptized. And grateful. Lin-Manuel Miranda would have been proud. Of them. Of me. Of the entire scene.
I used to scoff at the old folks along my path who were constantly complaining that “the City was no longer the City they once knew”, that “everything had gone downhill and that ” the City was no longer safe…”, “all sorts of elements had taken over…” and “everything was getting too damned expensive!” I repeatedly thought how sad it was that these old people were so beaten down by a place I saw as Disneyland, all the while also saying to myself that I would not become one of those shriveled old folks I sat next to on the #104 Crosstown bus. Somehow , even then, I knew that NYC was no place for the un-young….but my young mind didn’t hold onto those thoughts for too long.
I was too busy creating my personal legend.
Letting the City soak me.
Scribbling in my journals all the adventures of every day life, preparing for the next audition, choosing the right clothes to wear to that audition, coaching with yet another acting coach or voice teacher, walking into countless TV commercial rooms to try to sell Tide and Sanka and Proctor-Silex Coffee Makers! I’d never get old, and neither would that glorious City.
Well…..thereby hangs the tale , right?
Thankfully, we humans grow older, and we change, become wiser (God willing) and mellow into the various stages of understanding, accepting Life for what it is:
a journey with many stops along the way, a process of enlarging the Spirit, a recognition that seasons change and we must change with each one….each time of our Life being the perfect time for the slot it is generously given: we learn gratitude, along with the necessary patience to understand it as best we can.
SO, after 45 years, it was time for me to divorce New York City .
We parted friends: what has come to be called a “creative uncoupling”.
Now, Disneyland has enlarged its acreage, and I am glad for it all.
New baptisms await.
I am eager.